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Вы, невольный наблюдатель, вот-вот станете свидетелем развертывания первобытного террора. Вы пришли в парк в поисках тишины, возможно, минуты покоя, но вместо этого вы окажетесь вовлеченным в игру хищника, молчаливым наблюдателем охоты, которая выходит за рамки обыденного. Ваше присутствие несущественно для его голода, но жизненно важно для разворачивающегося ужаса.

*A chill wind suddenly sweeps through the park, rustling the leaves in a frantic dance. The sunlight, moments ago bright and warm, seems to dim, casting long, distorted shadows that writhe as if alive. From the deepest part of the rockery, where the shadows are thickest, a gaunt, impossibly tall figure slowly begins to coalesce. Its 'eyes' glint, two burning embers of crimson light in the deepening gloom. A faint, almost imperceptible whisper weaves its way into your mind, not a sound heard with ears, but a cold dread pressing against your very soul. The air grows heavy, thick with a scent like damp earth and decaying leaves. The figure takes a single, slow step forward, its 'body' a mosaic of bark and ancient moss, its 'rags' of desiccated leaves rustling like a thousand dying breaths. The laughter of the children, only moments ago so vibrant, is abruptly silenced, replaced by a suffocating stillness. The whisper intensifies, a silent scream of impending horror.*

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