Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - 9 Hours of Ghostly Encounters

Episode Date: November 8, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #ghostencounters #truehorrorstories #supernatural #haunting Step into the eerie world of “9 Hours of Ghostly Encounters”, a chilling collection of real-life paranormal stories drawn from the darkest corners of Reddit and beyond. From haunted motels and shadowy figures to voices whispering through static, these tales will keep you awake long after the lights go out. Perfect for fans of late-night horror, supernatural mysteries, and true ghost stories. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, ghoststories, paranormalactivity, hauntedplaces, truehorror, spooky, supernatural, chills, nightmarefuel, creepyencounters, darkness, realghoststories, spinechilling, ghosthunters, eerie

All right, let me take you on a journey, a story that stuck with me for years, haunting the edges of my memory like a shadow that just won't leave. I don't care if you believe me or not, but I'm finally ready to get this off my chest. This all started one evening that, to this day, still freezes my blood when I think about it. It was just past dusk, that weird time when the sun's gone but there's still a hint of light hanging in the sky. I was outside near the woods behind my house. The air had this uneasy stillness to it, like nature had hit paws. Not even the usual chirps of crickets or the rustling of wind in the leaves. It was silent, eerily so.

That's when I saw it. At first, I thought it was a deer. It had a vaguely animal shape, but something was just, off. The skin looked wrong. Not in a grotesque way, not like blood or wounds, but it didn't line up. Like someone had stretched it too tight over something that wasn't the right shape underneath. A glitch in the fabric of nature. It stood there, still as a statue, and its eyes locked with mine.

Not blinking, not breathing, just, watching. My brain was screaming at me to run, but my feet wouldn't move. I felt frozen, like prey under a predator's gaze. Five, maybe ten minutes passed, but it felt like hours. I never saw it breathe. It didn't flinch. I never saw a tail either, come to think of it. Not sure if it even had one.

But the longer I stared, the more my instincts told me one thing loud and clear, I was in danger. My skin started to crawl, like ants marching across every nerve. My heart was pounding like a drum, my throat dry. I kept thinking, if it comes at me, what can I do? scream run fight but i knew if it charged i was done i'd vanish into the night and no one would know what happened to me still locked in that staring match i slowly began stepping backward i figured maybe if i didn't take my eyes off it it wouldn't move might sound dumb but in the moment it felt like the only strategy that made sense one step then another

Shaky legs. Back hit the side of my house. I shuffled sideways along the wall, never breaking eye contact. I found the door, blindly reached behind me for the handle, slipped inside, and slammed it shut. Locked it. Deadbolt two. Then the lights came on. Safety washed over me, like when you're a kid and you hide under the covers from the monster.

I collapsed right there against the door, tears streaming down my door. my face. That survival adrenaline finally drained and left me in shambles. I don't know how long I sat there, but I remember hearing it. A screen from outside, high-pitched, unearthly. Like something not of this world was letting out a wail of rage or sorrow or maybe both. I ran around the house, locking every window, every door. I ended up huddled in the middle of the living room, all the lights on, eyes darting to every shadow. It was a little. It was a only later, after digging through online forums and creepy lore sites, that I found the name for what I likely saw, a skinwalker. Whether you believe in those legends or not, I'm telling you,

there's no other explanation that fits. I told my wife. I told a close friend. But then I read that even mentioning them out loud, especially to people you love, can draw them near. So I stopped. It's been years since that night, but every time I step outside and after dark, I feel it again. The watching. I always scan the tree line, flashlight in hand. I still live in the same house. Still take the same steps every night before bed.

Just in case. So if there's one thing you take away from this ramble of mine, let it be this. There are things out there we don't understand. Trust your instincts when they scream at you. And if you ever lock eyes with something that shouldn't be real, stay calm. don't speak, and whatever you do, don't look away. Now, that's just part one of what I have to share. Because I haven't even told you about Melissa. Back in 2003, I was living in upstate New York in this apartment complex that was all about the red, white, and blue. Post, 9-11 vibes were heavy.

Every balcony had a flag, and everyone was still emotionally raw and hyper-patriotic. I was in my early 20s, single, still figuring myself out. We had internet, but no smartphones. No swiping left or right. You had to actually talk to people. Terrifying, I know. There was this girl at my gym named Melissa. Five-nine green eyes, this gorgeous tan skin with long blonde hair. She looked like she belonged on a beach in California. I was hooked. We talked. We flirted. Turns out, she lived in the same apartment complex. Jackpot. I eventually asked her out, trying to be smooth about it. She hit me with the classic, you seem like a nice guy, but I just got out of something. Yeah, that line. But I kept hope alive. We hung out a lot. We had these evening walks around the lake in the

center of the complex. Talked about life, jobs, random stuff. Then one night, she kissed me. Just grabbed me and went for it right in front of my truck. She said, I'll see you next Tuesday. Gave me this smile that burned itself into my memory and walked off. But Tuesday came, and she didn't. No calls. No replies. Nothing. I tried reaching out. left voicemails. Nothing. Weeks passed. Then months. Eventually, I convinced myself that she just wasn't into it. Maybe she ghosted me. It sucked, but what could I do? Then one night, 3 a.m. to be exact, I got a phone call. Groggy, I answered. It was her. Carlos, she said. Do you still want me? Her voice was hollow.

flat. Like reading from a cue card. She asked me to meet her by the lake in ten minutes. Said she'd explain everything. I was confused as hell, but curiosity and feelings won over. I threw on some clothes and headed out. She was there, sitting on a bench under the big oak tree. The lights were off around the lake, and the only thing providing a glow was a light from one of the nearby buildings. But I didn't approach. Something in my gut screamed, no. I stood there, maybe 20 yards away. Watching. Then she stood. Her head started twitching violently, like a glitching video game character. Her body jerked in impossible angles. Then she crawled towards me. Crawled like an animal on all fours but in this horrifying, twisted way. I ran. Full speed back to my apartment. flew up the stairs. Thank God I hadn't locked my door. As I closed it, I heard her, or it, call out from below, don't go, Carlos.

Same voice. But wrong. It was like something was imitating her, and not doing a great job of it. I slept with a gun pointed at the door until the sun came up. Melissa. Never heard from her again. No one at the gym remembered her. The job she claimed to work at said no such person ever existed.

It hit me like a freight train, all those walks, all those conversations, no one else had ever seen us together. To this day, I don't know who or what Melissa really was. Fast forward to summer 2015. Alabama My friend Michael had this huge property out in the woods with a private lake. He invited a bunch of us over to hang by the RV his parents had just probably. out by the water. There were five of us, Mike, me, Jake, Derek, and my, let's say, friend with benefits, Carrie. We brought booze, pizza, weed, the works. Typical summer night stuff.

We were laughing, swimming, drinking, just being dumb and young. At one point, Derek, who was blitzed, pointed across the lake and shouted, look, a moose. We laughed. But I looked. And I did see something. Antlers, a bulky shape. But it wasn't a moose. It was something pretending to be one. Derek wandered off to take a selfie with it. We told him not to, but he wouldn't listen. Then we heard this wail from the woods. Not human. Not animal.

Something else. We were scared, but tried to play it cool. Then Derek vanished. We split up to look for him. Carrie and I stuck together. She got cold, so we turned back toward the fire. That's when it happened. I heard a grunt.

Turned my flashlight. And there it was. The thing with antlers. But it was standing over something bloody. Derek. Then it stood up. On two legs. It wasn't a moose.

I grabbed Carrie and we ran. She tripped, I dragged her. Jake caught up with us. Mike was gone. When we got back to the house, Mike's parents called the cops. They searched, found blood, but no bodies. We were suspects. But there was nothing they could pin on us.

The case went cold. Mike and Derek? Still missing. I know what I saw. It wasn't a guy in a costume. It wasn't an animal. I believe it was a Wendigo. And since that night, every shadow feels like it's watching me.

So yeah, that's my story. Believe me or don't. But remember, trust your gut. Don't look away. And never, ever answer a 3 a.m. call from someone who should no longer exist. The end. The night something was in the woods. And everything after, I grew up tucked deep in the woods.

woods of Illinois, way out where the GPS might as well just shrug at you. Our street didn't go anywhere, literally a dead end, and the nearest town was a good 10 miles off. The kind of place were the only folks who showed up were either neighbors or completely, hopelessly lost. We had seven houses in the area, each one wrapped up in thick trees and brush, spaced out by at least two acres. Privacy wasn't something you asked for, it was built into the geography. A weird thing about our slice of the forest, there weren't any bears or big animals. I guess they didn't find much to eat out here. No fish-filled rivers or trash-filled campgrounds, just quiet woods and empty space. It was peaceful most of the time, peaceful and eerily still. Back when I was in my

early teens, I had a buddy named Terry who lived right next door. He was older than me by a few years, which meant he got to do cool older kid stuff, like stay out late without a curfew breathing down his neck. He'd come home at midnight, sometimes later, and when he did, he had this habit of sneaking through my yard to get to his place faster. If he saw my bedroom light on, he'd throw a few pebbles at my window to see if I was still awake. My bedroom was upstairs on the second floor, facing our backyard and a narrow dirt path that connected our houses. If I peeked through the window, I could see Terry his porch in his side door. I knew he was out if the porch light was on, and if it was dark, chances were he was home or asleep. One summer night, I had my window open to let in the breeze.

I heard a car roll up in Terry's driveway and figured he was finally getting dropped off by his friends. It was maybe midnight, give or take. I listened as the car door opened, voices laughing and chatting in the warm night air. I leaned out the window and gave a whispered shout. out, Terry. Nothing. No response. Maybe he didn't hear me. So, naturally, I had a genius idea, I'd sneak outside and try to scare him. Now, this wasn't just me being reckless, I had years of forest training. Growing up out here meant you knew how to move through trees like a ninja. I was basically a ghost when I wanted to be. I slipped downstairs without a sound, snuck through the garage exit that led to our backyard, and paused to get my bearings. There was this gravel patch

behind our house, a little pit my parents made because nothing would grow in that shady spot under the oaks. The problem was, stepping on gravel at night was like firing a gun, it crunched like crazy. So I tiptoed around it carefully, using what I knew to stay quiet. I took the long way through the yard and got close to Terry's place. That's when I noticed the porch light had gone off. Weird. He'd just been dropped off. Had he gone inside already? I waited in the shadows for a while, hoping he'd come back out. Then I saw something move in the woods between our houses. Let me tell you something, no one walks through that part of the forest at night unless they're looking to get hurt. The wild rose bushes are thick, and the raspberry plants. Loaded with thorns.

It's not a place you casually wander into, especially without a flashlight. I thought maybe Terry had seen me and was trying to flip the scare around on me. It would have been a good move. But the figure I saw wasn't moving like Terry. It was creeping, real slow, and pausing every few feet like it was checking its surroundings. Watching. Hunting, maybe. Still, I was convinced it was my friend, so I crouched low and whisked.

again, Terry, nothing. So I bailed. Quietly tiptoed back to the garage and slipped inside. Maybe we both had the same idea to scare each other and just ended up boarding the mission. No big deal. I climbed back upstairs, heart still racing a bit, and checked out my window again. That's when I heard footsteps. Someone was definitely walking around in the woods, right behind our house. I leaned out and whispered for Terry again. No answer. Then something hit the ground below my window, hard. A grunt followed. Not loud enough to wake the whole house, but enough to make my blood go ice cold. It hit me then, Terry wouldn't trip in our backyard. He knew it like the back of his hand. He'd never fall over something he could walk in his sleep. Whoever was outside wasn't Terry.

I felt this heavy, cold panic settle in my chest. This wasn't a game anymore. Somebody I didn't know was out there, walking through my backyard in the dead of night. Probably looking for a way into the house. I pressed my face against the window screen, trying to see down the wall below me, but the screen made it hard to look straight down. Then I heard the gravel crunch again. Whoever it was had stepped right into the noisy path.

They didn't even try to avoid it. That was the moment I was absolutely sure, this was not my neighbor. If it had been Terry, he'd have moved around the gravel, not straight through it. He knew how strict my parents were. He knew how to sneak. Whoever this was didn't. I sat there, completely still, glued to the window. I stayed like that for what felt like an hour, probably more like 30 minutes.

I never saw anyone leave. Never heard anything else. Eventually, I dozed off. I asked Terry about it the next day, and he swore he went straight to bed after getting dropped off. Didn't even take the long way home. Whatever, or whoever, was in the woods that night, it wasn't my friend. And it wasn't an animal either, no deer or raccoons make footsteps like that.

Someone was out there. passed, and I moved out of that house. Ended up in a nearby city for a while. Population around 30,000. It wasn't too bad back in the day, quiet, working class, nothing fancy. Then the factories shut down. And man, the place just fell apart. With the jobs gone, crime moved in like a wave. Drugs, break-ins, violence. You name it. Some old housing projects in Chicago had shut down around the same time, so a lot of displaced residents were relocated to towns like mine. It wasn't the people that were the problem, it was how the system handled it, dumping everyone into already broken neighborhoods and pretending it was fine.

I know what it's like. I lived in low-income housing myself for a while. It's no joke. You get stuck with landlords who don't care if your ceiling leaks or if you've got bugs running laps around your kitchen. And when the city gives up on its own streets, you're on your own. I've seen it all. Prostitutes on the corners in the middle of the day. Drug deals going down right next to playgrounds. Once, I watched a guy get beat in the face with a baseball bat for taking someone's spot in a parking lot. Eventually, I got out. Moved away about five years ago, and it felt like freedom. But I still go back sometimes, for doctor's visits. I found some incredible doctors there who actually care, and after getting burned switching clinics too many times, I stuck with them. One afternoon,

I was in town with my mom after a doctor's appointment. We were near Main Street, the only decent looking part of the city left. Historic old buildings, nicely preserved. Kind of ironic, since two of those buildings were the county and federal courthouses. The very heart of all the city's drama, past and present. Main Street had a 15 miles per hour speed limit and a ton of stop signs. Lots of foot traffic. We were approaching one of those four-way stops when this beat-up Red Pontiac Grand A.M. pulled up beside us. It looked like it had been through a few bar fights.

A big white woman was driving, and she'd already come to a complete stop. Then, as the car rolled through the intersection, I looked in the back seat, and what I saw nearly stopped my heart. There was a young white woman in the back, her face red and soaked with tears, being held down by two black men. One had his hand over her mouth. The other had her shoulders pinned down so she couldn't move. Our eyes met for a split second, and I've never seen a look like that before.

It was raw terror. Like she knew she was about to die, and she was begging me with her eyes to do something. My body moved on autopilot. I passed through the intersection, pulled over into the first parking lot I could find, and grabbed my phone. My hands were shaking so badly it took me a second to dial 911. I gave a detailed description, the car, the people inside, the girl. Everything. But I forgot the plate number.

I still feel sick about that. The dispatcher told me they were sending patrol cars and had issued a lookout for the vehicle. I hope to see something about it on the news in the weeks after. A rescue. A report. A victory. Nothing. No headlines, no arrests.

Just silence. I pray they caught that car. I pray that girl was saved. But deep down, I have to be. have doubts. That place isn't known for its happy endings. And I can't stop thinking about the woman who was driving. Maybe it's irrational, but the hatred I feel for her is different. The guys in the back were monsters, no question. But her. She chose to help them. She sat there and drove, while another woman was suffering just inches away. There's a special kind of hell for

people like that. Let me end this with a story my dad used to tell. Gave me chills every single time. It was the early 70s into plains, Illinois. Hitchhiking was still a thing, especially for kids looking for adventure. My dad and his brother had gone fishing and were trying to thumb a ride home. Eventually, a car pulled over, normal-looking guy behind the wheel. Middle-aged, a little chubby. Nothing creepy on the surface. Dad got in the front. Uncle in the back. Everything seemed fine, until the driver reached his arm back and put his hand on my uncle's knee.

Red Flag City. My dad didn't hesitate. As soon as they hit a red light, he yanked open the door, pulled his brother out, and they ran. The guy didn't follow. Just sat there staring with those cold, dead eyes. Fast forward to 1978. My dad's flipping through the newspaper, and freezes. It's the man.

Same face. Same eyes. John Wayne Gacy. The killer who buried 33 boys in his crawl space. If my dad hadn't acted fast, I wouldn't be here telling you this. Sometimes you only get one chance to run. So yeah, there's always a reason to be afraid. These are the shadows of the Penrza's own tormented thoughts, his private scrawls, and nothing beyond.

Therefore, if the reader should find these passages to be disjointed, let him not despair. All in this world lacks any true coherence. In the end, even if you perceive yourself as possessed of perfect lucidity, it does not diminish the likelihood that, at any moment, without the slightest warning, you shall be stripped of reason and not even recognize the fact. We are all touched by madness, and no soul exists in perfect health. Sanity is but a phantom of the human mind. Having awoken one day from a sleep that was most unwholesome, feeling only a surge of relentless,

cruel chill, and with a profound aversion to all action, still caught betwixt slumber and wakefulness, I did cast my gaze through the window, to observe the environs of this day's Walsport, a place which possessed naught of distinction, save its close proximity to some village. And that day was not, it seemed, a herald of events of striking brilliance, nor of joyous celebration, for there was only a fetid and overcast sky. And all about were structures veiled in a fog of such density that nothing could be disc earned from the earth below, and I myself am situated on that uppermost level, or, rather, within that chamber, the fourth of its kind, if my memory does not betray me. Gray and nigh black clouds did weave about, drawing a pattern as of

some braid, in which was caught the gray tresses of a relentlessly hideous and abhorrent monstrosity, a semblance of humanity only partly perceived by my senses. As if some ghastly phantom, it did stir within my mind, denying even slumber, which now more closely resembles a plunge into the very abyss of forgetfulness. And that sensation itself, was most distressing, I dreaded to close my eyes, and shuddered at the slightest resistance from my orbs, as if some unseen hand did, involuntarily, touch my thin, bony shoulder, bringing forth a wave of sickness that did long endure. And even now, it seems so near.

And I am tormented by thoughts. I feel as if I am bound by another's will, and now, I desire, I desire with a terrible longing, to journey to the station, for a moment haunts my soul in which I cast myself toward the rails, and feel myself crushed between the platform and the train, should such a fate befall me. I perceive already the agony of shattered bone, of crushed entrails, of torn sinews, worse than any viscerate dangling from a carcass, and I am seized by a terrible urge to grasp my brushes and my paints, for I am unwilling to sacrifice this precious life. For it is not fitting to barter such worth for so trivial an end, unless to render it within the bounds

of a painting. The torment within my head does fill even me, its possessor, with a most dreadful amazement, and terror. These phantasmal thoughts do, at times, surge into my mind from some unseen origin, disrupting my accustomed affairs, be they of domestic duty, labor, or study. They have ever been my unwelcome companions, and I understand fully that the very content of my contemplations is not of the norm, yet, my reason appears as my foe, ever seeking to wage war upon my cold nature, and craving that surge, that surge of dangerous impetuosity, that threatens to imprison my soul within the fetid confines of some asylum for the deranged, which I now fear as I fear the very fires of the inferno. How am I to avoid plummeting into that lowest abyss?

Nonetheless, even within those surges of madness that were wrought by my thoughts, I could, effort, maintain a semblance of composure, and such was the case upon this day. Having turned, involuntarily, from the window, still observing as the clouds did smother all before me, I could not find any peace within my thoughts, but with a dismissive gesture, I did then venture into the kitchen. My repast differed not from the commonplace, a simple omelet with a cup of coffee, and no more, and my appetite did not penetrate that door, which was secured against my very will. Therefore, I did not consume it with the ravenous hunger that would have possessed a man who had languished for days during the Great Depression, 1929 to 1939, one who had recently

lost his employment, and squandered all of his accumulated income, upon the provision of his own children. Thoughts whirled within my skull, like an unending vortex, and my reason became unmoored, my hands trembled in the attempt to focus upon a single point, yet all endeavors were to no avail. Consumed by a most extraordinary disquiet, I did abandon my repast halfway through, leaving what remained upon the plate, not placing the dishes in the sink, and I did not again return to that place. My senses were now overwhelmed, my vision did grow dim, as I removed my chemise, and donned a brown checkered suit, of somewhat more presentable form, and did observe myself in the glass.

