The sun hung low over the dense canopy of Pinehaven National Forest as a group of four hikers trekked deeper into its heart. Sam, the self-appointed leader, carried a Bluetooth speaker blasting their carefully curated “Bear Deterrent Playlist,” a mix of loud pop songs and bass-heavy beats. Behind him trailed Emma, a wildlife biology major who assured them the music would scare off predators, followed by her boyfriend Mike and his sarcastic best friend, Jake, who’d already complained about the trip ten times over.

  “You’re sure this playlist keeps bears away?” Jake muttered, eyeing the thick, shadowy trees.

  “Yes, Jake, unless you have bear spray, this is the best option,” Emma snapped. “Predators hate unfamiliar sounds.”

  “Yeah, and it’s a killer dance party,” Sam added, cranking the volume higher as a familiar children’s lullaby remix came on.

  As the distorted melody of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" echoed through the forest, an eerie silence settled in around them. The chirps of birds and rustling leaves vanished, leaving only the pounding bass and their footsteps.

  Emma frowned. “Guys, why did everything get so quiet?”

  “Chill. It’s probably the music scaring the wildlife,” Sam said, his voice wavering slightly.

  But Jake stopped dead in his tracks. “No, no, this is wrong. This feels… off. Like we’re being watched.”

  ...

  Unbeknownst to the group, something ancient stirred nearby. An ESM—a hulking, elk-skulled mimic monster—had been trailing them, drawn by the scent of sweat and the rhythm of their movements. It had planned to strike as dusk fell, using the natural shadows to hide its grotesque form and the empty hollows of its eyes.

  But then the song reached it.

  The distorted melody pierced through the forest like a knife, awakening something buried deep within the monster’s fragmented psyche. A long-forgotten lullaby, sung by a gentle voice—its human mother. A flood of memory, distant and indistinct, consumed the beast. The soft hum of a tune as it lay in a cradle. The faint scent of laundry detergent on a worn blanket.

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  The ESM clutched its antlered skull, releasing a guttural, agonized groan. It staggered toward the hikers, but not as a predator—now as something wracked with torment. Black blood oozed from its hollow eye sockets, streaking its bone-white face.

  ...

  The hikers didn’t notice the first cry over the blaring music. But when the sound of snapping branches erupted behind them, they spun around.

  “WHAT IS THAT?!” Mike yelled, pointing down the trail.

  Ahead, the massive, elk-skulled creature collapsed onto the dirt path. Its skeletal, sinewy frame heaved as it let out shallow, raspy breaths. Black ichor pooled beneath its body, staining the earth.

  Emma gasped, instinctively pulling Jake back. “Is it dead?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sam whispered, shaking as he slowly turned off the speaker.

  The silence was deafening. The beast didn’t move—its enormous form lay crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut. Only the faint, wet sobs of its distress broke the quiet.

  “It’s… crying,” Emma realized, her voice trembling.

  “Crying? That thing?” Jake scoffed, but even his usual bravado faltered. “What do we do?”

  “Call the rangers,” Emma said firmly, pulling out her phone. “This thing needs to be studied.”

  ...

  The authorities arrived much faster than expected, armed with tranquilizer rifles and heavy restraints. The hikers were pushed back as a team of specialists moved in, their faces grim.

  “What is it?” Sam asked one of the rangers, his voice shaky.

  “We don’t know,” the ranger replied, eyes locked on the creature. “But whatever it is, it’s not something you want to mess with.”

  The team secured the creature in a reinforced steel cage, its unconscious form dripping with black blood. It was transported under heavy guard to a nearby research facility, leaving the hikers with more questions than answers.

  ...

  Weeks later, Emma scoured the news for any updates. The hikers had been sworn to secrecy, but curiosity gnawed at her. Finally, an anonymous report leaked: scientists studying the creature had determined it wasn’t just an animal—it had human DNA.

  Rumors swirled about its sensitivity to certain stimuli, particularly sounds. One scientist claimed the beast had briefly stirred from its sedation when a nearby radio played a familiar tune: “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

  The memory it carried wasn’t just a remnant—it was a tether to the humanity it had lost. And now, locked in a sterile facility far from the forest, it remained trapped in a constant battle between the monster it had become and the human it once was.

  The hikers never returned to Pinehaven, but the melody of that lullaby stayed with them, haunting their dreams. And in the quiet corners of the research facility, the ESM dreamed too—a dream of a mother’s voice, of warmth, of something it could never reclaim.