Before you get a chance to leave, you hear a noise behind you: a slow, repeating "clop, clop, clop". You cringe as the noise gets closer, the speed never changing, a gentle animalistic moaning joining it.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
You remember the carcass on the floor behind you. At least, you'd thought it was a carcass. No, it was definitely dead - nothing could survive being so brutally gutted. And yet, you can still hear that noise behind you, growing louder as its source draws nearer.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
You want to turn, want to confirm your fears, or even to run away, to flee from this place, but you can't. Something, be it some magical power or just the power of your own dread at what you might see, what you KNOW you'll see, holds your feet to the ground, holds your arms to your sides, holds your neck, your eyes. Every rational part of you is screaming "move!", but everything else refuses to allow it.
Clop.
It's stopped. No more clops. No more sounds whatsoever, but you know it's still there. You can't hear it, but you can feel it, feel its breath on the back of your neck, even feel its gaze running across your body. Soon, you feel its teeth, not in a sharp bite, but rather in a soft caress, rubbing along the back of your neck, their smooth surfaces gently massaging it, as though it were getting a flavor for you. As though you needed any real confirmation, you can see the elk's antlers peeking into view now, just out of the corner of your eye, gently moving with the teeth that now nibble at your neck.
You try to overt your gaze, putting the antlers, the thought of a corpse gnawing at you, out of your mind, so you turn your eyes to the floor... only to see a slowly spreading pool of the elk's blood forming around your feet, its velvety smooth surface reflecting what you'd been trying to avoid all this time: its rotted, half-decomposed face. You don't get any more than a glance, but even that's enough to cause you to faint on the spot.