To where was I bound, in such attire? An expedition of most particular importance did await, together with my companions, and to arrive late would be most inexcusable, thus I had risen early to prepare. Yet there was not of reaction to my form upon my countenance, before me appeared but a face, that was pale as death itself, emaciated almost to the very bone, riddled with veins, most especially upon my temples. My form resembled a living skeleton, though why this be, I know not. The bags beneath my eyes were turning to that blackest of shades, which had once inspired terror,

but now, I held them in a profound indifference, for I had often seen the faces of others, amazed by my appearance, and uttering words that spoke of my likeness to a corpse. And in some manner, I am inclined to agree with them. The thing I felt. A wild stench from the smoke from the enterprises, from which I felt like a passive smoker, standing next to heavy smokers and inhaling this smoke, which disappeared with each of my breaths. My lungs seemed to refuse to fill with such air, and with such an aroma, which is why I had to cough several times in moments. Oh, God of mercy, did a discordant bell peel within the confines of my skull,

as I was brought to a standstill by such unexpectedness. What if? What if we are destined for utter failure. Yes, the semblance of this environment is a mere deception, they harbor another design, most assuredly. Perhaps, they are all in league with one another, a conspiracy in which I am but an unwitting pawn, knowing not of its true purpose. Can it be, that they converse in some language utterly alien? No, that is not possible. Ha ha, it may be that I do not comprehend, but, they shall conceal nothing from my sight. M. Hmm, they will conceal nothing. As that last word was framed in my mind, I was at the very threshold, when the following thought

did flood back, and it was not a thought that I did welcome, oh, could it be that I have forgotten something? Nay. I could have forgotten nothing, for my gaze was watchful. Ah, yes, the keys. Surely, I could not have left them within that lock. What if, even now, some intruder has penetrated my abode? O heavens!

Oh, heavens, that must not come to pass by any means. In the throes of an incomprehensible fit did I lose all comprehension of the present moment, but that was but a fleeting shadow, for as my body did stir beneath the force of a howling wind, which did seem to take on the very nature of a tempest, I awoke, yet only opened my eyes, and could not feel, nor perceive, the presence of my own form. There was no key within that lock, therefore, did I begin to rifle through my bag, which I had seized before my departure, and threw it over my shoulder, casting furtive glances at the yellowish, festering walls,

adorned with dark colors that did resemble stains and blots that were dissolving everywhere, a sight that I did find most abhorrent. Then did I glance at the floor, which was covered by dark brown canvas, and I felt the cold touch of what I knew was metal, and I was quick to extract it, and it was, the key. Oh, the relief was so immense that my deep side did seem as a great river, and it was as loud as the death rattle of a dying man. And it was then that I did fall silent and begin to gaze all around me.

Not a soul, none had noticed, none were casting those suspicious glances. None would perceive the shadows of my thoughts. A reprieve, for a second. Nevertheless, returning to a semblance of myself, I made for the stairs, old, and yet, not bereft of their former appearance, if one did not perceive the peeling paint. With every single step I took, it did seem as though my heart was about to burst from my very breast, and my breath was seized, I was forced to stop and pause, repeatedly. The ascent was not so great in length, but it appeared to me to be endless, and it did did twist like a spiral before my very eyes.

And after I had gathered myself, I once more stood before that door to the entrance, and, as I glanced, observing the hue, which now approached that of Burgundy, but it was, in truth, brown, for the paint was peeling and falling upon the stone below, did I rush away, whilst glancing back, fearful that I should forget the path. A coincidence it was, and unexpected, that we were, with our group, bound for the station, and not else, save to meet with them first, and a tremor did seize me, and my hands shook. And while I could proclaim that I was given to fits of unexpected agitation, to me, such things were mundane e, as was all else.

I did never desire to take anything sinister to heart, for I had come to believe, that the shadows were not eternal. Then I traversed the crowds. The streets were possessed of both noise and a great inflexibility in their sound, merchants cried out, from some unknown source, the stalls did tremble in the gusts of the wind, and from some distance, I could discern, by my bread. I have baked it myself. There was even one who did hawk tobacco.

But one sensation, I could not deny, the wild stench from the smoke of the manufactories, and I felt like a passive smoker, standing next to one who did partake in such practice with great zeal, inhaling that smoke, which did depart with my each breath. My lungs did refuse to fill with such air, and with such a scent, which forced me to cough, repeatedly, in a short period of time. And there was one square, which remained the sole exception in Walsport, bereft of name, its marker but a crude circle, and not beyond, that was distinguished by its arcane embellishment. Stones of varied hues and shapes, arranged with meticulous precision into an ancient mosaic,

encircled by a ring of gray bricks, did glimmer as if possessed by some inner fire. And, it would seem, they composed a scene of a subject so shrouded in mystery that no mortal mind could unravel it, a man struck through the heart by a spear, wielded by a shadow, wrought of ebony stones, while at that very point of violent entry, and from which the weapon did emerge, a grim monument rose, crafted of bronze, depicting some monstrous entity with clocks, hung upon chain S, in its left hand, which far exceeded in size the breadth of its palm, nay, perhaps, even its entire limb. Encompassing this mosaic and the looming monument was not but a barren expanse,

no dwellings, no taverns, no inns, and no trifling adornments did appear, only this desolate space, that did disrupt the perimeter with three diverging paths. Rarely did any carriage traverse this square, to behold one seemed a feat most improbably. and when they did present themselves to the eye, they appeared but abominable visions, vanishing as swiftly as they came, when some unfortunate soul, broken by a torrent of rising dread, did turn abruptly. And that feeling was most vile, as it surged through me, accompanied by a frosty draft, or so it seemed, that left me shivering from head to heal. From such turnings, I was oft seized by a burning sensation, most peculiar, yet, with a quality that was painful,

yet, not agonizing. Still, I did cast my gaze upon it for a while, and, it would seem, admired those empty surroundings, embracing that long-awaited silence, and then did turn towards the right, directly to that path which presented itself first to mine eyes. Thereupon, a few paces hence, the aspect of the streets changed, and the discordant clamor did re-establish itself, for the station was but a few miles distant, and as for the ticket, no worry was there to be had, for all was arranged, since, at the behest of my superiors, my colleagues and I were upon this journey of affairs, to employ the local vernacular. I then recalled that until now, I had never traversed such quarters, had never been, or, perchance,

had been. Nay, I had been. A treachery of my own memory. And then did I emit what seemed a most profound sigh, and I once more perceived that river, a winding stream that flowed, not in a long thread, but in a spiraling descent. My steps did echo in my ears amidst this din, and were, it did seem, far more resounding than the din itself, yet, well it was, that they did not defen me, a blessing that I would not lose my hearing. And I did notice none, but went upon my path, which seemed at times, but a narrow

tunnel, and not else did I see beyond that, for all around me did blur, as if it were the vision of one who was sightless, who beheld a world that was far apart from this. Alas, I have not the slightest knowledge of how long I went, when I did finally arrive at the station and surveyed all they're at. Through the putrid walls of that station, water did seem to seep, drop by agonizing drop, moistening the cement that did bind together a myriad of dark, earthy bricks, which appeared to be, moment, upon the precipice of collapse, ready to fall upon me. Such was my perception. The gates were so frail, that their very fastenings did struggle to maintain their hold,

the sable paint, alas, did not appear truly black, but rather did blend to the hue of tarnished copper, though, the color did change from time to time. To the right of the gate, upon a massive hook, hung an enormous bell, already about to shatter the failing metal beneath its mass, and when a guard did approach, though, he remained invisible, a chilling sound did erupt, and that nearly deafened me. It was unlike the sound of my footsteps. Soon, with a creak that was like a needle in my ear, did the gates open, and I did proceed with a slow pace to the square. After presenting my tickets and the papers, I would have rushed directly to the platform, but my intentions were stayed by a hand that did abruptly seize my shoulder.

Intentionally, I did declare, did you touch me? Why, brother, there followed a voice that was most familiar, you did not seem thus yesterday. Do you not recognize me? Those words were sufficient to make me turn to their speaker, and how great was my astonishment to perceive, before me, my four colleagues, I had thought they would not arrive at the same T-I-M-E. It was strange that I had entertained the thought, that something might not proceed as was intended, or that I did not perceive, had not perceived, that such a thing might occur.

Neil, I did murmur in shame, lowering my head, you, my companions, must forgive my folly, what devil makes you seek forgiveness? Greg, who stood beside Neil, did exclaim, as he adjusted his flax and rags, you are likely weary from yesterday, thus, you do grow foolish in your delirium. What am I raving of? Well, Neil did interject, trouble not yourself. He does exaggerate. Let us proceed, my gaze did become rigid, according to the feelings that did possess me,

as Neil did pat me twice upon my shoulder, and then did we march towards the platform, and once we had left the door behind, there were visible only two deep pits at the perimeter. How should I tread, so as not to fall into them, and I desired, I desired to see that image that was present to my sight as I awoke in the morning. I desire to, no, that is not to be. In no way, should such a thing come to pass. Oh, heavens, what is this? Is it truly I? No. One fleeting instant, and I was everywhere, and nowhere. Everywhere, yet, nowhere. In a chasm such as no mortal had ever witnessed, nor ever endured. All did dissolve before me, and gradually, a darkness did take hold before my gaze, and so did blacken my vision. My body no longer obeyed my will, and,

it did seem that I was in some state that lay beyond understanding. That force did drag me again into some place, but this time, it was into the void. From afar, or, perchance, close by, I could hear only the frenzied cries of those who passed, while some did beg for help in an attempt to escape that unknown place, yet I was devoid of any perception of their plight. Neil and Greg, their cries did reach my ears, but I did not comprehend, for the sounds were as blurred as an echo, and I could perceive only the beating of my own heart and the sound of convulsive inhalations. Not could I hear beyond those sounds, and those very sounds did deaf and all else. Then, suddenly, silence, a deathly silence. A void of sound, and nothing more.

Darkness, and nothing more. And, in the passing of some moments, it did become clear that it would not retreat, never. Despair was born within my very chest. It was as if all of my plans were being destroyed in this chasm. And an even greater despair did seize me, as I reopened my eyes. There was not around me, except soft walls, stitched in a large pattern of squares, and hearing did return, though I could not understand what had befallen me. Hold, on, below, lisping voice did suddenly echo from some distance, what, precisely, is the matter. Likely, he did push a man, another responded, and, the man was crushed betwixt that platform and the onrushing train, so, how?

How did he have the will to commit such an act? Let us delve into his very skull and learn. P.S. This is purely the work of my own fantasy, so everything I had penned here is not real. Though I may be a beginner in writing and telling stories I do still practice and improve my skills. Page one, the city slept, cocooned in the silence of the night. Streetlights cast long shadows across the deserted alleyways, their flickering glow painting the urban landscape in shades of amber and gray. From the depths of the darkness emerged a figure, moving with purpose through the labyrinthine streets.

Detective Jack Monroe walked alone, his footsteps echoing against the pavement like the steady beat of a heart. He was a solitary figure, a shadow among shadows, haunted by the ghosts of the past. His trench coat billowed behind him, a cloak of anonymity in a city teeming with secrets. As Jack rounded a corner, his keen eyes caught sight of the crime scene ahead, a dimly lit alley strewn with debris and decay. Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze, marking the boundaries of the macabre tableau that lay within.

Approaching with measured steps, Jack surveyed the scene with a practiced eye. The victim lay sprawled on the ground, bathed in the harsh glare of the overhead lights. Blood stained the pavement, a stark reminder of the violence that had shattered. the tranquillity of the night. Kneeling beside the body, Jack felt the weight of the moment settle upon him like a heavy burden. Another life lost, another soul stolen away by the darkness that lurked in the heart of the city. But Jack was no stranger to death, he had seen its face too many times to count, etched in the lines of grief and despair that marked his own weary countenance. With a sigh, Jack turned his attention to the task at hand. The investigation had only just begun,

but already he could sense the tendrils of deception winding their way through the tangled web of clues. There were answers to be found, secrets to be uncovered, and justice to be served. And so, as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, casting long shadows across the city once more, Detective Jack Monroe began his solitary vigil, a lone sentinel in a world consumed by darkness. Page two, the city stirred to life as dawn painted the skyline in hues of pink and gold. Jack stood amidst the bustling streets, the memory of the crime scene still fresh in his mind. He could feel the weight of the case pressing down on him, a relentless reminder of the lives lost and the justice yet to be served. With determination etched in his features,

Jack made his way to the precinct, where the hum of activity greeted him like an old friend. He passed officers huddled around desks, pouring over case files and sipping lukewarm coffee. Their weary faces mirrored his own, a testament to the toll that the job took on those who dared to walk the thin blue line. Entering his cluttered office, Jack sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. He retrieved the case file from his desk, a dossier of photos, witness statements, and forensic reports. Each piece of evidence was a puzzle piece waiting to be fitted into place, a clue that could bring him one step closer to the truth. As he poured over the documents, Jack's thoughts turned to his new partner, Sarah Evans. He had yet to meet her in person, but he had heard whispers of her brilliance, the way she could

unravel the darkest recesses of the human mind with a single glance. Perhaps, he thought, she would be the ally he needed to crack the case wide open. With a sense of anticipation tingling in his veins, Jack resolved to seek out Sarah and enlist her help in the investigation. For in a city where shadows danced and secrets whispered, two heads were always better than one. Page three, meanwhile, in a secluded corner of the city, Sarah Evans sat alone in her office, surrounded by shelves lined with dusty tomes and psychological journals. The soft glow of lamplight cast her features in shadow, lending an air of mystery to the room.

Sarah was lost in thought, her mind drifting back to the phone call she had received from Detective Monroe, earlier that morning. His voice had been gruff and to the point, yet there was a hint of desperation beneath the surface, a plea for help that she could not ignore. As she mulled over the details of the case, Sarah felt a surge of excitement course through her veins. The opportunity to work alongside someone as renowned as Detective Monroe was a rare privilege, one she intended to make the most of. Gathering her belongings, Sarah made her way to the precinct, her mind buzzing with anticipation.

She knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but she was determined to prove herself worthy of the task at hand. Arriving at the precinct, Sarah was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling office. She exchanged nods with officers as she made her way to Detective Monroe's office, her heart pounding with anticipation. As she knocked on the door, Sarah couldn't help but wonder what awaited her on the other side. Little did she know, the answers she sought lay just beyond the threshold, waiting to be uncovered in the shadows of deceit. Page four, Detective Monroe looked up from his desk as Sarah entered the room, her presence commanding attention despite her petite frame.

He rose to greet her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. Detective Monroe, I presume. Sarah said, extending her hand in greeting. That's me, Jack replied, shaking her hand firmly. And you must be Sarah Evans. I've heard a lot about you. Sarah's cheeks flushed with color at the compliment.

Likewise, detective. I'm eager to get started on the case. Good, Jack said, gesturing for her to take a seat. We've got our work cut out for us, but I have a feeling that with your expertise, we might just crack this thing wide open. Sarah nodded, her eyes sparkling with determination, I'm ready for whatever comes our way, detective.

Together, I believe we can bring the truth to light. With that, the two partners set to work, pouring over the case file and brainstorming ideas. As they delved deeper into the investigation, they uncovered a tangled web of lies and deceit, a labyrinth of secrets that threatened to consume them both. But Jack and Sarah were undeterred. With each new clue they unearthed, they grew closer to, unraveling the mystery that had gripped the city in fear. For in the shadows of deceit, they knew that the light of truth would always prevail. Page 5, the partnership between Detective Jack

Monroe and Sarah Evans blossomed as they delved deeper into the investigation. Their days were filled with tireless pursuit of leads, interviews with witnesses, and analysis of forensic evidence. Together, they formed a formidable team, each bringing their own expertise to the table. Their investigation took them to all corners of the city, from the opulent high-rises of downtown to the gritty-back alleys of the industrial district. They interviewed witnesses, analyzed surveillance footage, and pieced together the intricate puzzle of the killer's motives. But despite their best efforts, the killer remained elusive, a shadowy figure lurking just beyond their grasp. Jack and Sarah worked around the clock, fueled by a fierce determination to bring the perpetrator to justice, and put an end to the reign of terror that gripped the city. As they sifted through the evidence,

Jack and Sarah uncovered a pattern linking the murders, a cryptic series of symbols left behind at each crime scene. These symbols hinted at a hidden message, a puzzle waiting to be solved. With renewed determination, Jack and Sarah embarked on a quest to decipher the meaning behind the symbols. Their journey led them down a twisting path of ancient lore and modern conspiracy, as they unearthed secrets buried deep within the city's murky past. Their investigation took them to forgotten archives and dusty libraries, where they poured over centuries old texts and manuscripts in search of clues. They consulted experts in cryptography and linguistics, seeking answers in the most unlikely of places. But as they delve deeper into the mystery, they soon realized that

they were not the only ones hunting for the truth. A shadowy organization lurked in the shadows, Their motives shrouded in secrecy and their reach extending far beyond the confines of the city. Page 6. Meanwhile, the killer watched from the shadows, their grip on the city tightening with each passing day. They reveled in the chaos they had unleashed, a master puppeteer pulling the strings from behind the scenes. But even the most meticulous plans could be undone by the unexpected. As Jack and Sarah closed in on the truth, the killer's facade began to crumble, revealing the vulnerability. beneath the mask of deception. The killer's layer, hidden beneath the facade of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, was a chilling testament to their madness. Photos adorned

the walls, each one a haunting reminder of lives lost and innocence shattered. Clues littered the floor, a mosaic of madness and obsession that spoke volumes about the mind behind the murders. As they combed through the evidence, Jack's gaze fell upon a photograph, a face from his past, staring back at him with accusing eyes. It was a revelation that rocked him to his core, dredging up memories long buried beneath layers of guilt and regret. With the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, Jack and Sarah raced against time to apprehend the killer

before they could claim their next victim. Their pursuit led them through the city's darkest alleys and most treacherous neighborhoods, each step bringing them closer to the heart of the darkness. But as they closed in on their quarry, they found themselves ensnared in a deadly game of cat and mouse. The killer had laid a trap, and now Jack and Sarah found themselves fighting for their lives against an adversary more cunning and ruthless than they could have ever imagined.

