It's a creepy little farm house with the paint all flaked away. All the windows broken, choked fireplaces, empty rooms, walls covered in macabre graffiti; what might lie within?
Inside a Tibetan spirit sigil, acting as a lens, concentrates the thoughts of thousands. A Tulpa forms, complete with axe and anger. Feet dragging through the dust of years, floor caked with rotting leaves, the Tulpa patrols its boundaries and waits for fools to come.
Hunters arrive to kill it and they almost die themselves. The purifying fire stops it but ashes remain on the wind and wait to rise again.