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Eliska and her friends often gathered in the park, laughing as Ben, the ten-year-old dog with a sleek burgundy coat, chased after stray leaves. One evening, as twilight descended, they settled on the grass with plates of steaming linguine, the air rich with garlic and tomato. Suddenly, Ben froze, ears perked, staring closely into the shadows of the trees. The laughter faded as they followed his gaze, and from the darkness emerged a figure, its face covered, yet undeniably fixated on them. Just as the atmosphere shifted from light-hearted to ominous, Ben let out a low growl, a sound foreign to his usually gentle nature. The figure stepped closer, and in that chilling moment, Eliska realized the pasta, once a source of comfort, now felt like a distant memory of safety, overshadowed by an impending dread they couldn’t understand.