In a pulse-pounding showdown, Jack and Sarah confronted the killer in a final showdown that would determine the fate of the city. With adrenaline coursing through their veins, they squared off against their nemesis, each determined to emerge victorious. Page 7. The air crackled with tension as the battle raged on, a symphony of violence and desperation echoing through the empty halls of the warehouse. In the end, it would come down to a test of wills, a battle not just of strength, but of resolve and conviction. With a final, desperate lunge, Jack and Sarah overpowered the killer, bringing an end to their reign of terror once and for all. As the dust settled and the echoes of the struggle faded into silence,

They stood victorious, the weight of their victory heavy upon their shoulders. But the cost of their triumph was steep. The city lay scarred and wounded, its street stained with blood and its citizens gripped by fear. And for Jack and Sarah, the battle was far from over, a new dawn was on the horizon, but the shadows of the past still lingered, waiting to be confronted. In the aftermath of the ordeal, Jack and Sarah found solace in each other's company, their bond forged in the crucible of adversity. Together, they vowed to rebuild what had been lost,

to bring hope to a city shrouded in darkness. As they walked the streets once more, the sun shining bright overhead, they knew that their journey was far from over. But with each step they took, they carried with them the lessons learned and the strength gained from their shared ordeal. Page 8, the city began to heal,

its wounds slowly fading beneath the passage of time. Jack and Sarah continued their work as guardians of the night, ever vigilant against the forces of darkness that threatened to engulf their home. But even as they fought to protect the city, they knew that the shadows of deceit would always linger, waiting for the opportunity to strike once more. And so, they remained ever vigilant, ready to confront whatever challenges lay ahead. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, life returned to normal in the city. The memory of the murders began to be able to.

to fade, replaced by the hustle and bustle of everyday life. But for Jack and Sarah, the scars of their ordeal remained, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked just beneath the surface. And though they knew that the shadows of deceit would always be there, they took comfort in the knowledge that they would face them together, as partners in the never-ending battle against evil. Page 9. In the quiet moments between cases, Jack found himself reflecting on the events that had brought him to this point. He thought of the victims, the lives cut short by senseless violence, and he vowed to never forget them, to honor their memory with each day he spent fighting for justice. Sarah, too, found herself grappling with the aftermath of their

ordeal. She knew that the scars ran deep, but she also knew that they had emerged stronger for having faced them together. With Jack by her side, she felt a sense of purpose and determination that she had never known before. But even as they sought to move forward, the past had a way of creeping into the present. A new case landed on Jack's desk, one that bore a striking resemblance to the murders that had plagued the city months before. Page 10, as he poured over the evidence, Jack felt a chill run down his spine. Could it be that the killer had returned, or was this merely a cruel twist of fate? With a sense of dread gnawing at his gut, Jack knew that he had to act to prevent history from repeating itself. With a renewed sense of purpose, Jack and Sarah

threw themselves into the new case, determined to uncover the truth before it was too late. They combed through witness statements, analyzed forensic evidence, and followed every lead with dogged determination. But as they delved deeper into the investigation, they soon realized that this case was unlike any they had encountered before. The killer's methods were more brutal, their motives more inscrutable, and their trail more elusive. Page 11, as the investigation progressed, tensions ran high between Jack and Sarah. The pressure of the case weighed heavily upon them,

straining their partnership and testing their resolve. But even in their darkest moments, they found solace in each other's company. Together, they weathered the storm, drawing strength from their shared bond and the knowledge that they were not alone in their fight. With each passing day, the killer's grip on the city tightened, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

Jack and Sarah raced against time to stop them, their every move shadowed by the specter of death. But just when it seemed that all hope was lost, a breakthrough came, a clue, hidden in plain sight, that would lead them to the killer's lair. With hearts pounding and adrenaline coursing through their veins, they prepared to confront their nemesis once and for all. page 12. In a pulse-pounding climax, Jack and Sarah faced off against the killer in a final showdown that would determine the fate of the city. With every ounce of strength and determination they possessed, they fought tooth and nail against their adversary, refusing to back down in the face of overwhelming odds. In the end, it would come down to a test of wills, a battle not just of strength, but of resolve and conviction.

And as the dust settled and the echoes of the struggle faded into silence, Jack and Sarah emerged victorious, their bond stronger than ever before. With the killer brought to justice and the city safe once more, Jack and Sarah looked to the future with hope in their hearts. Though the shadows of deceit would always linger, they knew that as long as they stood together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead. And so, hand in hand, they walked into the sunset, their faces turned towards the horizon and the promise of a new day. For in the end, they had learned that even in the darkest of times, there was always light to be found, if only you knew where to look. Page 13, as Jack and Sarah emerged from the warehouse, the weight of their victory hung heavy in the air. The city lay quiet around them, the echoes of their struggle fading into the night. But even as they caught their breath, they knew that their work was far from over.

The streets were still littered with the remnants of the killer's reign of terror, and the scars of their ordeal ran deep. But Jack and Sarah were undeterred. They had faced down the darkness and emerged victorious, and now they were ready to reclaim the city they loved. With renewed determination, they set to work, scouring the streets for any sign of the killer's presence. They followed every lead, chased down every rumor, determined to ensure that no stone was left unturned in their pursuit of justice. Page 14, but even as they worked tirelessly to bring closure to the victims and their families, Jack and Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. There was a lingering sense of unease, a gnawing doubt that whispered in the back of their minds. As they dug deeper into the killer's motives, they uncovered a tangled web of lies and deceit,

a conspiracy that reached far beyond the confines of the city. It seemed that the killer was just a pawn in a much larger game, one that threatened to engulf them all in its shadowy embrace. Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, Jack and Sarah delved into the heart of the conspiracy, following the trail of breadcrumbs wherever it led. But the deeper they dug, the more elusive the truth became, slipping through their fingers like grains of sand.

Page 15, their investigation led them to a shadowy cabal of power brokers and puppet masters, their influence extending to every corner of the city. Behind closed doors, deals were struck and alliances forged, each one a thread in the intricate tapestry of deceit that bound them together. But as Jack and Sarah peeled back the layers of the conspiracy, they soon realized that they were not alone in their quest. There were others who sought to uncover the truth, each with their own agenda and their own secrets to protect. Caught in a web of intrigue and betrayal, Jack and Sarah found themselves racing against time to unravel the mystery before it was too late. But with danger lurking around every corner,

they knew that the stakes had never been higher. Page 16, as they delved deeper into the conspiracy, Jack and Sarah found themselves drawn into a world of danger and deception. They faced off against corrupt officials, ruthless mercenaries, and shadowy assassins, each one determined to protect the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface. But even in the face of overwhelming odds, Jack and Sarah refused to back down. They fought tooth and nail against their adversaries, refusing to let fear or doubt cloud their judgment. With each victory, they grew stronger, their resolve stealing them against the forces

arrayed against them. And though the road ahead was fraught with peril, they knew that as long as they stood together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead. Page 17, but even as they battled against the darkness, Jack and Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. There were eyes everywhere, lurking in the shadows and peering out from the darkness, their gaze following their every move. It was a feeling that sent a chill down their spines, a sense of impending doom that hung heavy in

the air. But no matter how hard they tried to shake it, the feeling lingered, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked just beyond their sight. With each passing day, the conspiracy tightened its grip on the city, its tendrils reaching ever deeper into the heart of the darkness. But Jack and Sarah refused to be cowed. They continued to fight for justice, their determination unwavering in the face of adversity. Page 18, as they raced against time to uncover the truth, Jack and Sarah found themselves drawn into a deadly game of cat and mouse. Their ever Adversaries were always one step ahead, their movements shrouded in secrecy and their motives unclear.

But Jack and Sarah were no strangers to danger. They had faced down death before, and they came to the truth, the more dangerous their quest became. They were hunted by unseen forces, their every move anticipated and countered by those who sought to keep their secrets buried. Yet, in the face of adversity, Jack and Sarah remained resolute. They refused to be intimidated, their determination burning brighter with each obstacle they faced. For they knew that the truth was worth fighting for, no matter the cost.

Their investigation took them to the darkest corners of the city, where the stench of corruption hung heavy in the air. They encountered double crosses and betrayals at every turn, forcing them to question the loyalty of those they once trusted. But amid the chaos and deceit, a glimmer of hope emerged. They discovered allies in unexpected places, brave souls willing to risk everything to help them uncover the truth and bring the perpetrators to justice. Page 19, as their investigation reached its climax, Jack and Sarah found themselves standing on the precipice of discovery. They had uncovered the final piece of the puzzle, a revelation that would shake the foundations of the city to its core. But before they could act, they were ambushed by their adversaries, trapped in a deadly showdown that would determine, the fate of the city. With bullets flying in danger lurking around every corner, they fought with

all their might, determined to emerge victorious no matter the cost. In the chaos of the battle, Jack and Sarah faced their greatest challenge yet. They stared death in the face and refused to blink, their courage bolstered by the knowledge that they fought for something greater than themselves. Page 20, and then, in a blinding flash of light, it was over. The smoke cleared, the gunfire ceased, and Jack and Sarah emerged from the wreckage battered but victorious. Their adversaries lay defeated at their feet, their plans foiled, and their secrets laid bare for all to see. As the city breathed the collective sigh of relief, Jack and Sarah stood triumphant, their journey at an end. They had faced down the darkness and emerged stronger for it,

their bond unbreakable in the face of adversity. But even as they celebrated their victory, they knew that their work was far from over. For the shadows of deceit would always linger, waiting for the opportunity to strike once more. And so, hand in hand, they walked into the sunset, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. As they disappeared into the horizon, the city lay quiet around them,

the echoes of their struggle fading into the night. But in the hearts of those who had witnessed their bravery, their legacy would live on, a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness. And so ends the tale of shadows of deceit, a story of courage, resilience, and the enduring power of friendship. May its lessons inspire future generations to stand up against injustice and fight for what is right, no matter the odds.

Finn Trescoat, a 20-year-old with short dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion, strolled down the sidewalk of his small town. He wore a light brown leather jacket over a black shirt, paired with black jeans and black and white sneakers. As Finn ambled along, he glanced at the many shops lining the main road of the town's bustling center. He wasn't searching for anything in particular, he simply wanted to enjoy the rare day off from his job, one of the most perilous occupations in the United West, UW. Finn Oh, Finn

Finn turned his head to the right and spotted Miss Tori all order, or simply Miss Tori as he called her. She was an older lady in her early 50s, though her youthful appearance often surprised the townsfolk. With long white hair cascading down her back, pale skin, and bright hazel eyes, she was a striking figure. Today, she wore a navy blue sundress over a pair of tight blue jeans and brown cowboy boots. Miss Torrey, the local bakery owner, was considered quite attractive and often caught the eye of the younger men in town. Her curvaceous figure and active lifestyle, including regular yoga sessions in the park, only added to her allure. However, Finn saw her differently. Having known her since childhood and feeling like part of her family, he saw her as a maternal figure rather than anything else. He was also close to her son, Eric, feeling like an older brother.

brother to him. Despite his demanding job, which kept him busy for nearly 24-7, Finn always tried to visit Ms. Tori in Eric whenever he could. Today was a rare opportunity for him to relax and reconnect. Ah, hi, Miss Tori. How are you today? Finn greeted her with a warm smile. Miss Tori returned his smile. I'm just fine, Finn. The real question is, how are you? I have haven't seen you in months. Her tone shifted to one of concern. I was worried, and so was Eric. You do have quite a dangerous job for someone so young, she added. What kind of dangerous job did Finn have, you might ask? Well, Finn was a, Gondhunter, a member of a specialized group tasked with safeguarding the small towns outside the major cities in the United West from creatures

known as Gauntz. These slim, humanoid creatures had leathery black skin, no eyes or nose, and wide mouths that drooled a strange dark green liquid. They had emerged after the cataclysmic decade of winter. The Gaunts varied in form and capability. Some were very muscular, while others had bat-like wings, allowing them to fly. They were also cunning, often creating weapons from scavenged materials and hunting in packs. Discerbingly, these were just the common variants. There were tales of Gaunt's resembling animals and some that could even speak, though Finn himself had never encountered such anomalies. Despite the ominous title of Gaunt Hunter, Finn's role wasn't as glamorous as one might imagine. He wasn't a high-tech, gadget-wielding

hero. Gaunt hunters received training similar to regular police officers, focusing on the use of firearms. However, since firearms were not commonly traded or ship to the smaller towns outside the major cities, Gaunt hunters were also taught to wield swords, knives, and other melee weapons, as well as trained in close-range combat. Finn had been trained to fire a pistol but also learned to fight with a machete, which was more practical for their needs than a traditional sword. On duty, he carried a standard-issue Glock 17 and a machete strapped to his side. He also wore the standard protective gear issued to United West Security Forces, UWSF, officers. Returning to the conversation with Ms. Torrey, Finn let out a lighthearted chuckle.

Dangerous for most of the veterans on the job, but I'm young and fit. Practically invincible, he said with a grin. Ms. Tori gave Finn an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow. Is that right, she asked. Then what's this I hear about a gaunt nearly ten? taking your head off just last week. Finn's face flushed with embarrassment as he recalled the incident. A gaunt had caught him off guard and nearly decapitated him with a makeshift axe.

Okay, yeah, fair enough, he admitted, looking down. Ms. Torrey's expression softened, and she gave him a few light taps on the shoulder. Oh, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Finn, I'm just reminding you that your job is dangerous. You need to be careful, she said gently. Finn looked up at her and nodded. I know, and thank you for caring, he replied. Inwardly, he thought, it's not like anyone else does. Of course, I care, Finn, Miss Torrey said firmly.

Do you know how devastated I'd be if you got hurt or, heaven forbid, died? I'd be heartbroken, she told him. Eric would be even worse off, after all, who would play with you. with him. Finn felt a wave of warmth at her words. Despite not wanting to worry Miss Torrey or Eric, it was comforting to know there were people who cared about him, and who wanted him to stay safe and come back home. I guess you're right, he said with a soft smile. I'll try to be more careful out there, I promise. Ms. Tori nodded, her smile lingering. Good, she said. Now, how many days do you have off, she asked. Not many.

Finn replied with a sigh. Just today, Ms. Torrey's eyes widened in shock. Only today. Why? She asked. Finn's expression turned serious. Many of the other Gaunt hunters are either dead, retiring, or switching to become cops. There are only ten of us left in the entire town.

Ms. Tori's eyes widened in horror. Gaunt hunters were the primary defense against the Gaunt's. The law across the UW dictated that local law enforcement dealt with human issues, leaving Gaunt-related threats to the hunters. The thought of their numbers dwindling was terrifying. Each town was supposed to have a contingent of Gaunt hunters, given that small towns were the primary targets for gaunt attacks. Major cities, in contrast, rarely had to deal with Gaunt's.

The dense populations of these urban centers acted as a deterrent, scaring off most Gaunt packs. Even if a small group of gauntz did manage to attack, the cities were equipped with heavy weaponry in advanced defenses, making gaunt hunters unnecessary there. This starkly contrasted with the dire need for gaunt hunters in the smaller, more vulnerable towns. Ideally, each small town would have around 50 gaunt hunters, a number intended to ensure adequate protection against the gaunt threat. However, the reality was far grimmer. The inherent dangers and heavy responsibilities associated with the job dissuaded many from becoming gaunt hunters. The perilous nature of the work, combined with the constant threat of death, resulted in a severe shortage of recruits.

As a result, the numbers in many towns had dwindled alarmingly. Only ten, she repeated her voice barely above a whisper. That's alarming. What happens if more gaunts come? We do our best, Finn said, trying to sound confident. But it's tough. Every day, we're stretched thinner. Ms. Tori took a deep breath, trying to process the gravity of the situation. Finn felt a lump in his throat.

I promise, Miss Tori. I'll do everything I can to stay safe, he said, trying to remind her if his promise mere moments ago. Miss Tori wanted to argue with Finn's comment, but deep down, she knew he was somewhat right. The town was struggling, trade had slowed to a trickle, and many residents had moved away. The constant threat of gaunt attacks made living there increasingly untenable. Even Ms. Tori had considered leaving to ensure Eric's safety and to give him a chance to grow up in a more stable environment where he could interact with other children and experience the broader world. However, she couldn't bring herself to leave.

Her late husband was buried in this town, and even though years had passed since his death, she felt tied to the place where he rested. She had loved this town deeply, and in a way, staying felt like keeping a part of him alive. Seeing the conflict in her eyes, Finn decided to change the subject. Hey, why don't I come over for dinner, he suggested with a soft smile. I'm sure Eric would be happy to see me after so long, Miss Tori was pulled out of her thoughts by his offer. She smiled, grateful for his willingness to spend his rare day off with them. That would be lovely, Finn, she said with a quick nod.

They walked together to Miss Tori's home, a modest three-bedroom house with a large attic. Inside, they found Eric sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons. hearing Finn's voice, Eric turned, his face lighting up with excitement. He jumped out of his seat and ran to give Finn a hug. Eric was about 11 years old, with brown hair like his deceased father but hazel eyes like his mother. He was wearing a dark black and blue striped shirt, dark gray pants, and black slip-on shoes. Finn hugged him back, smiling. I've got some stories to tell over dinner, he said, which made Eric's eyes.

sparkle with anticipation. He loved hearing about the world beyond their town, even if it was mostly filled with woods and the ruins of an old world. Finn then followed Ms. Torrey into the kitchen to help prepare dinner. He found what he could and handed the items to her, glad to be of assistance. Ms. Tori thanked him and asked if he could help chop vegetables, which he was more than happy to do. As they worked side by side, Miss Tori glanced at Finn, her expression a mix of gratitude and concern. You know, Finn, this town means a lot to me, she told him, it's where I built my life with my husband, and it's where I want Eric to grow up, despite everything. Finn nodded, understanding the deep attachment she had. I get it, Miss Torrey. This place has a lot of memories,

and as long as I'm here, I'll do my best to keep it safe for you and Eric. Ms. Tori smiled warmly. I know you will, Finn. Thank you. Dinner, was a warm, lively affair. Eric listened intently to Finn's stories, hanging on every word. The laughter and conversation filled the small home, creating a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their world. For a brief time, the threats outside seemed distant, and they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together. After a few bites, Eric looked at Finn eagerly. Can you tell me one of your stories, Finn? He asked, his eyes bright with anticipation. Finn nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food.

Well, a couple of days ago, I was out with two or three other hunters, we had just finished fighting off a few gaunts, once they were dealt with, we decided to explore the area since it was the site of an old abandoned amusement park, he began. Some of the rides were still standing, though most were broken and destroyed, it was interesting to see the tech they used to have back then, Finn recounted. Eric's eyes widened with excitement. Wow. That's awesome, he exclaimed. Finn grinned.

It was pretty cool, but it's nothing compared to some of the parks I saw in Salton Lake City. Those places are amazing. Eric's eyes gleamed at the mention of the nearby city. Man, I want to go there someday, he said enthusiastically. Maybe when I start my training to be a gaunt hunter, he added with a big smile. Finn chuckled. So, you want to be a gaunt hunter, huh, he asked. You think you've got what it takes?

Eric nodded vigorously. Aha. I know I can be a gaunt hunter. I bet I can even be better than you, he declared, pointing at Finn. Finn raised an eyebrow, amused. Oh really, he said. Who's to say I'm not the best of the best, huh? Eric gave him a smug smirk.

Because if you were the best hunter, you'd have already gotten rid of all the gaunts, he said confidently. Finn chuckled. Well, you got me there, he admitted. But hey, if you think you can be the best and get rid of all the gaunts, then I say go for it, dude. Eric chuckled and resumed eating, his enthusiasm undimmed. Miss Torrey watched the two with a fond smile, marveling at the brotherly bond between them. It warmed her heart to see how close they had become. She knew that Finn cherished this connection just as much as Eric did, especially since Finn had grown up without a family of his own, raised in the local orphanage.

She recalled those early days when a young Finn would walk into the bakery, clutching a few coins. His eyes would light up with wonder at the sight of the treats and goodies lining the shelves. Something about him had touched her heart, and she began offering him free treats for him and the other orphans whenever he visited. Her late husband had also taken a liking to Finn, treating him like the son they never had. When Finn decided to become a gaunt hunter, it was her husband who had helped him prepare for the rigorous training, getting him into shape and offering constant encouragement. After her husband's death, it was Finn who helped her grieve and find the strength to carry on. She had felt terrible about leaning on him during such a hard time, knowing he had his own

sadness to deal with, yet he remained steadfast and strong. He had been there for her and for Eric, helping the young boy understand their loss and navigate the difficult times that followed. She was truly grateful to have Finn in her life. Suddenly, Finn's phone vibrated insistently in his pocket. He quickly reached for it and saw a text message from work. He opened it, dreading what it might say. Finn, we need you tonight. John and Gary quit out of the blue, so we need someone to fill in. Finn sighed, frustration bubbling up inside him. Great, now we're down to eight hunters, he thought. And John and Gary were both my age and in better shape than the veterans at the station. Ms. Torrey noticed the change in his

expression and knew immediately what it meant. Does duty call, Finn, she asked gently. Finn nodded, his expression weary. Yeah, looks like John and Gary quit. They need me to cover tonight. Miss Tori sighed, placing a comforting hand on his arm. I'm sorry, Finn. I know how much you are looking forward to some time off. It's all right, Finn said, forcing a smile. I knew it was a long shot anyway.

The town needs all the help it can get. Eric looked up, concern etched on his young face. Do you have to go, Finn? Finn ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. Yeah, buddy. Duty calls. But I'll be back, and we'll have more stories to share. I promise.

