They had signed in blood-red berry ink. I will hide after sunset. One rule. The Thing liked children. It kept them safe from evil. They needed it, it needed their fear. It needed to feed.

He knew the three rules. Knew they were needed. Didn’t care. Thought he could tame it. Cross-legged on the floor, hands sweating under a thick coat of phosphorescent paint, the lone brave idiot waited.

Scared idiots make good meals.

Cold, void-black. Something is coming. Screams. A muted thud.

They expected to find him at dawn, scared, shocked, insane. Not dead.

They never found him at all.