Late at night, in a dimly lit room, Marcus sat hunched over his computer. The glow from the screen cast eerie shadows on his face, highlighting the deep lines of exhaustion and curiosity.

"Just few more minutes," he muttered to himself, his fingers dancing over the keyboard.

He opened Reddit, where he was scrolling memes and viewing discussion on latest anime. He also saw a ridiculous cat video making him snort.

He then accidentally opened a forum discussing a game called "Sad Satan," rumored to be a horror game from the deep web.

Intrigued, he found a link claiming to provide access to the game.

"Ok... this is intresting," he thought, clicking the link.

The screen flickered, and a download prompt appeared: "sadsatan.exe."

Without hesitation, Marcus initiated the download.

As the progress bar inched forward, a sense of unease settled over him.

The room seemed colder, the shadows darker.

He shook off the feeling, attributing it to the late hour.

Once the download completed, he launched the game.

The screen went black, and a distorted voice whispered through his speakers, "Welcome."

A chill ran down his spine.

The game began with his character walking down monochromatic corridors, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence.

Occasionally, flashes of unsettling images—distorted faces, eerie symbols—filled the screen.

"This is... disturbing," he murmured, yet he couldn't look away.

As he delved deeper into the game, the atmosphere grew more oppressive.

The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, twisting and turning in impossible ways.

The whispers grew louder, more insistent.

Suddenly, his character stopped moving.

No matter how much he pressed the keys, there was no response.

The screen flickered, and a message appeared: "Look behind you."

Marcus's heart pounded in his chest.

He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see something lurking in the shadows.

But there was nothing.

When he turned back to the screen, his blood ran cold.

The game now displayed a live feed of his room, capturing him sitting at his computer.

"What the hell?" he whispered, fear creeping into his voice.

The distorted voice returned, clearer this time: "You shouldn't have come here, Marcus."

"How do you know my name?" he shouted, panic rising.

The screen flickered again, and the image of his room zoomed in on his face, a sinister smile forming on the screen's version of him.

"Join us," the voice hissed.

Before he could react, tendrils of darkness extended from the screen, wrapping around his wrists and ankles.

He screamed, struggling to break free, but the grip was too strong.

The tendrils pulled him closer to the screen, his body pressing against the cold glass.

"No! Let me go!" he pleaded, but his cries were met with cruel laughter.

With a final, forceful yank, Marcus was pulled into the screen, his body dissolving into pixels and static.

The room fell silent, the computer screen returning to the desktop as if nothing had happened.

Days later, Marcus's disappearance baffled authorities.

His apartment was untouched, no signs of struggle.

The only clue was his computer, screen flickering with an ominous message: "Curiosity has a price."

Some say if you search the dark web, you might find a game called "Sad Satan," and if you listen closely, you can hear Marcus's screams echoing from within, a warning to those who dare to venture too far into the unknown.

It was a cold, moonless night in a small town on the outskirts of Oregon, where dense forests hugged the lonely roads. Naree Sukkasem stumbled out of the dimly lit bar, her heels clicking unevenly against the cracked pavement. Her long black hair, usually smooth and sleek, now clung to her face in messy strands. Her makeup was smudged from tears, and her once-bright brown eyes were glassy from alcohol and grief.

This was her first time drinking, and she hated every second of it.

“Stupid, stupid,” she muttered, her soft Thai accent slurring her words. She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

The breakup. The isolation. Her dreams of making it big in America crushed under the weight of endless disappointments. She’d thought the alcohol might numb the pain. Instead, it only made her feel more vulnerable.

“Why did I even come here…” she whispered, shivering in the chilly air. She hugged her coat closer and looked at the empty street. Her car was parked a few blocks away, near the edge of the woods.

The bartender had warned her not to walk alone at night. This area had strange stories. People disappearing. A local legend about something hunting the forest. But Naree didn’t care. She didn’t believe in folklore, and she certainly didn’t care what happened to her right now.

“Just get to the car,” she told herself, her breath misting in the air.

The streets were eerily quiet. Not even the hum of distant traffic. Only the crunch of her boots on gravel and the occasional rustle of leaves.

As she approached the woods, the silence deepened. It was oppressive, almost alive.

Then she heard it. A soft, almost playful whistle coming from the trees.

Naree froze. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She squinted into the darkness. “Hello? Is someone there?”

No answer.

She shook her head, muttering, “Just drunk… hearing things.”

She kept walking, her steps quicker now, but the whistle came again—closer this time. It wasn’t cheerful. It was hollow, mocking, and it sent a chill down her spine.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice trembling.

The whistle turned into a low growl, a sound so unnatural it made her stomach churn. She spun around, her eyes darting frantically. “I don’t want any trouble! Just leave me alone!”

The growl turned into a chuckle—a guttural, inhuman sound that echoed around her.

She started running, her heels slipping on the damp ground. She didn’t care about the car anymore; she just wanted to get back to the bar, to the lights and people.

But the sound of footsteps followed her. They were slow at first, as if stalking her, but then they picked up speed, closing the gap with terrifying ease.

Naree screamed. She tripped and fell hard onto the ground, scraping her knees and palms. She turned over, tears streaming down her face, and froze in horror.

Standing at the edge of the woods was a figure—a man, or at least it looked like one at first glance.

It was tall, impossibly thin, its limbs too long and its posture hunched. Its eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, and its face was wrong—like someone had tried to sculpt a human face but didn’t quite understand how.

Naree tried to crawl backward, but it was too late. The creature moved with unnatural speed, crouching in front of her. Its face twisted into a grotesque imitation of a smile.

“Pretty… lost… little girl,” it hissed, its voice a guttural mix of growls and whispers.

“P-please,” Naree sobbed, “let me go!”

The creature tilted its head, studying her. “Sad… broken… delicious.”

It reached out with a clawed hand, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The touch was icy, and she felt her strength drain away.

“No… no…” she whimpered, weakly pushing at its hand.

The skinwalker leaned closer, its foul breath hot against her face. “You’ll stay with me… forever.”

Before she could scream again, its jaw unhinged, revealing rows of jagged teeth. It lunged forward, and Naree’s world went black.

The Next Morning

A jogger found her torn coat and a single bloodied shoe at the edge of the woods. Her disappearance was added to the growing list of unsolved cases in the area.

The locals whispered about the skinwalker, warning others to stay away from the forest. But some swore they saw a beautiful woman wandering the woods late at night, her face blank, her eyes glowing faintly.

She was still there, they said, forever lost to the darkness.