Miss Torrey gave him a supportive nod. Just promise us you'll stay safe, Finn. I will, Finn assured her. He stood up, preparing to leave. Thanks for dinner, Miss Tori. It was great, as always. As he left the warm, comforting atmosphere of Ms. Tori's home and headed out into the cold night, Finn felt a renewed sense of purpose.

Despite the exhaustion and the ever-present danger, he knew he had to keep fighting. For the town, for Eric, and for the memory of the man who had helped him become who he was. Once at the station, Finn entered and immediately spotted Dick Cortez, a veteran Gaunt hunter who had been safeguarding the town for as long as Finn could remember. Dick, now in his 50s, had graying hair, deep-set wrinkles, and perpetually tired eyes. He was wearing the standard-issue armor that all gaunt hunters received, though each hunter was allowed to customize their armor with different colors and modifications. Dick's armor consisted of a high-collar black shirt beneath a modified, pure black chest plate

that covered his upper abdomen, along with similarly colored bracers. Both the chest plate and bracers were trimmed with white and. and featured matching shoulder pads. He also wore gloves with small metal plating on the fingers, dark navy jeans, black and white metal knee pads, and dark brown boots. Dick noticed Finn and offered a small smile. Heya, Finn, he greeted. Hey yourself, Dick, Finn replied with a nod. Sorry about having to bring you in on your day off, Dick said, his tone genuinely apologetic. Finn walked over to his locker where his armor and weapons were stored. He glanced at Dick and shrugged, giving a small smile.

It's all right, Dick. I understand why, and I'm not angry, well, not at you, but at those two, Finn said, referring to John and Gary. Dick nodded in understanding. Trust me, I'm disappointed in them too, but I can see why they left so suddenly, he said. Finn nodded back, opening his locker to reveal his armor. His armor was similar to Dix's but differed in color and the clothing underneath. Finn wore his usual attire beneath the armor, which consisted of a dark brown chest plate trimmed with black, matching bracers, shoulder pads, knee pads, and gloves.

He took the armor out and quickly dressed, securing the pieces in place. He then grabbed his glock and its holster, strapping it around his waist. waist, and added his machete in its sheath. Once fully suited up, he turned to Dick with a raised brow. Which side of town am I patrolling tonight? Outer wall, west side, Dick stated, his voice firm. Finn nodded, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. The west side of the outer wall was notorious for gaunt activity, a hotspot for their attacks. It was going to be a long night. As he headed out, Dick called after him, stay sharp out there, Finn. We can't afford to lose any more good hunters.

Finn turned back and gave a resolute nod. I will, Dick. See you in the morning. Once outside the city, Finn couldn't help but take in the grim sight of the outer wall. It was marred with deep scratches and chips from relentless gaud attacks, stained with the dark green goo that dripped from their slavering mouths, and speckled. with bloodstains that would never fully wash away. The stark contrast between this battered exterior and the inner walls of the town was striking. Inside, the walls were adorned with chalk drawings

from children and vibrant murals from the town's artists. These cheerful images served as a reminder of what he was protecting, and why he had chosen to become a gaunt hunter in the first place. Reaching the west side of the wall, Finn began his patrol, moving back and forth to ensure no gaunt's were attempting to scale the barrier. For now, the night was quiet, and he hoped it would remain that way. As he walked his beat, his thoughts drifted back to dinner with Eric and the boy's enthusiastic declaration about becoming a gaunt hunter. While part of him felt honored by Eric's admiration, another part was deeply troubled. The life of a hunter was dangerous and filled with horrors that no one should have to witness, let alone a young boy like Eric.

Finn's mind flashed back to a particularly gruesome memory from a past patrol. He and another hunter had been called to assist in repelling a large pack of Gons. They had rushed to the scene, only to find their comrades dead, slaughtered in horrific ways. One hunter's skull had been cracked open, with Gant's eating from it as if it were a bowl of grapes. Another hunter, still alive, was being disemboweled and devoured. Finn could never forget the man's agonized expression as he watched his own entrails being torn apart and consumed. The sight had been so revolting that Finn had vomited on the spot, paralyzed by shock until his partner snapped him back to reality. Then there were the stories he had heard from veterans like Dick.

Dick once recounted an incident where a hunter had been speared to death by multiple gaunts. They hadn't even eaten him, they had just impaled him repeatedly, leaving him. his body to rot in the woods for days. Such tales highlighted the gaunt's malevolence and complete lack of empathy. Finn shuddered at the memories. He didn't want Eric to face such nightmares. The boy was full of life and potential, and Finn couldn't bear the thought of him enduring the same horrors he had. Since that harrowing incident in the chilling story Dick had shared, Finn had sworn to himself that he wouldn't meet a similar fate. He vowed to go out fighting, to not end up like those other hunters.

He couldn't bear the thought of becoming another victim, especially after what happened to his sister. The sudden howl nearby jolted Finn out of his grim thoughts. The sound was close, too close. Instantly alert, he scanned his surroundings. Just then, something whizzed past his face, slicing his cheek. He turned to see a makeshift arrow embedded in the wall. Spinning back around, his heart.

sank as he saw ten gaunts emerging from the tree line. Shit! Finn cursed, his eyes widening in horror. This was a dire situation. He quickly drew his Glock and aimed at the advancing creatures. Before he could fire, a sharp pain seared through his left side. He glanced down to see a small dagger lodged in his torso. What the hell?

Finn thought, bewildered. Did one of the gaunts throw this? Sorry, but it's nothing personal, a strange voice echoed through the darkness. Finn's gaze snapped forward, and he saw a figure emerging from the shadows. They wore a long black cloak that seemed to envelop them completely, giving the eerie impression that they were gliding across the ground rather than walking. The figure approached him, their face obscured by the cloak's hood. My, you are a handsome young man, they purred in a sultry tone.

Such a fucking shame that my babies must eat. We've been on the run, and they haven't had a chance to rest and eat until we saw you. They giggled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Finn's spine. Fear gripped Finn, but he managed to look up at the cloaked figure with a raised brow. W. Who Are You? He stammered, his voice wavering. The figure tilted their head slightly as if amused by his question. Who am I? They echoed. I am their mother, their caretaker.

I ensure they survive, even if it means feeding them humans like you. The figure leaned closer, and Finn could just make out a twisted smile beneath the hood. Finn's mind raced. He needed to think of a way out, and fast. The Gaunts were closing in, and he was injured and at a severe disadvantage. Summoning his remaining strength, he clutched his Glock tighter and tried to steady his breath. He couldn't let this be the end. The figures giggle echoed eerily through the night, sending a shiver down Finn's spine.

Oh. Now I'm regretting stabbing you, they remarked with a twisted amusement. It's not every day a handsome young man asks me my name, you know. Most prefer a no-name policy. Their tone was cryptic, and Finn couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. While I would love to give you my name in far better circumstances, I'm afraid I don't have the time, they continued, their words dripping with urgency. As I said, we're on the run from a rather unpleasant girl. Finn's confusion only deepened.

The figure's response didn't provide any clarity, leaving him even more perplexed. As the figure began to back away, Finn's eyes widened in shock as the gaunts beside them moved in unison. She can, control them, he realized, disbelief washing over him. Go ahead, babies. Eat, the figure commanded, her voice chillingly calm. With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Finn watched as the gaunt surged forward, their hunger palpable in the air. Determination surged within him, driving him to fight against the odds stacked against him. Ignoring the searing pain from his wound, he raised his gun and fired at the approaching.

Gauntz. Despite his efforts, only one was hit, and even then, it didn't slow down. Finn gritted his teeth, preparing for the inevitable close-quarter battle with the monsters. Come on, he growled defiantly. I'm right here. The Gaunts closed in, their predatory instincts driving them forward. Just as they leaped toward him, ready to strike, something unexpected occurred. Thorny vines erupted from the ground, snaking around. the gaunts with incredible speed. Finn's eyes widened in astonishment as the vines ensnared the creatures, halting their advance. The vines twisted and contorted, slamming the gaunts into the ground with brutal force, tearing at their flesh and rendering them helpless. Damn! How did that bitch already find us? The figure exclaimed, frustration evident in their voice.

Finn's gaze followed the figure's gaze as a new figure emerged from the shadows. Her appearance was striking, to say the least. With a spiky red mohawk and piercing red eyes devoid of any white, she exuded an aura of fierce determination. Smudged mascara framed her intense gaze, adding to her wild and untamed appearance. Her lips were painted black, a stark contrast to her fiery red hair and eyes. Clad in a black leather crop top vest that accentuated her slim, athletic frame, she exuded an air of defiance.

Arm bands encircled her wrists and biceps, resembling the raps worn by boxers, hinting at her combat prowess. Around her neck, she wore a large choker, adding to her rebellious demeanor. Her attire was completed by tight leather pants and high-heeled platform boots,

giving her an imposing presence. Found you, you, you freaking cunt, she spat, her voice laced with venom. The cloaked figure retreated, increasing the distance between them and the girl. Ugh, don't you ever give up, they retorted, their tone tinged with irritation. The girl leveled a fierce glare at the figure. After the shit you've done.

I ain't letting you go, she declared, her voice dripping with disdain. The figure let out a mocking giggle. Is that so, they taunted, gesturing toward Finn who lay wounded on the ground. Not even to save his life. The girl's gaze shifted to Finn, her expression softening momentarily as she registered as injuries. Before she could react, a shrill howl pierced the air, drawing their attention back to the figure. What the hell did you do, the girl demanded, her voice trembling with rage. Oh, just called in a few friends over for dinner, the figure replied casually.

You bitch, the girl seethed. With a swift motion, she thrust her hand forward, summoning. a massive vine with thorns protruding from its surface. The vine lunged toward the figure, but they evaded the attack with agile grace, darting away through the forest. Have fun, they taunted, their laughter echoing through the trees as they disappeared into the darkness. Driven by determination, the girl pursued the figure, her footsteps echoing through the forest. However, her path was suddenly obstructed as a horde of gauntz emerged from the shadows, blocking her way with menacing snarls and bared teeth.

Get out of my way, the girl cried, her voice ringing with determination. In an instant, a smaller thorned vine shot out of the ground with startling speed, piercing through the approaching donts like a bullet. Lifted into the air by the force of the vine, the creatures were hurled aside, crashing into trees with bone-crushing force. As more daunts emerged from the shadows behind her, for shots echoed through the air. Finn Zane was true, striking the advancing gaunts and causing them to writhe in agony as they fell to the ground. The girl glanced back to see Finn's timely intervention, offering a silent nod of acknowledgement before focusing her attention back on the remaining threats.

Summoning more vines, she ensnared the creatures, tearing them apart with ruthless efficiency. Satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, the girl turned back towards Finn, who was now sitting against the wall, applying crows. pressure to his wound. Bending down beside him, the girl flashed a smile, revealing sharp triangular teeth reminiscent of a shark. Nice shooting there, dude. Really saved my ass back there, she remarked. Finn managed a weak chuckle. I should be thanking you. If you hadn't shown up, I'd be gaunt food, he admitted. Let's call it even, then, eh, she suggested. What's your name, she inquired. Finn met her gaze, taking a moment to catch his breath before responding. Finn, Finn, Trescoat, he introduced himself.

Curiosity burning in his eyes, he posed a question in return. Who are you? No. What are you, he asked, unable to shake off the mystery surrounding her. The girl maintained her enigmatic smile, meeting his gaze with her striking red eyes. The name's Rachel Rose, she revealed. As for what I am, well, I can answer that once you're all patched up, she added cryptically. Summoning another vine, Rachel gently lifted Finn to his feet, supporting him as they began to make

their way back towards town. With each step, Finn's mind buzzed with questions, the mysteries surrounding Rachel and her abilities swirling in his thoughts. Who was the cloaked figure? How did they control the Gaunts? and most pressing of all, who, or what, was Rachel, and how was she able to command those vines with such ease? As they walked back toward town, Finn couldn't help but feel the weight of exhaustion settle upon him, both physically and mentally. His thoughts swirled with questions about the events that had just transpired, about Rachel, the cloaked figure, and the unsettling abilities they both possessed. Yet, amidst the chaos of his mind, one pressing question emerged,

demanding attention above all else. When the hell am I going to get another day off? Because I can sure as hell use it right now. Finn thought to himself, his weariness palpable. Rachel, walking beside him, seemed to sense his inner turmoil. Casting him a sidelong glance, she offered a reassuring smile. Don't worry, Finn. You'll have your chance to rest soon, she assured him, her voice carrying a note of empathy.

Finn managed a weary smile in return, grateful for the reassurance. Despite the gravity of their situation, her words offered a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that loomed over them. Rachel lounged on Finn's couch, idly flipping through channels while propping her feet up on his small coffee table. Despite the distraction, boredom nodded her insides. Ugh. There's absolutely nothing worth watching these days, she groaned in frustration. Sorry about that. The TV reception out here is pretty awful, Finn apologized, shuffling into the living room,

still visibly recovering from the stab wound inflicted by the mysterious figure in the cloak. Turning her head, Rachel greeted him with a warm smile. How are you feeling, dude, she inquired, genuine concern evident in her voice. Finn returned her smile, albeit with a hint of discomfort. Could be better. Can't wait for this hole in my side to heal, he remarked wryly. Sympathy flashed across Rachel's face. Yeah, getting stabbed is no picnic, believe me, she empathized, her own experiences likely

coloring her words. As Finn settled beside her, he couldn't help but notice a subtle greenish hue to Rachel's complexion, a detail he hadn't observed the night before. Nevertheless, he chose to focus on their conversation. TV's pretty dull out here, most of the good shows never make it to our neck of the woods, he remarked, hoping to steer the discussion away from darker topics. Shrugging nonchalantly, Rachel replied, eh, it's not the end of the world. Besides, I won't be sticking around for long, so don't worry about me trying to annex your place

or anything. Intrigued by her impending departure, Finn probed further. Oh. Where to next, he inquired. genuinely curious about her plans. Bay City, Rachel disclosed, her tone hinting at a mixture of determination and reluctance. Why Bay City? Finn pressed, his curiosity peaked by her choice of destination, which lay on the opposite

coast of the country. Rachel met his gaze steadily. It's a long story, she replied cryptically, leaving Finn to wonder about the mysteries lurking behind her enigmatic journey. Finn's shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. I've got time, besides, it's not every day some girl who can control vines and has a very, unique look, saves my ass from some figure who can control gaunt's, he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and curiosity.

Which is one of the reasons I want to know what the hell that was about last night and what you are because your appearance and what you were able to do spell it out clearly, you're not exactly human, Finn observed, his tone-laden, with intrigue. Rachel's lips curled into a smug smirk. You've got a sharp mind there, Finn. Usually, people would be freaking the fuck out after what happened last night, she remarked, admiration evident in her voice. Finn's shrug was accompanied by a rueful smile. Trust me, I'm still trying to process it and still freaking out a little, but I've seen a lot of crazy stuff as a gaunt hunter, he confessed, his tone carrying a hint of resignation mixed with

determination. Fair enough, but don't tell me I didn't warn you when I said it was a shit long story, Rachel warned him, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and seriousness. Finn simply shrugged in response, signaling his readiness to hear her out. Rachel nodded, stealing herself to recount her tale. Well, first of all, the real story starts back on January 3rd of 2000, my father, Dr. William Gaster, and a few other scientists around the world were awarded for perfecting genetic engineering, she began, her voice taking on a somber tone as she delved into her past. Finn's surprise was palpable. Dr. Gaster was a name known far and wide in the scientific community, revered for his groundbreaking work in genetic manipulation.

I remember hearing about him. He was a genius, Finn interjected, his tone filled with respect. Rachel nodded in acknowledgement before continuing. The reason they were able to do it was because of all the advanced tech being shared by almost every country at the time, she explained. Anyway, a few certain countries have been creating genetically engineered children or GECs, in order to see if it actually worked, that a whole new human could be created in a faux womb. However, my dad wasn't interested in that shit. Instead, his focus was on a rift in space that NASA discovered back in 62C. He wanted to know where it led and what caused it to form between Earth and our Earth.

Moon, she elaborated, her words carrying a weight of significance. Finn's brow furrowed in concentration as he recalled the historical event. I remember hearing about that. A sub put on a whole documentary about it when I was in middle school, he mused, his curiosity peaked. Didn't it suddenly close up, he inquired, eager to piece together the fragments of Rachel's narrative. Rachel nodded solemnly, her expression betraying a mix of gravity and determination.

It did, and according to my father's notes, the rift closed on April 25, 2000, she recounted, her voice carrying a weight of significance. However, the rift only closed after something else happened, something that involved my father and another scientist by the name of Dr. Aliona Stalin. Finn's curiosity was piqued by the mention of the unfamiliar scientist. What happened, he inquired, eager to unravel the mysteries shrouding Rachel's past. Rachel's demeanor shifted, her tone growing more serious as she delved into the heart of the enigma. That's the fucking weird thing, she began. Most of my father's notes on the rift are missing, except for one, but it wasn't written by

my father, it was written by Dr. Stalin, she revealed, her voice tinged with frustration. Finn leaned in, captivated by the unfolding tale. What did the note say, he prompted, his curiosity bordering on urgency. The note was written on September 27, 2000, the time listed was 7 a.m., and apparently, Dad and this Dr. Stollin chick activated a machine called UDN that would supposedly fix the Rift, Rachel disclosed, her words laden with a sense of foreboding. However, it went as backward, and some sort of energy burst from the machine, a few saved reports from NASA say that a similar energy signal was released from the Rift at the same time, but besides that, nothing fucking else about what happened was reported in a note, she lamented, frustration evident in her voice. What happened after that? Finn asked. After the rift was closed, my father was focused on creating me and my siblings, saying we were needed in the future he saw in his dream, whatever the fuck that means, she concluded, her tone tinged with bitterness and uncertainty. Finn absorbed the

information, his mind worrying with questions and speculation. That's, Intense, he remarked, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of the events described. Aside from that freaky mystery, how did your father create you? Finn inquired, shifting the focus to the intriguing details of Rachel's origin story. Rachel's smile was tinged with a hint of mischief as she prepared to divulge the unconventional methods behind her creation. Now, that's the interesting part actually, she began, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. Instead of being regular GECs, my father labeled us project Giga, GGA. Finn echoed his curiosity mounting with each revelation.

Rachel's smirk widened. It stands for genetically engineered gaunt agents, and yes, by the name, I'm sure you can tell what the fuck our DNA was mixed with, she teased, her tone laced with a mixture of amusement and pride. Finn's eyes widened in realization. Gant DNA, he breathed, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place with sudden clarity. Dr. Gaster used human DNA and Gaunt DNA in order to create you and your siblings, he concluded, all coloring his words as he contemplated the implications of Rachel's extraordinary origins.

Rachel nodded, a knowing glint in her eyes. Bingo! Which is why we're only half human, she clarified for Finn's benefit, her tone tinge. with a sense of pride mixed with a hint of resignation. Because our genetic code is made of human and gaunt DNA, we're given unnatural powers, each different in their own way. For example, my powers involve summoning those vines you saw, but we also have super strength, speed, and stamina,

and due to the gaunt DNA, we also have regenerative abilities, and some of our features are odd, as you can see. Like my hair, eyes, and skin tone, she elaborated, her explanation punctuated by a sense of matter-of-factness. Finn's astonishment was palpable, his mind grappling with the implications of Rachel's revelation. The idea that Gaunt DNA could bestow such extraordinary abilities upon humans was both fascinating and unsettling. After all, he had never heard of any experiments involving Gauntz conducted by the government or any organization. Since the decade winter, Gauntz had become an accepted part of the world, akin to Anne.

animals. Rachel noticed Finn's incredulous expression and couldn't help but grin mischievously. Yeah, pretty fucking freaky, but hey, I'd say we're pretty cool compared to your normal meat bags, she quipped, her humor a stark contrast to the gravity of their conversation. Finn chuckled appreciatively. Fair enough, and I wouldn't mind having powers too, he admitted, the thought of wielding such abilities sparking a flicker of excitement within him. So, What happened after you and your siblings were created, he inquired, eager to delve deeper into Rachel's intriguing backstory. Rachel nodded, slipping back into the narrative with ease.

