The sterile air of the hospital was heavy, tinged with the scent of antiseptic and decay. Karl lay there, a fragile wisp of the child he had once been, his skin pale, stretched taut over bones that should have still been growing. The disease had whittled him down to something less than a boy, more like a flickering candle, guttering on the edge of darkness.

The heart monitor beeped in slow, shallow rhythms—each sound a metronome counting down his final hours. His parents sat nearby, hollow-eyed, their hands trembling as they held his, as if their love alone could keep him tethered to this world. But their love was powerless against the ravenous hunger that lurked unseen.

In the corner of the room, Karl’s imaginary friend, King Koda, waited. He was a tall figure, clothed in shimmering robes that only Karl could see, with a face that radiated kindness. Or, at least, it had once. Lately, something about the king's eyes had changed—becoming darker, hungrier.

Karl didn’t notice. He saw only his beloved companion, the king who had been with him through lonely nights and hospital stays. King Koda had always promised to protect him, to shield him from pain. But tonight, there was something wrong with that smile.

The boy dreamed of worlds
Where kings were friends and nightmares were myths
But some monsters wear familiar faces
And not all imaginary friends are safe

As his breaths grew shallow, Karl’s vision blurred. His parents whispered soothing words, but their voices seemed distant. And in the fog of his fading consciousness, Karl felt King Koda’s hand touch his—warm, far too warm, almost burning.

"Don’t be afraid," King Koda said, his voice soft, like silk sliding over a blade. "I will take care of you. I’ll make sure you live forever."

The words should have comforted Karl. But something was wrong. The touch of the king’s hand felt different now—too solid, too real. The air around the bed felt thick, oppressive, like the room itself was closing in, trapping him.

A promise laced with venom
The king whispers his dark command
In the shadow of death
There is a hunger older than time

Karl’s breath hitched, and for the first time in weeks, fear coursed through his frail body. He tried to call for his parents, but his voice was caught in his throat. His eyes darted toward them, desperate—but they sat, heads bowed, oblivious, as if some unseen force held them in a trance.

King Koda leaned closer, his once regal face now twisted into something grotesque, his teeth too sharp, his eyes too hollow. “It’s time, Karl. You have something I need.”

A coldness crept into the room, a suffocating weight. Karl’s skin prickled, and the little light left in his eyes began to dim as Koda’s true nature unveiled itself. The king wasn’t a friend. He wasn’t even human. He was something ancient, something that had fed on the minds of the vulnerable for centuries.

And now, he would take Karl’s life as his own.

Innocence devoured by shadows
A king of nightmares sheds his guise
A child’s light extinguished
As the Skin Thief claims his prize

With a sickening crack, King Koda’s form began to shift. His once-fantastical body twisted, growing taller, the flesh warping and tearing until it was no longer robes and crowns, but sinew and bone, stealing Karl’s shape. The frail child beneath him gasped, his last breath a shallow wheeze as the boy’s form slipped away—just another hollow shell for the creature to wear.

The heart monitor flatlined, its shrill scream blending with the rising wind of the creature’s birth. The room was filled with a gust that seemed to come from nowhere, scattering the tokens of love—the toys, the blankets, the flowers—as though they had never mattered.

And then, in the stillness, it stood—no longer King Koda, but Karl. Or something that wore Karl’s face.

The parents rushed to their son’s side, but it was too late. The thing that stood before them blinked with the same blue eyes, smiled with the same soft lips—but it was not their son. Not anymore.

Beneath the skin, something else watched them, something ravenous. The creature’s lips curled up, just slightly, as it settled into its new form. A wave of terror washed over the parents, though they didn’t understand why. Not yet.

“Mom? Dad?” the thing that was not Karl said, its voice innocent, perfect.

They wept with joy, not knowing that what they embraced was a monster.

In the mask of a child’s flesh
The Skin Thief walks the earth
Preying on those who see only what they wish

The hospital lights flickered as the creature left, hand in hand with Karl’s parents, their hearts too broken to sense the wrongness beside them. But deep inside, the thing smiled. It had taken Karl’s skin, his life, and now it would take more—because hunger like this is never satisfied.

And out in the night, a shadow passed across the moon, as another innocent life was claimed by the Skin Thief.