Hide in the blackberries

Ignoring the thorns that catch at your T-shirt and shorts, you dive toward the hole in the bush, biting back a yelp as they dig into your bare arms and legs. You crawl through the passage, into a small, musty hollow in the center of the blackberries. Gasping for breath and shaking like a leaf, you kneel in some creature's bed of dry grass and listen to the heavy tread of the wolfman crashing through the brush.

He lopes past your hiding spot, and you close your eyes, biting back a sob of relief, only to hear him stop, turn, and come back.

"Clever, clever," he growls. "Hiding in a fox's den. But I can still smell you. I can smell your fear. You stink of it." You press yourself black against the wall of the den, thorns digging deep into your flesh as he thrusts one arm in through the opening, clawing at the ground as he tries to grab you. He withdraws, and then the bush begins to shake and rattle. Hard blackberries, dried on the vine in the summer heat, rain down around you, and dead blackberry canes snap as he wrenches at them.

An opening appears; you can see stars, until they are blotted out by a dark, shaggy head. He leans in, his breath hot on your face. "I was just going to fuck you," he snarls, "but after the trouble you've given me, I think I'm gonna fuck you, then kill you, then eat you." He reaches in, claws hooking the shoulder of your T-shirt, digging in, pulling you forward.