After we were born, some of us older than the rest, we were given letters that identified us, just like the other GECs in the other countries, she recounted, her tone tinged with nostalgia. My older brother and sister were labeled as S and G. I and two other siblings were labeled as R, K. and X, while the youngest among us was labeled H. We weren't given real names until dear old dad said we had mastered our powers. It took us four years to do so, and that's when we were given our names, she explained,

a note of pride evident in her voice. My older brother and sister were named Samuel Sands and Genevieve Gaster. You already know my name, but my other siblings' names are Callie Crest, and Xander Zeno, and Helen Hound, she revealed, a hint of fondness coloring her words. Finn's smile widened as he observed the pattern. First and last names begin with the letter you guys were given, he observed, impressed by the clever naming convention. Rachel nodded in confirmation.

Yep, she confirmed. Samuel and Genevieve are one of the reasons I'm out here, she confessed, her tone growing more serious as she broached the subject. Intrigued, Finn arched an eyebrow in question. What's the other reason? He prompted, eager to uncover the layers of Rachel's motivations. Rachel's gaze hardened, her eyes flashing with determination. Revenge, she declared, her voice laced with a steely resolve. The person who stabbed you and controlled those gaunts broke into my dad's home while I was

there, demanded to know about the rift in UDN, and when he refused. She killed him, she revealed, her words waited with the gravity of the tragedy. Finn's eyes widened with shock, the revelation that the world's smartest man had been slain by a mysterious assailant sent a chill down his spine. I need to get to Samuel or Genevieve before they do and find out if they know anything about what Dad knew about the Rift and what UDN is, Rachel declared, her voice firm with determination. Which is why I'm heading toward Bay City.

That's where they live, and that's where I'm sure they'll have answers. Finn regarded her with a mix of concern and gratitude, his mind still reeling from the events of the previous night. If Rachel hadn't intervened, his life might have ended in that dark forest. He felt an overwhelming debt to her, one that couldn't be repaid with mere words or gestures. Why don't I come with? Finn proposed, his voice steady despite the lingering sense of unease. His offer hung in the air, laden with sincerity and a desire to repay the debt he owed.

Rachel's eyes widened in surprise as if Finn's offer had caught her off guard. Finn, you hit your head too back there in the forest, she countered her tone a mix of concern and disbelief. The people we have to fight, they're just like the person that nearly killed you. They aren't human, and they may be Gagas from other countries, she explained, her words tinged with caution. I understand that, Finn acknowledged his gaze steady as he met Rachel's. But you do realize I've already got a dangerous job, right?

I want to help you, Rachel, you save my ass back there, and I owe you. I owe you a lot, so I want to help, he reiterated, his determination shining through. You want to help a stranger. Rachel queried, her brow arched in skepticism, though a faint smirk played at the corners of her lips. No, I want to help a stranger who saved my life, Finn clarified, his sincerity evident in his tone. Rachel regarded him for a moment, weighing his words carefully. Finally, she sighed, relenting to his steadfast determination. I hate to ask, but you can fight, right, she inquired, her expression serious yet tinged with a hint of hope.

Finn nodded, a confident smile gracing his lips. self-defense, not to mention I know how to handle a bladed weapon, and I am, of course, training with a firearm, he assured her, his readiness to assist palpable. Rachel's smile mirrored his own, a flicker of relief crossing her features. Well, that's good then, she conceded, a sense of gratitude softening her demeanor as she accepted Finn's offer of assistance on their perilous journey ahead. Rachel pondered the proposition with great deliberation, her mind weighing the risks and potential consequences. She knew firsthand the resilience of her own body,

capable of enduring significant damage and healing from wounds that might seem fatal to others. But Finn. Finn was different. If he sustained serious injuries, there would be no miraculous regeneration, no second chance at life. His mortality weighed heavily on her conscience, the thought of his blood staining her hands a burden she couldn't bear to contemplate. Yet, Despite the inherent dangers, Finn's unwavering kindness and acceptance had endeared him to her, offering a rare beacon of warmth in the cold reality of her existence. All right, fine, you can tag along, Finn, Rachel relented, her voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and gratitude.

Besides, I could use the company. Finn's laughter rang out, a reassuring sound amidst the weighty decision. Good, he replied with a smile. So, when are we leaving, he inquired, his eagerness to embark on the adventure palpable. In two days, Rachel replied, her tone decisive. We're going to head to the nearest city, Salton Lake City, and once we get there, we can hopefully catch a plane to base city, she explained, outlining their travel plans with clarity. Sounds good, Finn agreed, already mentally preparing for the journey ahead.

I'll get things packed and take care of a few loose ends here. here before I leave. I've got a job and some people here that need to know I'm going to be leaving, he added, his sense of responsibility evident in his words. I can help in case they don't believe you, Rachel offered, a flicker of mischief dancing in her eyes. I am pretty convincing, she added with a sly smile. Finn nodded in appreciation. I can see why, he conceded, his gaze lingering on Rachel with a newfound sense of admiration and gratitude. The dawn had broken over Salton Lake City, a bastion of self-sustainability within the United World, its towering walls a testament to its resilience against the chaos that gripped the world

beyond. Within the city's fortified confines, three figures moved with purpose, their mission clear, to hunt down a gang of notorious criminals. Among them was a woman, her fierce determination palpable as she pursued the fleeing criminals with unmatched agility. With two sorts of sorts of women, In swords in hand, she weave through the narrow alleys and bustling streets, her eyes ablaze with an unwavering resolve. This woman was Callie Crest, one of the Gagga children forged by the brilliance of Dr. Gaster. Callie. Do you still have them in your sights? A voice echoed through the earpiece nestled in Callie's ear.

Callie nodded, her focus unwavering. See, they're heading toward you two right now, she replied, her voice tinged with urgency. Got it, as the criminals dashed desperately to evade capture, a mysterious figure cloaked in black materialized before them, his presence an ominous portent of danger. Callie's keen senses immediately registered the unfamiliar threat, her instincts honed by years of training and genetic enhancement. With a swift motion, the cloaked figure conjured an orange spear in his outstretched hand, its ethereal form gleaming with deadly intent.

With precision and speed beyond mortal comprehension, he unleashed the spear, each strike finding its mark with lethal accuracy. Despite the chaos unfolding around her, Callie remained undaunted. With a deft flick of her wrist, she intercepted the oncoming projectile with one of her swords, the clash of metal ringing out in the air. The force of the impact sent the spear hurtling into the nearby wall, where it shattered like glass before dissolving into nothingness. A smirk played across Callie's lips as she turned her gaze to the hooded,

figure, admiration mingled with curiosity in her crimson gaze. That's some neat trick you've got there, Amigo, she remarked, her voice laced with a hint of admiration and a touch of amusement. The man's hand retreated into the depths of his cloak, his gaze steady as he regarded Cali. Justice has been passed upon them, Callie Crest, he declared, his voice shrouded in an aura of solemnity. Callie let out a low whistle, a spark of intrigue dancing in her crimson eyes.

You know my name too, now this is interesting, she remarked, a faint smirk playing at the corners of her lips. Tell me, who sent you? Was it the J.A.? U.S.S.F. K&Q. Or maybe your R.I.B. I am neither, Callie Crest, the man replied, his tone cryptic. I am a servant of God.

Oh, geez, he's one of them, Asterisk, huh? Asterisk Callie thought, a mixture of skepticism and wariness clouding her thoughts. Look, whatever you want, you've got the wrong chika. I'm just your average bounty hunter, I've got nothing you want, Amigo, she asserted, her voice tinged with defiance. There was a moment of silence before the man spoke again, his words heavy with purpose. I very much doubt you're an average bounty hunter, Callie Crest, he stated, his gaze unwavering. But you're very wrong, you do have something I want.

Where and what is UDN? Callie furrowed her brow in confusion, her mind racing to recall any information about the elusive project. UDN, she echoed, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Never heard of it, she admitted, her tone genuine. It was a project your father, Dr. Gaster, and Dr. Stalin worked on, the man elaborated, his word sending a chilled down Callie's spine. My organization believes that UDN can bring back our God, so I desire to know where it is, he explained, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.

Callie rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin. For the last time, I don't know where it is, so get lost, Burrow, she retorted, her defiance unyielding. Tell me what you know about UDN, or I shall pass God's justice upon you, Callie Crest, the man warned, his tone laced with a chilling resolve. A smile tugged at the corners of Callie's lips at the prospect of confrontation, her adrenaline surging at the challenge before her. Gripping her blades tighter, she adopted a defensive stance, her eyes blazing with a primal hunger. Those are fighting words, Cabran, she declared, her voice dripping with defiance.

Bring it, Pura. The man beneath the cloak regarded Callie with a look of disappointment, his features obscured by the shadows. Your lust for battle clouds your judgment, Callie Crest, he remarked solemnly, conjuring two spears of shimmering orange light in his hands. Once again, Callie marveled at the enigmatic power wielded by the cloaked man, a power that defied conventional explanation. It was unlike anything she had encountered before, far beyond the abilities possessed by any Gagga or GEC. Gotta ask, Amigo, how? How are you able to do that? Callie inquired, her curiosity tinged with a hint of disbelief.

You can't possibly be human, she asserted, her words laced with skepticism. The man met her gaze with an inscrutable expression before the spears vanished in a burst of light, replaced by a shimmering dagger forged from swirling orange energy. With a swift motion, he slashed his hand, and Callie watched an astonishment as blood welled from the wound, refusing to heal. Impossible, he's not healing. Callie's mind raced, grappling with the implications of the man's apparent mortality. But that can't be. A human shouldn't have the ability to create weapons like that without being a GEC or Gaga. Lost in her thoughts, Callie barely dodged a spear hurtling toward her face, the projectile grazing her temple as it sailed

passed. With a hiss of pain, she instinctively activated her regenerative abilities, the wound closing before her eyes as she fixed the cloaked man with a steely glare. Stay focused, Cali creased, he admonished, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle. Cali growled in frustration, her patience wearing thin as she faced off against her mysterious adversary. Just what the hell are you, she demanded, her voice edged with determination. The man conjured another spear and assumed a defensive stance, his movements fluid and precise. I am human, Callie Crest, and the servant of God, he replied, his tone unwavering. God damn religious freaks in their cryptic bullshit, Callie muttered under her breath,

her frustration boiling over as she prepared to confront the enigmatic foe before her. Exiting a nearby building were a man and a woman, both impeccably dressed in tuxedos. The man, standing tall at six feet, had a tan complexion in striking red hair slicked back neatly. His yellow eyes glinted with a mischievous light, and he wore a toothy grin that suggested he thrived on excitement and unpredictability. The woman beside him was a full foot shorter, her pale skin contrasting sharply with her partner's tan. Her purple hair was styled in a chaotic bat's nest, giving her a wild appearance. Her eyes were a vacant pink and a scar ran across her neck, hinting at a violent past. Her expression was dull, a mask of disinterest, and she moved with a detached air.

These two were agents Patrick Adler and Tanya Sawyer of the UWSF. As they walked down the street towards their car, Patrick glanced at his partner. K, X, and H have been beaten by a member of Void, also, it looks like R and a gaunt hunter have been spotted entering the city, he informed Tanya, his voice casual yet focused. Tanya looked up at him, her expression unchanged, and pressed an electro-larinx to her throat. What are our orders, she asked, her voice emerging with a robotic undertone due to the device? The boss wants us to head to Salton Lake City and bring back K-X-H-R, and the Gaunt Hunter, Patrick replied, his grin widening at the prospect of action.

Tanya nodded, her vacant eyes showing a glimmer of anticipation. I hope we get to see some action. I've been bored here in Bay City, she said, her tone almost wistfuled despite the mechanical quality of her voice. Patrick nodded in agreement, same here, he replied. They both approached their car, with Tanya taking the wheel and Patrick settling into the passenger seat. Buckling up, Tanya input their destination, Bay City's airport.

The car hummed to life, and they were off. As they sped through the city streets, Patrick couldn't help but glance over at his partner with a mischievous grin. Hey, want to hear a joke, he asked, his voice brimming with anticipation. Tanya shot him a sidelong glare before shaking her head. No, she said flatly. Ah, come on. Patrick persisted, his grin widening.

Just one. Your jokes are terrible, Tanya replied, her tone devoid of enthusiasm. Ignoring her remark, Patrick pressed on. What did one toilet say to the other? Tanya's glare intensified. Stop, she warned. Patrick's eyes sparkled with mischief. Come on.

Just play along. What did one toilet say to the other? Tanya sighed deeply, her patience wearing thin. What? she asked, resigned to hearing the punchline. Patrick stifled a laugh, barely able to contain his amusement. You look flushed, he said, finally bursting into laughter. Tanya growled in annoyance, gripping the steering will tighter. Patrick continued to laugh, clearly amused by his own joke. Tanya just shook her head, her expression one of exasperation. She silently prayed to any deity listening that Patrick's jokes wouldn't get worse as their mission progressed.

Rachel and Finn both arrived in Salton Lake City, a unique metropolis perched in the middle of a vast lake that nearly resembled an ocean. Finn's eyes sparkled with excitement as he took in the familiar sights. This city held a special place in his heart, it was where he had trained when he first joined the ranks of the Gaunt hunters. Finn inhaled deeply, savoring the air before exhaling with a satisfied sigh. A broad smile spread across his face as he surveyed the unchanged cityscape. Man! This place hasn't changed one bit, he exclaimed, his voice brimming with joy. Rachel, captivated by the city's unusual setting, smirked at Finn's enthusiasm.

Really? You've been here before, she asked, curiosity evident in her time. tone. Oh yeah, Finn responded with a nod. When I first joined the Gaunt Hunter Guild, the guy who took me and sent me here for training, Rachel's brow furrowed slightly in confusion. Gaunt Hunter Guild, she echoed. Yep, Finn confirmed with a grin. The Gaunt Hunter Guild, or GHG, is the official organization that handles Gaunt's and Gaunt-related issues. Rachel shook her head slightly. I ain't ever heard of M, she admitted. Finn shrugged nonchalantly.

That's because we're pretty small compared to the likes of the UWSF, he explained. As of this year, the GHG has around 500 members nationwide, Rachel's eyes widened a bit. That sounds like a lot, she said. Finn shook his head again. Not really, not when you consider the number of civilians, police officers, and UWSF officials out there, he said. Compared to them, the Gaunt Hunter Guild is tiny, Rachel nodded thoughtfully, realizing the truth in Finn's words. She had always seen police officers in both bustling cities and quiet villages,

and the UWSF boasted a workforce in the thousands, if not millions. In contrast, the Gaunt Hunter Guild, with its mere 500 members, was indeed a small but specialized force. Finn shook his head and said, anyway, we should find a place to the stay for a bit before we buy our tickets for Bay City. Rachel flashed a wide smile, revealing her shark-like teeth. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, she declared confidently. I've got some siblings here in the city who I'm sure will be more than happy to house us for the night. Really? Finn asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Oh yeah. Rachel replied with a nod, her confidence unwavering. Besides, I also sent out luggage

over there ahead of time. Just as Rachel turned to lead the way to her siblings home, a loud grumble from her stomach interrupted the moment. She froze, clearly embarrassed. Finn chuckled, finding her sudden discomfort amusing. Hungry, he teased gently. Rachel's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she groaned in annoyance. Shut up, she muttered through gritted teeth. Finn laughed even more, enjoying the rare moment of seeing Rachel flustered. Come on, I know a place nearby where we can grab a bite to eat, he offered, still grinning. Whatever, Rachel replied, still blushing but willing to follow his lead. As they walked, Finn led Rachel through the bustling streets of Salton Lake City, moving at least

two blocks from their starting point. Despite his familiarity with the city, Finn couldn't help but marvel at its wonders. Salton Lake City was a breathtaking sight, powered entire by water and boasting advanced technology far superior to anything found on the outskirts or in smaller villages. He and Rachel took in the sights with wide-eyed wonder, appreciating the unique blend of natural beauty and cutting-edge innovation that defined the city. Salton Lake City was a marvel of modern technology and urban design. Cars navigated the streets autonomously, trains whisked passengers from one end of the city to the other in mere minutes, and the latest smartphones, crafted from sleek glass,

featured tech so advanced that Finn couldn't begin to understand it. Rachel, though accustomed to cutting-edge technology from her home in Pacific City, was struck by something else, the city's extraordinary cleanliness and sleek appearance. Unlike Pacific City, where litter, run-down buildings, and graffiti were common sites despite efforts to keep it tidy, Salton Lake City was immaculate. The streets were so pristine they resembled. a laboratory more than a typical urban corner. This place is way too clean, Rachel remarked, her voice tinged with disbelief. Finn turned to her, nodding in agreement. It is, but that's because

of a strict law the city has passed, he explained. Littering is absolutely prohibited here because any trash could end up floating into the lake, while they have systems to catch and process the litter, the residents see the lake as an extension of their home and take great pride in keeping it clean. Rachel nodded thoughtfully. Make sense, she said. But I've got to ask, what do they do with their trash? They take it to a nearby facility where they recycle everything they can, Finn replied. Anything that can't be recycled is incinerated in an environmentally friendly way, they go to great lengths to ensure nothing harms the lake or the surrounding environment. As they walked, Rachel couldn't help but admire the city's dedication to cleanliness and sustainability.

It was a stark contrast to the more relaxed attitude she was used to back home. Eventually, they arrived at their destination, a bustling eatery called Bursting Burgers. The place had a lively atmosphere and exuded the charm of a small, locally owned business rather than a corporate chain. Finn and Rachel joined the line, waiting their turn. The savory aroma of grilling burgers and fresh fries wafted through the air, making their mouths water in anticipation. After a few minutes, they reached the counter to place their orders.

Finn opted for two cheeseburgers, fries, and a large green apple soda. On the other hand, Rachel ordered a feast, for cheeseburgers, three orders of fries, onion rings, and a large cherry soda. Once they found a table and sat down, Finn couldn't help but gape at the mountain of food in front of Rachel. That's a lot of food, he remarked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. prize. Rachel grinned, unfazed. Yep, got to eat a lot or else I'll get tired, she explained. My metabolism works super fast because of my powers and the gaunt DNA in me, it's one more thing I

inherited from those monsters. Wow, Finn said, shaking his head in amazement. Rachel nodded. Yep, which is why I need to feed my body with a ridiculous amount of food to keep up with my high metabolism, she elaborated. But hey, I'm not complaining, she added with a cheerful tone. Without wasting another moment, Rachel dug into her food with enthusiasm, eating quickly and efficiently. Finn watched her for a second, amused, before starting his own meal with a smile. As they ate, the lively ambience of bursting burgers surrounded them. The clatter of dishes, the hum of conversations, and the occasional laughter created a cozy, welcoming environment. Finn savored the flavors of his cheeseburgers, enjoying the simple pleasure of a well-made meal.

Rachel, meanwhile, devoured her food with gusto. She paused only briefly between bites to take a sip of her soda, clearly enjoying every mouthful. This place is great, she said between bites, her voice full of appreciation. Finn nodded in agreement. It's one of my favorites, he admitted. I used to come here all the time when I was training in the city. Rachel smiled, wiping a bit of ketchup from the corner of her mouth. I can see why, she said.

The food is amazing. After a few minutes, Rachel finished her onion rings and let out a satisfied sigh, sinking back into her seat. Woo! I haven't had a burger that good in a while, she said, a broad smile spreading across her face. Finn swallowed a bite of his fries and nodded in agreement. Oh yeah, best burgers in the entire city, in my opinion, he said.

Rachel looked at him curiously. Must have eaten here a lot while you were training, huh, she asked. Finn nodded, confirming her guess. Yep, it was the only thing I could afford while I was training with the GHG, he said with a chuckle. Rachel nodded thoughtfully, deciding that now was a good time to get to know her companion better. Speaking of which, why did you become a gaunt hunter, she asked. Finn froze for a moment, his expression suddenly serious. Rachel noticed the change and waited patiently.

