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You turn around, or rather, are pulled. Two long sickle-shaped arms hook over your shoulders, long bony fingers digging into your abdomen. You try to wriggle free but are thrown backwards. An elongated head droops over your upturned face.
Its mouth open wides. Carried in its breath is an immense miasma of wet or rotting wood, heavy with decomposing organic matter. It has no teeth, but spews white fungal clumps and saliva so hot it nearly scalds your face.
The head has two eyes, heavily dilated and vascular. You try to pull free again, but the head descends, mouth enveloping you up to your shoulders. You go limp. It crushes down on you.
You have died.
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