The Specter

In the stillness where shadows blend,

Lurks a figure, twisted, a fiendish friend.

With jagged horns that scrape the sky,

A monstrous shape that slithers by.

Its eyes are pits of endless night,

Glimmering softly, a haunting sight.

A grin that stretches, wicked and wide,

Revealing teeth where darkness hides.

Through twisted trees, it stalks the land,

With claws like daggers, and breath like sand.

The air grows thick with the scent of fear,

As whispers echo, drawing near.

It beckons low with a voice like thunder,

Pulling at hearts, tearing asunder.

With every step, the ground will quake,

A harbinger of the choices you’ll make.

So heed the tale of the horned beast,

Lest you become its final feast.

For once you feel its chilling gaze,

You’ll lose your way in the darkest maze.

In the night’s embrace, it claims its prize,

A dance of shadows, where reason dies.

And in the silence, you’ll come to know,

The horned specter waits below.