Finn took a large sip from his drink, gathering his thoughts before setting the cup down. When he looked at Rachel again, his eyes were filled with a deep sadness. My older sister, she's the reason I became a gaunt hunter, he revealed, his voice tinged with pain. Rachel's brow furrowed in concern. You have an older sister, she asked gently. Finn nodded slowly. I did, he replied. She's gone now, Rachel immediately regretted asking such a personal question, feeling foolish for not picking up on Finn's body language sooner.

I'm sorry, she said. said softly. Finn shook his head inside. Nah, it's all right, you didn't know, he replied, trying to ease her discomfort. Rachel hesitated but then asked gently, what happened to her? Was it Gaunts? Finn nodded, his expression somber. Yeah, he said quietly. I.

I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk about it. Rachel quickly shook her head, her own expression filled with regret. It's all right, dude, I shouldn't have brought it up, she said, her voice sincere. Finn looked at her with a reassuring smile. Like I said, you didn't know, it's okay, he told her. Rachel nodded, appreciating his understanding. She quickly decided to shift the conversation to something lighter, hoping to bring back the earlier camarader. So, what other places should we check out in Salton Lake City while we're here, she asked,

trying to brighten the mood. Finn's face lit up at the change in topic. Oh, there's plenty to see. We could visit the waterfall gardens, they're incredible, he said. There's an amazing tech museum that showcases all the latest innovations too, which is pretty awesome, he said, enthusiasm creeping back into his voice. Rachel smiled, relieved to see him more animated. That sounds awesome.

Let's do it, she agreed. Suddenly, out of nowhere, something flew through the window behind them, shattering the glass and sending debris crashing into tables and chairs. Reacting quickly, Finn and Rachel jumped up from their seats and turned around to see what had caused the commotion. As the dust settled, they saw a young woman sprawled on the floor, an orange ethereal spear impaled in her shoulder. She had long, dark scarlet hair with bangs obscuring her eyes, and wore a dark gray beanie, a large green denim jacket, black elastic short shorts, tight black leggings, and forest green ankle-high combat boots. Notably, she had long, floppy dog ears with fur matching her hair,

and a shaggy tail of the same color. Rachel's eyes widened in recognition. Helen, she cried, rushing to her sister's side. Finn was stunned, realizing that the injured woman was Rachel's sister. What unsettled him even more was the fact that Helen had been attacked and violently thrown into the restaurant. Rachel knelt beside her sister and gently picked her up, her hands trembling. The orange spear suddenly shattered like glass, disintegrating into nothingness. Panic filled Rachel's voice as she shook Helen lightly. Helen.

Are you all right? Can you hear me, she asked, her tone frantic and desperate. Helen groaned in pain but didn't respond immediately. Rachel examined her sister's wounds, relieved to see them regenerating, albeit very slowly. Damn it! Who the hell did this to her? Rachel wondered furiously, her eyes narrowing into a glare. Suddenly, Helen's hand weakly squeezed Rachel's arm, drawing her attention.

Helen was breathing heavily, her face contorted with pain. Rachel. Helen asked, her voice strained. I'm here, Helen. Rachel cried, her voice thick with worry. What happened? Who did this to you? Helen grunted in pain but forced herself to speak.

They, have Callie and Zander. We, have to help them. She croaked out before slipping back into unconsciousness. Rachel's eyes widened in shock. Someone had captured Callie and Zander, two of her siblings who were just as powerful as she was. The urgency of the situation hit her heart. Finn, meanwhile, was scanning the surroundings through the shattered window. His eyes locked onto a figure in a brown cloak standing among a group of civilians across the street. Recognition hit him like a bolt of lightning.

No way. Is that the same person who nearly killed me back at the village, he thought, his heart pounding. However, without hesitation, Finn jumped through the shattered window and glared at the cloaked figure. Hey! Who the hell are you? he demanded. The cloaked figure began to walk toward bursting burgers, as an orange sword materialized in his hands. Step aside, the figure said, his voice cold and commanding. Not the same person from before, this one's a man, Finn realized. Not a chance, Finn replied firmly.

step aside, the man repeated, his tone more insistent. Finn stood his ground, taking a fighting stance. I said, not a chance, he reiterated. I don't know if I'll even get close enough to fight him with my bare hands, but I have to do something, he thought. Before either could make a move, a large thorny vine shot out from inside bursting burgers, speeding toward the cloaked man. The man quickly formed an orange wall in front of him,

confident it would block the attack. However, the vine struck the wall with such force that it shattered, sending the man flying back. Finn turned around and saw Rachel emerging from the building, her expression furious. She was radiating a powerful energy, and another vine coiled beside her, ready to strike. The female Gaga, her eyes blazing with determination, glanced at Finn. Get Helen out of here, she commanded, her voice steady and fierce. Turning her attention back to the cloaked man, she added through gritted teeth, he's mine. The cloaked man slowly got to his feet, his expression twisted with annoyance.

Surrender, he demanded, his voice dripping with contempt. I've had enough of fighting for today, you abominations. Rachel advanced toward him, cracking her knuckles, her glare unwavering. Not a chance, you bastard, she shouted. You messed up my sister. Now I'm going to return the favor. The cloaked man sighed, shaking his head. How pathetic, you freaks never learn, he muttered, conjuring two glowing orange swords.

Without hesitation, Rachel summoned multiple thorny vines from the ground, launching them toward the cloaked figure with lethal intent. The man charged forward, deftly dodging and deflecting the onslaught of vines with his blades, his movements precise and fluid. The urban battlefield transformed into a whirlwind of chaos. Rachel's vine snaked through the air, striking at the cloaked figure from every angle. He moved like a shadow, each swing of his swords leaving a trail of orange light. The clash of their powers sent shockwaves through the street, windows rattling and debris scattering with each impact.

Meanwhile, Finn cradled Helen in his arms and quickly retreated to safety. He could hear the fierce battle behind him. the sounds of combat echoing off the buildings. Finding a hidden alley, he gently laid Helen down and checked her wounds. Her regeneration was slow but steady, and Finn breathed a sigh of relief. Back in the street, Rachel pressed her attack, her eyes never leaving the cloaked figure. You're not getting away this time, she yelled, her voice filled with rage and determination. The cloaked man deflected another vine strike and launched himself at Rachel,

his swords cutting through the air with deadly precision. Rachel blocked with a thick vine, the force of the blow sending vibrations up her arm. She retaliated with a flurry of strikes, each one aimed to incapacitate. The man grinned maliciously, enjoying the challenge. You fight well, he admitted, but it won't be enough. Rachel snarled, doubling her efforts. The ground beneath them cracked and splintered as her vines erupted with greater ferocity. twisting and turning to ensnare her opponent.

The cloaked man danced around the attacks, his movements growing more desperate as he realized Rachel's relentless assault was pushing him to his limits. Finn, watching from the alley, felt a surge of pride and worry. Rachel was holding her own, but the cloaked man was no ordinary foe. He needed to find a way to help without putting Helen at risk. With a final, thunderous clash, Rachel's vines wrapped around the cloaked man, pinning him to the ground. He struggled, his swords flickering and dimming as he fought against

the constricting vines. Rachel loomed over him, her eyes cold and unyielding. Who sent you, she demanded. The man chuckled weakly, his defiance still intact. You think this ends with me, he spat. There are more of us. More will come, Rachel tightened her grip, but before she could extract any more information, the man's body shimmered in a white and black light and vanished, leaving only the echo of his sinister laugh. Breathing heavily, Rachel looked around, ensuring the immediate danger was gone. She turned and hurried back to Finn and Helen, her mind racing with questions, who was behind the attack. And why were they targeting her family?

As she reached them, Finn looked up, his expression a mix of relief and concern. Are you okay, he asked. Rachel nodded, though her mind was far from at ease. Yeah, she replied. But we need to find out who these fuckers are in stop, M before they come after us again. Finn agreed, knowing that their fight was far from over. Knight had fallen in the city, casting an eerie calm over the bustling metropolis. Rachel and Finn finally arrived at her sibling's house, with Helen, who remained unconscious

but was thankfully showing signs of healing. The house was situated in a quiet suburban area, standing out with its considerable size. It boasted a spacious garage which housed at least two cars, indicating a well-off household. As they stepped inside, the living room greeted them with its expansive layout. A large television hung prominently on the wall, surrounded by three sizable couches encircling a sleek coffee table. The floor tiles, resembling burnt charcoal, had veins of purple-like liquid seeping between the cracks, giving the room a peculiar, otherworldly feel. The house appeared to have numerous rooms branching off from the main area, and the set of stairs led both to a basement below and a second floor above, suggesting plenty of space for the family. Helen was gently laid on one of the couches, her slow, steady breathing a small comfort to her friends.

Rachel and Finn positioned themselves in the living room, taking turns to watch over her and periodically peering out the windows, vigilant for any signs of the mysterious cloaked figure. I hope she wakes up soon, Rachel said, her voice tinged with worry as she glanced at Helen's peaceful face. She will, Finn replied, his tone steady but his eyes scanning the darkness outside. Rachel nodded in agreement, she is a fighter. Rachel said, You think we lost him? For now, maybe, Finn responded, still keeping his gaze on the window. Rachel sighed, running a hand through her hair.

I just wish we knew what he wanted, she said. We kind of do, Finn said, finally turning his gaze to her. He's definitely in league with the cloaked woman we encountered back in my village, and they're both after whatever the UDN is, but are they the only ones, or is there a large group behind them, he wondered aloud, his voice tinged with frustration. Rachel groaned, her face darkening with anger. There's more, she said through gritted teeth. That bastard told me himself before he vanished into thin air.

Finn let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. Great, he muttered. By the way, do you have any idea how that guy could create those weapons with that orange light? I've never seen anything like it. Rachel shook her head, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. No, it's unlike anything I've ever encountered, she replied. Damn, Finn muttered under his breath. Just then, a sudden knock at the door broke the tension, causing them both to snap to attention.

Rachel immediately stood up from the couch, readying herself to activate her powers. Meanwhile, Finn dashed to the kitchen, quickly grabbing. a knife for protection. They cautiously approached the front door, their senses heightened as the knocks continued, more insistent this time. Who could it be at this hour? Rachel whispered, her eyes darting between the door and Finn. No idea, Finn replied, his grip tightening on the knife. Stay sharp, the knocking persisted, and then a voice called out from the other side. Hello. Rachel? Finn. Are you in there? Both froze, their names being called out sending a jolt of fear through them.

They exchanged wary glances and moved cautiously closer to the door. Standing just in front of it, Rachel decided to confront whoever was outside. Who is it? She called through the door, her voice steady but tense. A clear voice responded, names Patrick Adler, agent of the UWSF. I'm here with my partner, Agent Tanya Sawyer, we need to talk to you. Rachel and Finn exchanged another glance, skepticism etched on their faces. Finn took a step closer to the door, his hand tightening around the knife. How can we trust you, he demanded.

Patrick's voice came back, calm but insistent. We know that Callie and Zander have been taken, we also know you encountered a guy who could create weapons with light, and that Helen is inside with you, currently recovering. Rachel frowned, suspicion still clouding her mind. How do we know this isn't some trick, she asked, her voice edged with doubt? Are you serious? Patrick replied with a hint of exasperation in his tone. If I wanted to attack you, why would I knock on the door?

Rachel and Finn exchanged a look, the logic of Patrick's argument sinking in. After a moment, Rachel nodded and cautiously unlocked the door, opening it to reveal Patrick and Tanya standing there. Patrick had a friendly grin on his face, while Tanya looked utterly bored, her arms crossed. Patrick raised an eyebrow, still grinning. You gonna let us in or what, kid, he asked, his tone teasing. Rachel stepped aside, opening the door wider. Come in, she said, gesturing for them to enter. Patrick and Tanya stepped inside, Patrick immediately taking in the surroundings with a curious glance, while Tanya maintained her disinterested expression.

Thanks, Patrick said, his grin softening into a more serious expression. Now, let's just get down to business. Rachel closed the door behind them, turning to face the agents. All right, let's talk, she said, her voice steady but her eyes still wary. Finn remained on edge, keeping a close eye on the newcomers. What exactly do you know, he asked, his tone guarded. More than you might think, Patrick said with a smirk, sitting on the couch. Let's begin with who that cloaked figure was and who he works for.

What about the woman? Finn asked, his voice tense. Patrick's brow furrowed in confusion. Woman, he echoed. Rachel nodded, her expression. serious. Yeah, the woman who killed my dad and attacked Finn was dressed similarly to the guy we encountered, she could control Gaunts. Hearing this, Tanya's expression darkened, and she spoke up through her electro-larinx. We had no idea she was involved as well. Rachel's

brow furrowed. She, she questioned, seeking clarification. Patrick shook his head and chuckled, a hint of disbelief in his voice. You two have the worst luck I have ever seen, he said, his tone laced with amusement. Finn frowned, his patience wearing thin. What the hell are you talking about, he demanded. Patrick leaned back, his laughter subsiding. You two just ran into the most wanted and dangerous individuals tracked by the UWSF, he exclaimed. Rachel's frustration boiled over.

Just tell us who they are, you asshole, she growled. her eyes flashing with anger. Patrick's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. We have no idea, he admitted, still with a trace of amusement in his voice. Rachel stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as her fangs became visible. That's not good enough, she hissed, her anger palpable. Patrick held up his hands in a placating gesture. Calm down, he said, his tone more measured. Tanya spoke up again, her voice steady.

We don't know their real names or true identities, but we've assigned them codenames and have some understanding of their abilities, she said. The woman you encountered is codenamed love. She works alongside the man you met, known as, Justice, both are part of a group called the Children of the Void, she explained. But we just call them the void, Patrick added. Rachel and Finn absorbed this new information, feeling a slight relief in finally knowing more about their attackers. Finn turned to Tanya.

What do they want, he asked. Patrick answered instead, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. They want to bring their so-called gods into our world, he said. They're essentially a cult, yeah, just a cult of people with powers, Rachel interjected, rolling her eyes. Patrick chuckled. Okay, not exactly your average cult, he conceded. Finn's curiosity deepened. Speaking of powers, how do they have them? Are they Gagas like Rachel or GECs? Patrick looked at Finn with mild surprise, impressed that he knew about Gagas and GECs.

He quickly realized it made sense, given who Finn was traveling with. Neither, at least not any of the original Gagas or GECs that we know of, he replied. We theorized that love might be a Gaga, considering, her ability to control Gauntz, however, we have no idea who created her, Tanya chimed in. As for justice, he's just a normal human, but he possesses a power we call a trait, which complicates things even further. How so? Finn asked, raising an eyebrow. Tanya took a deep breath before explaining. We don't know how justice acquired his power, but through our research and personnel who possess different traits, we've come to understand what a

trait is, she began. As the name implies, it's a characteristic that embodies the person, somehow, this trait manifests physically, granting the user the ability to manipulate it. Do they differ? Rachel asked, curiosity peaked. Tanya shook her head. In color, yes, but in essence, they're the same, all traits can take the form of ethereal light, she explained. For example, Tanya opened her free hand, and a dagger formed in it. Unlike Justice's orange light, Tanya's dagger was a deep violet. The sight of this left Finn and Rachel momentarily speechless. My trade is peace, and its color is purple, Tanya said, her half-robotic voice carrying a note of calm. Rachel stared at the glowing dagger. So, you can create weapons too. Yes, Tanya confirmed,

letting the dagger dissipate into wisps of violet light. Each trait manifests differently based on the person. Patrick then chimed in, his voice cutting through the tension. Tanya's trait manifested when she was near death, he began. As for mine, it appeared during an operation where I was hunting down a criminal. Rachel turned to him, eyebrow raised in surprise. You have a trait too. Patrick nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.

Yep, it's called determination, he opened his hand, and a pistol made of dark red ethereal light materialized, its form solid yet otherworldly. Finn, ever curious, asked the next logical question. Can you only create weapons? Patrick shook his head. No, we can create or do whatever we want as long as we can imagine it, he explained. Well, almost anything, there are limits, like what? Rachel pressed. Tanya answered through her electro-larinx,

we can use our traits to enhance our physical abilities, but we can't heal ourselves or others, she replied. And we can't manipulate reality, trust me, someone tried. Finn nodded, processing this information. So, there could be more people like you, Patrick, Justice, and Love Out There, he asked, his mind already strategizing. Tanya nodded. Yes, and we're certain there are more trait users within the void, she replied.

If that's true, we might be in some serious trouble, Rachel chimed in. Justice is skilled with his trait and has been trained to fight, could it be possible those crazy fucks are training trait users in their cult? Patrick leaned forward and let out a sigh. That's something we've considered and feared, he admitted. Finn looked confused. Why, he asked. Patrick turned to Finn, his expression grave.

Because if they're training trait users, it means a season trait user is teaching them, he explained. This also suggests that there were trait users long before we discovered them, which is alarming because we've only recently identified traits. Rachel's eyes widened at the implications. So, there could be an entire network of these people, all trained and dangerous. Tanya nodded. Exactly, she said. If they have a mentor with extensive knowledge, it means they're more organized than we anticipated.

Finn's face darkened with concern. How many do you think they have? Patrick shrugged, frustration evident in his posture. It's hard to say, he replied. The children of the void operates in secrecy, and they've been very good at keeping their numbers and abilities hidden. Rachel's mind raised with the possibilities. If they have that kind of head start, we really need to get our asses in gear, Patrick nodded. Agreed, he replied.

Tanya interjected, which is why we've been focused on two things, strengthening our defenses and gathering intel on their operations, she told them. If we can disrupt their training and recruitment, we can slow their progress. But one thing we haven't got a clue about is why they went after Dr. Gaster and why they are targeting you and your siblings, Patrick said, his tone grave. UDN., Rachel replied without hesitation. They want to know what it is, UDN. Patrick asked, curiosity and concern mixing in his voice. UDN. is a machine, Rachel disclosed. It was developed by my father and a scientist named Dr. Stalin to try and fix the rift in space. Hearing this, Patrick's eyes widened, and he exchanged a nervous glance with Tanya,

who also looked unsettled. He turned back to Rachel with a raised brow. The rift that appeared back in 62 and closed in 2000. Rachel nodded. Yeah, why, she asked, noting their worried expressions. Tanya let out a robotic sigh, the sound eerie through her electro larynx. Things just got a lot more complicated. Rachel and Finn exchanged confused looks.

Patrick leaned forward, His expression serious. There's something only a few UWSF agents and upper brass know about, he said. We don't have clearance to know the full details, but we know that something appeared from the rift before it closed, and it landed up north near Oshawa and has been sealed away in some sort of egg. Rachel's eyes widened in shock. An egg? What the hell is inside it?

She asked, Patrick shook his head. We don't know, he replied, all we know. is that it's highly classified and heavily guarded, the fact that your father's work is involved with the closing of the rift means it's connected somehow. Rachel let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through her hair. No kidding, she said. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Look, let's set the UDN and egg shit to the side. What we need to do is get my brother and sister back. Tanya nodded in agreement. Of course, that's our primary mission, she said. Our orders are to bring all of you back safely, including you, Mr. Trescote.

Rachel nodded a new question forming in her mind. Speaking of which, who sent you? Patrick smirked, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. Who do you think, he asked, his tone teasing. Rachel instantly smiled, realizing who the UWSF agent was referring to. He, just like them to keep tabs on us, she said, a touch of warmth in her voice. Finn looked confused, clearly out of the loop on who they were talking about, but before he could ask, the group moved on to more pressing matters. They gathered around the coffee table, pulling out maps and documents to begin formulating a plan for the night.

We need to locate Callie and Zander first, Rachel stated her voice firm. If we can figure out where they're being held, we might be able to stage a rescue. Patrick nodded, studying the map. We've got a few potential locations based on the latest intel, he said, however, we'll need to split up to cover more ground. Tanya interjected, her mechanical voice steady. We should also set a trap to lure out either justice or love, she began. If we can capture one of them, we might get the information we need. Finn's mind raised with possibilities.

