It starts as a whiff, a scent tingling at the edge of your senses. It becomes a wretchedly sweet smell that makes you drool as if your body is about to purge itself of its last meal. A noise—laughter, coughing, gurgling—echoes across the walls; then you see it, a goat’s head peering at you from the darkness. The head begins to rise as it stands—rising four, five, six feet. Its blood-soaked maw and hands flex hungrily and painfully, as if it hasn't eaten in months. A wickedly barbed tail wraps around its hairy, animalistic legs, dripping with viscous venom eager to penetrate flesh. Pustules ooze as it sizes you up, and by the crazed look in its eyes, it has reached its conclusion.
