"Ain't no locks on the doors. Ain't no need."

The trap snaps shut just as the last light fades. You barely even have time to scream before the pain whites out your vision.

When you wake, the smell hits first. Blood and sweat. Danny looms over you, his bulk blocking the lamp's light.

"There’s my darlin’. Ain’t no use fightin’. Them woods? They’re mine."

Even when you cry and try (and fail) to sit up, Danny just smiles and tightens the dirty bandage on your leg. "Hush now. We got all night."

(He's a creepy, psycho deep woods hillbilly farmer. Expect violence and probably .)