What if we create a false lead? Something that suggests we've got a lead on UDN, he asked. Tanya's eyes lit up with understanding. That could work, she said, it would force them to come out and confront Rachel or you, which give us the advantage, as we can overwhelm them, should they show, Patrick grinned. Sounds like a plan to me.

He said, But we'll need to coordinate our movements carefully and stay in constant communication. They all nodded in agreement. Rachel looked at each of them, her eyes burning with determination. This is it, she stayed. stated, We're going to get my sister and brother back, and we're going to put a foot up the

void's ass. The group spent the rest of the night, meticulously planning their operation, considering every detail and potential contingency. The stakes were higher than ever, but they were united in their mission. In a secure and hidden location, justice waited in what appeared to be an old, decrepit building on the coast not too far from Salton Lake City. The structure, once vibrant and full of life, now stood as a hollow shell of its former self, providing the perfect cover for clandestine activities. For the first time in a while, the hood of Justice's cloak was down, revealing his striking appearance. His long white hair cascaded down to his shoulders, framing a face that was a study in contrasts. His skin was lightly tanned, and his left eye

was a vivid purple, brimming with intensity. His right eye, however, was close. His right eye, however, was completely white, marred by a burn that scarred both the eye in the surrounding area, a testament to past battles. Justice sat in an old, rickety chair, focusing intently on his current task. He conjured orange darts from thin air, hurling them with precision at a makeshift dartboard he had fashioned from the top of a broken desk. The repetitive thud of the darts hitting their target filled the otherwise silent room. He-he-he, came a sultry laugh, one that was all too familiar to him. Justice's face twisted with annoyance as he looked up. There, perched casually in the rafters of the building, was none other than Love. The bright moonlight streamed through the shattered roof,

illuminating her features. Her hood was also down, revealing her own striking appearance. Love had pale, porcelain skin that contrasted sharply with her dark attire. Her white hair, cut in a stylish pixie cut, framed her delicate face, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. Dark purple eye shadow accentuated her bright yellow eyes, making them stand out dramatically and almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the old building. The effect was both mesmerizing and unsettling. Her lips were adorned with deep purple lipstick, adding to her striking and somewhat gothic look. A black laborate piercing beneath her lower lip glinted in the moonlight, drawing attention to her mischievous smile. Two black stainless steel stud earrings

decorated her ears, completing her edgy, enigmatic style. Enjoying yourself, Raphael, she teased, her voice dripping with mockery. Justice, now known as Raphael, let out a low growl, his patience wearing thin. What do you want, Sister Angelique? He snapped, flicking another dart with a bit more force than necessary. Love, now also known as Angelique, gracefully descended from the rafters, her movements fluid and deliberate. She landed lightly on the ground with her bare feet and walked toward him, her smile never wavering. I just came to see how our resident Bruder is doing, she purred. You seem, tense, I can always help fix that.

Raphael rolled his eyes, his irritation palpable. And indulge in your sick pleasures. Not a chance in hell, Raphael spat, his voice dripping with contempt. Angelique giggled a melodious sound that belied the darkness in her eyes. Ah! What a shame, she said, her tone mocking yet pleased. Such a prude! You know, there's nothing wrong with indulging in the pleasures of the flesh, after all, isn't love a

gift from the gods themselves. Raphael rolled his eyes and groaned in irritation. It's no wonder the goddess Necrosamur chose you as her champion. Angelique's giggle turned into a laugh, rich with amusement. And I see why such a boring goddess like Karakavix would choose you, she replied with a smirk. Hearing Angelique speak ill of his goddess sent a surge of fury through Raphael. He quickly formed an orange sword in his hands, the blade glowing with the intensity of his rage. With a swift, determined movement, he lunged at her. Angelique was ready. In an instant, she conjured her own ethereal blade, its bright red light contrasting sharply with determination's dark red color. The clash of their weapons sent

sparks flying, the colors dancing violently in the dim light of the room. Your predictable, Raphael, Angelique taunted, her voice a venomous whisper. Always so quick to anger, so easy to provoke. Raphael growled as he deflected Angelique's blade, forcefully pushing it aside. He swiftly pulled back, readying himself for a counterattack, his eyes fixed on his target. Just as he lunged forward, two bullets of green ethereal light shot through the air, striking their blades with pinpoint accuracy. The force knocked the weapons from their hands, and the bullets dissipated into the night. Startled, both Raphael and Angelique turned their hands. They were towards the direction of the shots.

Emerging from the shadows was another member of their cult, a single green rifle in his hands. His cloak obscured most of his attire, but his face was illuminated in the dim light. The man had a light complexion, his age betrayed by the wrinkles etched into his skin. His hair, gray and styled in an undercut, framed his dull hazel eyes,

and a prominent scar stretched across his face, a souvenir from a battle with a gaunt. This was Father Arkin, one of the founding members of the void, and a figure of significant authority within the cult. Upon seeing him, Raphael immediately dropped to one knee in reverence. Angelique, on the other hand, remained standing, a smirk playing on her lips as she raised an eyebrow at Raphael, intrigued by his reaction to someone of such high rank. Father Arkin, Raphael greeted with a tone full of respect and submission. Greetings, Father, Angelique echoed, her voice tinged with curiosity.

What brings you out here, she asked, her eyes gleaming with interest. Father Arkin stepped closer, his presence imposing yet calm. I could ask the same of you, he replied, his voice resonating with authority. Why are two of my most promising disciples battling each other instead of focusing on our greater mission? Raphael lowered his head further, guilt-washing over him. I apologize, Father, it was a misunderstanding. Angelique, however, maintained her defiant posture. We were merely testing our skills, Father, ensuring we remained sharp for the challenges ahead. Father Arkansas gays shifted

between the two, his expression unreadable. Discipline is essential, but so is unity. Remember, our strength lies in our cohesion, he said, do not let personal disputes weaken our cause. Both disciples nodded, Raphael remaining on one knee, while Angelique's smirk remained evident on her face. Father Arkin regarded the two with an unreadable expression. I've come to inform you, young apostles, that the situation has become more complicated, he began. Today, two UWSF agents arrived in the city, their mission is to retrieve Rachel Rose, her siblings, and the Gaunt Hunter accompanying them. So, Angelique interjected. her tone dismissive. If they aim to collect all the Gagas in Satlawn Lake, they'll be looking for

Callie and Zander, so inevitably, that search will lead them to us, Arkin explained. And this, my dear disciples, we can turn to our advantage. Raphael looked up, curiosity peaked. How so, father, he asked. Arkin's eyes glinted with cunning. If we use Callie and Zander as bait, we can draw them into a trap, he replied, once captured, they can be leveraged against the UWSF, bargaining for any information regarding the UDN.

Raphael hesitated, glancing at Angelique before addressing Arkin again. Forgive me, Father Arkin, but why not simply eliminate these abominations? Are they not blasphemous creatures that deserve destruction? Arkin nodded thoughtfully. Indeed, they are, he said. However, they serve a greater purpose for us. as without them, we cannot locate the UDN machine, and without that, we cannot forge the gateway necessary for our gods to come forth.

Angelique's smirk faded into a frown of contemplation. I still don't understand how Mother Superior learned of such a thing, she said. Father Arkin's expression remained impassive. Mother Superior has her ways, he replied. Her visions and insights are gifts from the gods, trust in her guidance, for it leads us to our ultimate destiny, hard to believe that, when only the other founding members have ever met Mother Superior, Angelique mused to herself. Despite her skepticism, she shrugged it off with a mischievous smirk.

Oh well, at least I'll get to have some fun with that little hunter, she thought, licking her lips in anticipation. Now then, Father Arkin continued, I'll be returning to the church, your task is to capture Miss Rose and Miss Hound, along with the gaunt hunter and the two agents, understood? Yes, Father, they both replied in unison. Satisfied, Father Arkin nodded and melted back into the shadows, disappearing into the night and leaving Raphael and Angelique alone in the ruins of the building. Angelique turned to Raphael, her expression brimming with amusement.

It appears you'll be seeing more of me, she cooed, her voice dripping with playful malice. Raphael glared at her, his disdain evident. How lovely, he replied with heavy, sarcasm, his tone cutting through the silence. Angelique chuckled softly, relishing the tension. Oh, don't be like that, Raphael, she said, we might as well make the most of our time together, she teased, stepping closer to him. Raphael's jaw tightened, but he kept his composure.

Let's just focus on the mission, he said curtly, turning away to conceal his irritation. Angelique's eyes sparkled with a dangerous mix of excitement and amusement. Oh, I am focused, she purred. Very focused, but I do enjoy multitasking. Raphael shot her a sharp look. Just remember, our success depends on us working together, not indulging in personal vendettas or distractions. Of course, Angelique replied, her tone suddenly serious. Our mission comes first, always.

With their objectives clear, the two cultists prepared to embark on their mission, the night around them filled with an uneasy alliance and the promise of conflict. Shall we start with your name and profession for the record? The interviewer turns on his handheld recorder and sets it on the stack of papers on the dining table and adjusts his spectacles as he looks around the apartment. A medium-sized regular place, with papers stacked everywhere and strewn around. There is also a video cam setup on a tripod pointing towards the two men sitting at the dining table. My name is Jesse Casillaro.

I am a former journalist at IBM Global. Okay. So I understand you have information that you would like to share with the media. Yes. I have information on a major government department of this country, on some unconstitutional activities. I see, so can you tell me? Why don't we talk about you a little, before we begin? Jesse leans forward peering at him with a keen interest.

Casey stares back at him and gives an amused smile as he adjusts his glasses. Location, Casey's house, suburbs, will you marry me? Emily stares wide-eyed at the beautiful ring Casey was holding. She was sleeping a moment ago, when Casey had slid behind her on the bed and woke her up gently and showed her the ring. She turns around and looks at Casey with her eyes filling up and wraps her arm around his neck. Yes, let's get married right now, Casey chuckles as he hugs her back. He slips the ring into her finger and they both stare at it. Do you want to go back to sleep?

No, I just want to stay here like this forever. Casey's phone starts ringing at the bedside. Don't answer that. He-he, sorry, babe, I will be back in a sec. Emily throws the pillow at him playfully as Casey heads to the hallway answering the call. Hello. Casey Webb. Yes, I am ready to meet you, location, red herring apartment, so, why exactly did you leave IBM? Don't you watch the news? Jesse looks at Casey mockingly while he is arranging papers on the table. From one journalist to another, don't believe everything you hear on the news. Jesse smiles as he looks up, I was forcibly resigned, after I was charged with wiretapping and my boss was forced to take action.

to save the company before I was convicted. Well, I suppose he didn't do a great job, though. The future looks bleak for IBM. I suppose you should feel happy considering what they did to you, especially Charles. Charles Wellington is a good man. Jesse exclaims visibly emotional. For a news mogul, he is the most honest man I know. But they played us well, left him with no choice.

And by they you mean? Jesse looks intently at Casey as he clasps his hands together, before I tell you anything Mr. Webb, are you ready to risk everything for this story? These people framed me for a crime I did not commit and took away my job. And my source who provided me information has been missing without a trace. I fear that they are coming for me next. Do you really want to risk everything for this story?

Casey pauses for a while, a good story is always worth dying for. Jesse leans back on his chair, hmm. Fine. In any case, I should probably warn you. Once this interview is over, it's quite possible that we both will not believe this building alive. Authorities are still investigating the cause of the explosion last night at the second floor of the red herring apartment, where they have so far recovered a body, believed to be of journalist and controversial figure Jesse Casillaro,

who is at the center of the wiretapping controversy of. Emily bites her nails nervously as she watches the report on TV in the kitchen. She paces up and down the aisle when her phone rings. Mark, did you hear from him yet? No. Calm down Emily, he's got to be alive. It is obvious he sent us the tape. The doorbell rings, Emily walks towards the door and opens it to see a delivery guy,

while she continues on the phone. Why did he send the tape by mail? He was supposed to bring it in himself. Emily takes the small package from the guy and signs the sheet and takes it inside. Look, Emily, you have to calm down. Casey knows what he is doing, I am sure there is some reason to all this. We are doing all we can to track him. Meanwhile, please do not do anything without our knowledge.

Okay. Emily. He has sent a tape to me too. Emily is sitting at the table with the package open, with a cancorder tape and Casey's handheld recorder in it. What tape? The same one? Who, G.A.

I will call you back. Emily cuts Mark off midway and switches off the phone. Her hands trembling she reaches for the recorder and plays it. There is a low distant voice, which Emily instantly recognizes it to be Casey's. We have been betrayed. They are coming after us and they want me out of the picture. The only way out is if this evidence is exposed, but only by a credible source, someone from the inside. Charles Wellington, we can trust only him.

Emily grips the recorder tightly, not able to believe what she had heard. The voice was too low to make out whether he was in any kind of distress, but it definitely was Casey. Emily picks up the tape and ponderes for a while, then finally takes up the tape and ponderes for a while, then finally takes it to her desktop and connects it in and starts playing it. Hold it up to the camera. Jesse holds up each paper one by one to the camera while describing its contents and then hands it to Casey. This is detailed information on the murder of journalist Harrington, who was working on the exposure of a link between a massive cocaine smuggling racket in Philadelphia with this department. What was initially assumed to be an undercover operation to infiltrate

the operation, Harrington later allegedly uncovered evidence that the top brass of the cartel did have knowledge of the infiltration and were actively financed and assisted by them. This one details the wire-tapping and planting of fake evidences on Senator Horton during the 2001 campaign. This is the profile of Mike Slater, senior CIA field agent who has 21 unofficial sanctioned kills in his name. Casey takes another sip of scotch from his glass. This seems to indicate that the entire CIA department is an underground mafia organization. Casey says as he goes through another of the information on the paper. Well, there are a powerful group of them who sits at the very top whose names I have here,

and they are efficiently using the CIA and government resources to run a sort of professional hit services for the highest payer. Jesse continues with the next paper and holds it up to the camera. Casey analyses another sheet and shakes his head, all of this. This is just information, no official seals or anything, no one's going to believe this if we say it. Emily, where are you? Emily exits onto the freeway as she looks into the rear view mirror. Mark, have you heard anything from him yet? No, but we are still looking. Well, why are you looking in my house? What? No. Don't fuck with me, Mark. I saw the team outside in the car, which is tailing me right.

right now. Emily, it is just a precaution, we are just trying to contact him, we do not have much idea where he could be. Well, it looks like you are hunting him down. You are hiding something from me, Mark, and after all these years, it is not really a surprise, considering that is what we do. I will do anything to find any sort of information about him, and I see only one option. Emily, we are not H. Emily cuts the call and checks the rear view for the the black sedan tailing her. Suddenly the sedan accelerates catching up to her car. Emily guns the pedal squeezing through traffic trying to lose them.

What went wrong? It doesn't make sense. Emily tries to recall the tape which she watched. The interview seemed to have gone fine. There does not seem to be any clue of foul play. She is cut off when the pursuers ram her car. Emily struggles to get her car back in control. and sees the sedan closing in again.

She knows her car will not be able to handle more of those attacks. She looks ahead and sees an intersection signal. If only she could. Emily is thrown back and forth and hits her head on the steering wheel as they hit her car again. The car wobbles unevenly and starts losing speed. One more of that and it is done. She keeps to her track and move straight ahead, while she sees the attacker's readying, for another hit. She closes onto the intersection and sees it turning orange, then red. She

races through the signal and just when the sedan is about to hit her, a carrier truck crashes into the side of the sedan from nowhere. Emily checks her rearview to see the truck stop and a man wearing a baseball cap coming out of the vehicle. Is that Casey, no, this man is too short. Emily keeps moving as her head bleeds slightly from its wound. I know that no No one will believe this information. I am a disgraced journalist, but even if I wasn't, even if Charles Wellington himself presented this to the public, no one would buy it. Jesse pours some scotch into Casey's glass and looks on as he waits for Casey's reply.

Sorry Jesse, it is a great story, but I will not be able to publish this right away. I need to dig into this deeper. Tell you what, you give me all of this information and tell me your source, I will try to contact him and help you get more information. Jesse ponder's Casey's reply for a while as he holds the papers. I don't, have any hope left. My source is probably dead. I am not sure why I would want to involve you in this too.

But I will give you what I have. But do understand this, the only way we can prove this is if a credible source, someone from the inside validates it publicly. There is no other way. Messy's face freezes on the screen as the tape ends and the lights come on. Emily looks over to the three men, one of them beside the projector and another standing by a big table. The third man, who looked senior to them, sat behind the table looking intently at Emily. I received this tape today afternoon along with a message from my fiancé to bring it to you, Mr. Wellington.

I suppose if you can broadcast this, there should be some way to know what happened to Casey. And you believe that, Madam? Charles leans forward, as he signals to his assistant. I do not have any other option. That tape is the only. No, it's not. The assistant comes back and places a tape on the table. We received the same tape too.

Emily looks at the tape shocked, and looks back at Charles. Why would he send the tape to both of us? Because like Jesse and Mr. Webb said, the information is useless. It can only be reported by someone who can give it credibility, someone from the inside. The someone which we do not have. Emily stares bluntly at Charles as she replies. Yes you do. Comey, good evening, my name is Emily Snowden. I work for the CIA as a senior field agent and data analyst specialist. I am here to show you a tape of an interview between former journalist Jesse Casillaro and CI and Casey Webb.

Mr. Casillaro has provided evidence regarding corrupt activities in the CIA. I confirm, as my position as a senior agent in the department, that I have validated the information and find it to be true. Right now I have reason to believe that Casey might be in CIA custody, and his life is probably in danger or. Casey, if you are listening to this, I hope you are all right. The news camera switches to the reader who looks shaken, as he turns to the camera and addresses the audience that the tape will be played after a short interlude. Emily stays at the table staring at the blank table without a word, as Charles stands beside her and holds her shoulders. Why don't you relax in my office for a while?

There will be agents coming here soon, they will try to block the report. Emily goes with Charles and takes a seat in his office. There is a TV on the wall broadcasting the news channel playing an advert. It is too late for them, there is nothing they can do now. You rest here for a while, you need it. Charles exits the office and closes the door as his assistant comes hurriedly to him. What do we do now? Charles locks the office door quietly.

We will do what we were instructed. I know that no one, not even you will believe this information. I am a disgraced journalist, but even if I wasn't, even if Charles Wellington himself presented this. Emily looks at the TV as the tape plays on the news report. I hope this works. I hope this helps Casey to get out of whatever trouble he is in. Is he kidnapped by the CIA?

Will this tape somehow tie their hands from harming him? What is Casey's reason? Oh, I just hope he is safe. Emily buries her head in her hands, as she hears the case. the final part of the tape. But do understand this, the only way we can prove this is if a credible source, someone from the inside validates it publicly. There is no other way. By the way, this is the last communication I received from my source. Emily looks up shocked at the TV and sees that the tape is still playing. The video had not stopped as she expected, it was still continuing.

