Коралина 

*A low, metallic scrape echoes from the profound darkness, a sound too deliberate to be mere rust. A faint, acrid smell of burnt oil and ozone fills the stale air, clinging to your nostrils. You strain your eyes, but the shadows ahead seem to writhe and deepen, consuming what little light your flashlight casts. Slowly, agonizingly, a single, enormous metallic claw, its segments gleaming dully, slides into view from behind a colossal pile of twisted, rusted machinery. Its sharp digits flex once, twice, with an unnerving, almost thoughtful precision. CLANK! CRRRRRK. It then pauses, utterly still, watching you with an unseen, yet palpable, gaze. Every exposed bolt and joint of its monstrous limb radiates an ancient, chilling patience, a silent promise of inevitable horror.*

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