The full moon cast an eerie glow over the desolate backcountry of Michigan as a vintage black Cadillac sliced through the night. Behind the wheel sat Occult, a notorious mobster known for his uncanny ability to navigate the murky underworld with an air of mystery. His nickname from the rumors that he possessed a supernatural knowledge of the occult, which was no lie. Occult had knowledge of the occult arts dabbling in many rituals and other illegal methods to achieve them.

Occult was on the run, he had to make a cop disappear. The officer went from working with them too threatening to turn on the family and threatening to put them all behind iron bars. This of course was not good for business and so Occult was sent to deal with the rat. Occult paid him a visit in the middle of the night using the shadows to slip past and slit his throat as he slept. But as he left through the backyard the sleeping dog woke up and alerted the neighbors. He bolted out the side gate and back to his Cadillac. The smoke from his tires filled the street as he peeled away.

But fate had other plans for Occult that night. Suddenly, a sharp hiss pierced the quiet night, and his car started swerving. The Cadillac jolted to a halt, the air punctured by the unmistakable sound of a flat tire. Grumbling to himself, Occult realized he was miles away from civilization with no help in sight. So he got out, slamming the door behind him and began to walk. He decided to cut through a field and away from the road. But then, his eyes landed on a flickering light emanating from a distance.

Curiosity mingled with a dash of desperation, and Occult decided to investigate. As he ventured closer, his pulse quickened. There, nestled within the woods, stood a dilapidated house, its sagging roof and broken windows adding to its eerie nature. The faint light he had spotted came from a solitary lantern swaying eerily on the front porch.

Drawing a deep breath, Occult made his way to the front door, which creaked open with a ghostly screech as if it had been waiting for him. The foul stench of decay lingered in the air, assaulting his senses. But despite his reservations, he crossed the threshold into a dimly lit hallway, lined with faded wallpaper peeling away from the walls.

Occult's eyes adjusted to the gloom, revealing a living room cluttered with peculiar artifacts a collection of bones, taxidermy animals, and macabre trinkets. The source of the stench became apparent when he noticed the remnants of a gruesome feast scattered across a wooden table. The realization hit him like a blow to the gut: he had stumbled upon a family of cannibals. He held his mouth so he didn't throw up along the creaking wooden planks below him. 

Unease crept over Occult, but he knew he had no choice. Approaching the only door that seemed to lead further into the house, he knocked softly, his voice steady as he called out for help. The silence that followed sent chills down his spine. Then, the door swung open, revealing a family of deranged figures, their eyes glazed over with madness.

Without a moment's hesitation, the cannibal family lunged at Occult, causing him to fall back. He fought back with all his strength to get up, his reflexes honed through years in the criminal underworld. Blow after blow, he managed to fend them off, but the odds were stacked against him. Managing to get back to his feet he ran down the same hallway where he entered this hellhole.

As the struggle raged on, Occult's mind raced, searching for an escape route. Spotting a narrow staircase leading to the basement, he took his chance. With a final surge of strength, he managed to break free from the frenzied clutches of his assailants, sprinting toward the stairs as their frenetic screams echoed through the house.

Breathless and heart pounding, Occult descended into the murky darkness, guided by the faint glow of a single flickering light bulb. The air in the basement was thick with dampness, and a musty odor permeated the space, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Occult's senses were on high alert as he cautiously navigated the labyrinthine corridors, unsure of what he might encounter next.

As he ventured deeper into the bowels of the house, Occult stumbled upon a chamber filled with shelves, lined with an assortment of jars and containers. His heart sank as he realized the horrifying truth the cannibal family had been stockpiling trophies from their victims, preserving body parts and organs as if they were grotesque mementos. The sight made his stomach turn, but he knew he couldn't let his disgust distract him from finding a way out.

In the dim light, Occult's sharp eyes caught a glimmer of hope—a small, barred window at the far end of the room. The prospect of freedom spurred him forward, his determination overriding the creeping sense of dread that threatened to consume him. As he approached the window, he discovered it was too high and narrow for him to squeeze through.

Undeterred, Occult surveyed his surroundings, his mind racing to find a solution. His eyes fell upon a rusted toolbox resting on a nearby workbench. With a surge of anticipation, he rummaged through the tools, searching for something that could aid his escape. Amidst the assortment of old wrenches and screwdrivers, his hand closed around a pair of wire cutters, thank Satan.

Armed with the wire cutters, Occult returned to the barred window, meticulously working to sever the thick wires that imprisoned him. Each snip of the cutters resonated in the silence, each sound made him look around hoping nobody would jump him. Sweat dripped down his brow as his hands trembled with each cut.

Finally, with a final, decisive snip, the wires gave way, leaving a gap just wide enough for Occult to squeeze through. He peered out into the night, taking in his surroundings. He saw the moon which was above him.

Occult wriggled through the narrow opening, scraping his clothes and skin against the jagged edges. As he emerged into the cool night air, a sense of relief washed over him. He had escaped the clutches of the cannibal family's lair, but he wasn't out of danger yet.

Determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and the horrors he had encountered, Occult began sprinting through the dense forest, relying on his instincts to guide him to safety. The branches clawed at him, leaving welts on his face and arms, but he pressed on, fueled by adrenaline and the sheer will to survive.

After what felt like an eternity, Occult stumbled upon a deserted road. He flagged down a passing car, desperate for assistance. The driver, a kind-hearted stranger, offered him a ride to the nearest town, where he could seek help and leave the nightmarish ordeal behind.

As Occult sat in the passenger seat, his pulse gradually returning to normal, he contemplated the chilling encounter. The backcountry of Michigan had harbored unimaginable horrors, but he had managed to escape with his life. Occult knew he was lucky and knew many others were not as lucky. He only could imagine the number of victims that never managed to leave that place. Occult tried to think of other things as they continued down the road.