A log cabin rests atop green slopes; tall grass grows around it. In the distance, large mountains loom over the grassy hills — a mother watching over her children. Next to the cabin, an apple tree grows, providing fresh fruit for whoever can take it. From the cabin, a trail cuts through the grass, leading to a nearby forest.

From the forest, a man emerges; and behind him, a dog. He carries a stack of logs and an ax. The path to the forest is not too long, only a ten minute walk. They arrive back at the cabin as the sun begins to set. The man sets the wood inside and locks the door tightly behind him.

The cabin is a small, single-bedroom house with one bathroom. A nice fireplace lies opposite to the kitchen in the main room. Skis are propped up in one corner, and a rocking chair in the other. The man sits down in front of his fireplace on a large couch, and his dog joins him. A large window lets in the last remaining light of the day.

As the man watches, the sun disappears from the horizon; the dog begins to whimper. “There, there,” the man pets the dog gently. The moon rises and casts an eerie light over the grassy wasteland outside. The man makes his way to his bedroom, grabbing a pistol from his kitchen counter on his way over. He closes his bedroom door behind him. He lays down, his dog with him, and stares up at the ceiling — waiting.

There’s a knock on his door, followed by another on his window. Click. The man cocks his pistol. He begins to hear taps along his window and walls. Slowly, he gets up and approaches the bedroom door. The door creaks open, and the man sticks his gun out. Before the man can react, something grabs his arm and pulls hard.

A scream echoes in the grassy plains. The pale moon lights up the night sky. A log cabin rests quietly atop green slopes.