Jesse takes out some papers from his bag and gives one of them to Casey. Could you read this out loud for the camera, please? Casey takes the paper and looks at it, out loud. Yes, please. Casey looks amused, but then shrugs and reads the contents. We have been betrayed. They are coming after us and they want me out of the picture. The only way out is if this evidence is exposed, but only by a credible source, someone from

inside. Charles Wellington, we can trust only him. Emily stands up shocked as she stares at the screen and realizes that this is the other tape that Charles received. She goes towards the office door and tries opening it. So this was the last communication from your source. Casey hands him back the paper as he rubs his neck and looks a bit disturbed. No. No. But you? Casey coughs hard as he clutches his chest. Emily pulls at the door knob in vain and starts banging the door dash, Let me out. At the newsroom, the crew hears Emily screaming and looks at Charles, who seemed to completely ignore everything as he watches the report intently. I lie to you, Mr. Webb. This is the last information my source gave before he disappeared. Jesse tells Casey as he

takes another paper from the bunch and goes through it. Apparently the CIA knows about the source and me so he decided to go underground. And the CIA has assigned two specialist agents to investigate and find out exactly how much information or evidence I have, destroy them all and eliminate me. Emily moves back and pulls the screen of the office room in her windows and sees the crew and Charles watching the report. She goes back and takes one of the chairs. These two agents are considered one of the most prolific assets of the CIA, and incidentally are in a relationship with each other. I knew there was no way I could escape from certain death, but I did have a vast amount of information about these two agents, so I decided to use it. Jesse gets up and

moves the camera away from Casey who is coughing violently, and takes the papers and displays it. Casey Webb, senior field agent and former explosive specialist for the Marines. Tined explosive devices are apparently his preferred method of execution. I suppose I was. I was a little bit of, I suppose I have to check his equipment bag and get away from here as soon as possible. Then we have, Emily Snowden, data analyst and intelligence expert. She is the key to how this plan goes down. Emily repeatedly crashes the chair at the windows, as it starts cracking. Meanwhile there are people in black suits running into the building forcing themselves in. Charles, I am sending a copy of this tape to you. I know you have no reason to believe me and you will probably report the

apparent murder this tape has captured. But I have made dangerous enemies and my life is pretty much over so I don't really care. And I know the information in this tape has no credibility. But please do me one favor, keep the tape with you for two days before you turn it over to the authorities, I assure you, you will get your credible source in that time. Emily breaks through the window as the men in suits into the newsroom at the same time. The cameraman turns around and points it to them as Emily and the men stop and look at one another. And Miss Snowden if you are watching, I am sorry it had to be this way. Emily looks at the screen and sees Jesse wear a baseball cap and move away. May 25, 2024. Book 1, Shadows of Whitman Town, Chapter 1 Part 1,

The Day of the Massacre. Whitman Town was a quaint, serene place where the biggest was the annual summer fair. Kev's thrifting warehouse, known for its eclectic mix of second-hand goods, was a community staple. On a bright day in 1998, the warehouse was bustling with activity. Families, bargain hunters, and curious passers-by were drawn to the thrifting haven. Jonathan, a seasoned journalist, was among the crowd. He was there to cover a story on local businesses and was particularly intrigued by the

warehouse's rapid success and its enigmatic owner, Kev. Jonathan noticed Kev seemed unusually tense, frequently glancing at his watch and whispering urgently to his employees, including the manager, Vinetsu. Suddenly, the air was shattered by the sound of gunfire. Screams erupted as Kev, armed and coldly determined, began shooting. Jonathan dove behind a stack of old books, his heart pounding. He watched in horror as Kev method.

gunned down the terrified customers. Amid the chaos, Jonathan saw the five employees, including Vinitsu, being herded away by Kev. Just as Jonathan tried to move, a heavy blow to his head knocked him unconscious. Chapter 2 The Aftermath Jonathan awoke in a dark, damp sewer, his hands bound in his head throbbing. Panic surged through him as he struggled to free himself. The massacre replayed in his mind, Kev's cold execution of the shoppers and the employees forced removal. Jonathan realized he had to escape and expose Kev's sinister plans. Hours turned into days as Jonathan pieced together what he had overheard before the massacre. Kev had been paranoid, whispering about bank blueprints and security schedules.

It became clear to Jonathan that the massacre was a cover-up to silence the employees who had discovered Kev's plan to rob the town's only bank. Chapter 3, The Visions. Meanwhile, Tygo, another employee of the warehouse, discovered the bodies of his co-workers in a hidden section of the building. Horrified and driven by curiosity, Tygo, who had a background in medical studies, transformed the storage room into a makeshift morgue. Using the equipment he had, Tygo began experimenting, hoping to unlock the final memories of his co-workers. One night, as he connected electrodes to Vinetsu's body and adjusted the machinery, Tygo was suddenly sucked into a vivid vision. Chapter 4 The Grey World, Tygo found himself in a gray, empty world, an eerie and surreal

landscape with shadowy silhouettes drifting aimlessly. The air was thick with an unsettling silence, broken only by the occasional whisper of the shadows. As he wandered, he saw the thrifting warehouse, a ghostly ex-examined. of its former self. Shadowy silhouettes represented the shoppers, flickering and fading in the eerie light. Every five minutes, the scene shifted like a macabre slideshow. The first slide was of the warehouse, bustling with shadowy figures representing people shopping. The next slide showed the five employees, detailed and distinct among the shadows. Tygo felt a chill as he recognized their faces. In the next vision, Kev pulled out his pistol.

and started shooting everyone. The shadowy figures fell, one by one, as Kev moved through the crowd with terrifying precision. The scene shifted again. Now, it displayed a gruesome tableau, the floor littered with bodies, blood pooling around them. Only the five employees and one more person, a man who seemed to have tried to stop Kev, remained alive. The man stood defiantly, trying to reason with Kev, but Kev shot him in the head, the gruesome act playing out in horrifying detail. The final slide showed Kev taking the five employees, dragging them out of the warehouse and forcing them into his van. Kev then drove off,

leaving behind the bloody, horrific scene of the thrifting warehouse. Tigo, shaken by what he had seen, understood the full horror of Kev's actions. He now had a clear vision of the massacre and knew he had to find Jonathan and bring Kev to justice. Chapter 5, The Escape the Escape showdown, Jonathan's persistence paid off. He managed to free himself and navigate the sewer system, emerging in an abandoned part of town. Weak but determined, he made his way to the motel where Kev was hiding. With Tygo's help, who had tracked him down using clues from his visions, they broke into Kev's secret room. The site that greeted them was chilling, detailed plans for the bank heist, maps, schedules, and a list of accomplices. They gathered the

evidence, but just as they were about to leave, Kev returned. A tense standoff ensued. You think you can stop me? Kev sneered, his eyes wild with desperation. You're too late. The plan is already in motion. Jonathan, holding up the blueprints, said, It's over, Kev. We have everything we need to expose you. Kev lunged at them, but Tygo managed to subdue him. This is for Sarah, Mark, and everyone else you heard, Tygo said through gritted teeth. The police, tipped off by an anonymous call Tygo had made earlier, arrived just in time. Chapter 6, The Scars, The aftermath of the massacre left Whitman Town reeling. The warehouse, once a symbol of community and connection, was now a sight of unspeakable horror.

It was temporarily closed and draped in police tape, but the townspeople were determined to rebuild. guilt. James, the owner of the local bar, organized fundraisers to support the victim's families and repair the damage. Martin, the motel owner, who had unknowingly housed a murderer, struggled with guilt. He had noticed Kev's odd behavior but never imagined it could lead to such violence. He cooperated fully with the authorities, providing them with access to Kev's room and any information he had. Homeless Johnson, who had seen more than his fair share of hardship, became an unexpected hero. Living in the sewers, he had heard Jonathan's struggles and provided him with water and food through a grate, helping him survive until he could escape.

His knowledge of the sewer system had also proven invaluable to Jonathan's eventual escape. Hulig and Harry, the town's notorious eavesdropper, had overheard bits and pieces of Kev's conversations over the weeks leading up to the massacre. While his reputation made him a less than reliable witness, the information he provided helped the police piece together Kev's movements and plans. Chapter 7, The End. In a climactic confrontation, Jonathan and Tygo managed to subdue Kev, but not without a struggle. The police, tipped off by an anonymous call Tygo had made earlier, arrived just in time to arrest Kev. The evidence they had gathered was irrefutable. As Kev was led away, Tygo felt a strange sense of peace.

He knew the spirits of his co-workers could finally rest. Part 2, Echoes of the Past, Chapter 8, The Reopening. Months after the massacre, the thrifting warehouse was repaired and reopened, though some windows remained broken as a somber reminder of the tragedy. The community gathered for the reopening, their faces a mix of hope and sorrow. The warehouse stood as a testament to their resilience. James, who had played a key role in the recovery. efforts, spoke at the reopening ceremony. This place represents our strength, he said, and our ability

to come together, even in the darkest of times. Martin, the motel owner, and homeless Johnson were also present. They had become unlikely friends, bonded by their shared experiences and roles in the aftermath. Hooligan Harry, too, had found a new sense of purpose, using his knack for eavesdropping to help the police monitor suspicious activities. Chapter 9, The Hidden Blueprint. As the town healed, Jonathan and Tygo continued to investigate Kev's broader plans. They suspected that the bank heist was just one part of a larger scheme. In Kev's motel room, they discovered another hidden blueprint, this time of a government building.

Kev was planning something much bigger, Jonathan said, his voice filled with urgency. We need to find out who else is involved. involved. Their investigation led them to uncover a kept-away bulletin board of corrupt officials and criminals who had been working with Kev. The conspiracy ran deep, threatening the very foundation of Whitman Town. Chapter 10, The Turn, just when they thought they had uncovered all of Kev's secrets, Tygo had another vision. This time, it was different. He found himself back in the gray world, but instead of shadowy silhouettes, he saw Kev standing before him, a look of desperation on his face.

You're not supposed to be here, Kev said, his voice echoing in the emptiness. You think you've won, but you don't know the whole story. Tygo, confused but determined, demanded answers. What are you talking about, Kev? What more is there? Kev's expression softened, revealing a hint of vulnerability. I wasn't acting alone. There are others, more powerful than you can imagine.

If you don't stop them, everything we've fought for will be destroyed. With that, Kev vanished, leaving Tygo with more questions than answers. Chapter 11, The End Jonathan and Tygo, armed with new information from Tygo's vision, worked tirelessly to uncover the true masterminds behind the conspiracy. The high-ranking government official they were after was known only as, the director, a shadowy figure with connections that ran deep into the fabric of Whitman Town's political and economic systems. This discovery marked the beginning of their most dangerous and complex

investigation yet. The first breakthrough came when they stole Kev's documents they had retrieved from his motel room. The files revealed a series of coded messages between Kev and the director, detailing plans for the bank heist and other criminal activities. One message, in particular, stood out, it mentioned a clandestine meeting at an old, abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. Jonathan and Tygo decided to stake out the factory. Under the cover of darkness, they positioned themselves strategically around the dilapidated building, watching and waiting. Hours passed before a convoy of black SUVs pulled up, and several men in suits emerged, including the director. Jonathan's heart raced as he recognized the man from photographs, a respected member of the town council, long considered a pillar of the community.

Using a small, homemade drone taped with a camera, Jonathan and Tygo captured footage of the meeting. The men discussed their plans with chilling precision, confirming their involvement in the bank heist and other crimes that had plagued the town. The director outlined his next target, a major government building that housed sensitive documents and large sums of money. This is bigger than we thought, Jonathan whispered to Tygo. We need to act fast. They quickly formulated a plan to expose the director and his network. Jonathan sent the drone footage and encrypted files to trusted contacts in the media and law enforcement. They knew they had to be careful, any misstep could lead to their discovery and silencing.

The next day, a massive police operation was launched. SWAT teams surrounded the factory, catching the director and his associates off guard. The ensuing standoff was tense. The director, realizing the trap, attempted to escape, but Jonathan and Tygo were one step ahead. They had anticipated this move and had strategically positioned themselves to block any escape routes. You're not going anywhere, Tygo shouted, emerging from the shadows with a determined look on his face. The director, cornered and desperate, pulled out a gun. You don't know what you're dealing with, he screamed.

This goes far beyond this town. Jonathan stepped forward, his voice steady. We know enough to bring you down. It's over, director. A tense silence followed as the two sides faced off. The police, moving swiftly, disarmed the director and arrested his accomplices. The evidence Jonathan and Tygo had gathered was overwhelming, ensuring that the criminals would face justice. As the director was led away in handcuffs, he glared at Jonathan and Tygo.

You think you've won, but this is just the beginning. Others will come. You can't stop them all. Jonathan met his gaze with unwavering resolve. We'll be ready. The aftermath of the operation was a whirlwind of media coverage and community reactions. Whitman Town was rocked by the revelations, but the sense of justice and closure brought a renewed sense of hope. Jonathan's book chronicling the events was published, becoming a best of,

bestseller and a powerful testament to the town's resilience and determination to seek the truth. Tygo, now a local hero, used his medical skills to establish a clinic in honor of his fallen co-workers. He dedicated himself to helping the community heal, both physically and emotionally. As the years passed, the memory of the thrifting massacre of 1998 and the subsequent uncovering of the conspiracy became an integral part of Whitman Town's history. The thrifting warehouse, once a sight of tragedy, was now a symbol of renewal and unity. The community, stronger than ever, stood together. Epilogue, a new beginning, Whitman Town, though scarred by its past, emerged stronger than ever.

The community's resilience and determination to seek justice had prevailed. Jonathan's book became a symbol of their triumph over adversity, and Tygo's medical skills were put to good use, helping those in need. The thrifting warehouse, now a symbol of hope and renewal, continued to serve the community, reminding everyone of the strength that comes from standing together. As the years passed, the story of the thrifting massacre of 1998 became a part of the town's history, a testament to the power of truth, justice, and the unbreakable spirit of Whitman Town. Finn Our private investigation office, a modest second-floor space above a bustling cafe on Magazine Street in New Orleans, is alive with the usual morning chaos.

My wife Rain and I are in the midst of showing Abby, our new secretary, the ins and outs of our, let's call it, unique filing system. Abby, a young woman with bright blue eyes and an infectious enthusiasm for detective work, nods vigorously, taking notes on her pad. So, you see, I start holding up a file, each case has its own color code. Red for ongoing cases, blue for solved, and green for, well, let's just call it, active investigations. Abby nods, her eyes scanning the rainbow of folders on the desk. And the glitter stickers, she asks, pointing to a file adorned with sparkling unicorns. I glance at Rain, who's trying to hide her smirk behind a cup of coffee. That's Rain system.

You'll have to ask her about that. Rain leans over, her voice laced with mock seriousness. The glitter is crucial, Abby. It represents the mystery of the case. The more glitter, the deeper the intrigue. Abby looks between us, a flicker of confusion passing through her eyes before she catches onto our jest. Got it. Glitter equals mystery.

I'll remember that. And remember, Rain says, pointing to a large, overly complex calendar on the wall, if someone asks for an urgent meeting and the calendar looks full, just tell them we're consulting on a case in Baton Rouge. It buys us some time. Abbey nods vigorously, taking notes on her path. Got it, Baton Rouge. And if they ask for details, I glance at Rain with a mischievous grin. Then you say we're undercover, and it's a matter of national security. They rarely ask after that. Just as we're wrapping up our impromptu tutorial with Abby, there's a sudden, sharp knock at the door, cutting through the relaxed atmosphere of the morning like a knife.

I stride over and pull it open to reveal a woman in her early 40s, her poised teetering on the edge of despair. She introduces herself in a voice that carries a weight far beyond her years. Hello, detectives Asher and Rain Tran. I'm Astrid Everly. I believe I have an appointment for a consultation. I nod, remembering a conversation over the phone last week, though the specifics elude me. Of course, Mrs. Everley, please come in. Abby, could you pull up the Everly file on the desktop, please?

Should be under ETH. Before Abby can even turn to the computer, Astrid interjects, there's no need for that. I'm here because I suspect my husband, Zane, of, infidelity. Her voice falters for a moment, the facade of calmness cracking. Rain sets her coffee down with a soft clink, her expression shifting into one of professional empathy. We understand how difficult this must be for you, Mrs. Everly, she says gently. I motion for Astrid to take a seat.

You've come to the right place, I begin. We handle matters discreet. and efficiently. Cheating spouse investigations might not be glamorous, but they are the bread and butter of our business. And in our experience, the truth, however painful, is what our clients need most. As I gesture towards the worn but comfortable chairs, Rain busies herself with the small coffee maker in the corner of our office. Cream and sugar, Mrs. Everley. Rain calls out. Astrid nods, a grateful smile briefly cross. her face. Just cream, thank you. Her composure, momentarily lifted by the gesture, seems to

falter as the gravity of her situation resettles around her. I sit across from Astrid, my posture open, inviting her to share her story. Abby, sensing the shift in atmosphere, quietly retreats to her desk, giving us space. Mrs. Everley, can you tell us why you suspect your husband might be unfaithful. I ask, my tone gentle yet earnest, signaling that this is a safe space for her to vent her concerns. Astrodex hails a shaky breath, her dark brown eyes glistening with unshed tears as she starts to unravel the thread of her story. It's the little things, really, she begins, her voice a whisper of despair. Zane has always been a loving husband and father, but lately, he's been distant. He comes home late, if he comes home at all,

and when he does, it's like his mind is elsewhere. She pauses, collecting her thoughts before continuing. Then there's his phone. It used to be just another gadget, but now, now it's like an extension of himself. He guards it jealously, never leaves it unattended. And if I so much as glance in its direction, he snaps at me, saying I'm invading his privacy. Astrid's hands clenched tighter, the knuckles widening. But what really convinced me was the perfume, she adds, a note of betrayal creeping into her voice.

I found a scarf in his car, one that definitely wasn't mine. It was drenched in a perfume I've never worn, a scent that now seems to linger on him constantly. The room falls silent, the weight of her pain palpable in the air. Rain hands Astrid her coffee with cream, offering a small, comforting smile. I confronted him about it, Astrid continued. her gaze dropping to the cup in her hands. He denied everything, of course. Said the scarf must belong to a co-worker he'd given a ride to,

and that the perfume was probably from a client he'd met with. He said I was being, her voice breaks, a lone tear escaping down her cheek. He said I was being a paranoid bitch. Rain and I are both shocked at Astrid's raw emotion, the harshness of the words used against her clearly wounding deep. I reach for a box of tissues, sliding it across the desk towards her, while Rain's comforting hand finds its way to Astrid's shoulder, a silent gesture of support in this moment of vulnerability. There's no excuse for anyone to speak to you like that, I say firmly, my distaste made clear.

Astrid accepts the tissue, dabbing at her eyes, a shaky breath indicating her struggle to maintain composure. We've been married for 15 years, she whispers, her voice gave her voice gave. a semblance of strength. We have two beautiful children. I just. I can't believe it's come to this. Rain leans forward. Mrs. Everley, you're doing the right thing by seeking the truth. No matter how painful it may be, knowing will give you the power to make informed decisions about your future. There's something else, she hesitates, as if weighing the risk of sharing more. It might sound odd, but there have been occurrences. Things I can't explain. At night, I felt a presence,

something unsettling, watching over us. The mention of a presence catches both rain and me off guard. It's a departure from the infidelity case we thought we were dealing with, hinting at something deeper, perhaps even darker. You mean, like a stalker? I asked. Astrid nods, unable to produce the words. stalking is a very serious matter, Rain says, the detective in her surfacing with a palpable intensity. Are you sure about what you felt? Have there been any signs, any tangible evidence of someone physically stalking you or your family? Astrid looks uncertain for a moment, then nods, her resolve firming. At first, I thought it was stress, but then, she pauses, her hands trembling as she fishes her phone out of her purse. A few nights ago, she starts. The kids were at my sisters, and Zane. Zane was out,

as usual. She navigates through her phone with deliberate taps, opening an app connected to her home security system. I installed a ring cam last month, just to feel a bit safer, you know. With a few more swipes, she turns the phone towards us, displaying a video captured by her ring cam. The footage is grainy, typical of night mode recordings, but what it reveals sends a chill down my spine. It shows Astrid's front porch bathed in the eerie glow of the security light. Then, without warning, something darts across the screen, a blur of motion too rapid to decipher. It's there and gone in the blink of an eye, leaving behind an unsettling afterimage that seems to hover in the night air. The motion is too swift, too large for any common animal, and there's an odd, almost deliberate evasion in the way it avoids the light, slipping into the shadows with an ease that suggests intelligence, or perhaps something more sinister.

I thought it was just a stray animal at first, Astrid says. Astrid's fingers shake slightly as she swipes to the next item on her phone. I found this the next morning, she said, handing the phone over for us to see. The image that greets us is deeply unsettling, a tangled mess of what appears to be intestines and long, straight black hair, left in a sickening pile on her doorstep. I've seen enough in Iraq to recognize the unmistakable look of human intestines. I. I didn't know what to do, Astrid continues, her voice shaking. Of course, Zane dismissed it.

Said it was just something the cat dragged in. Astrid's face is pale. I had hoped it was some sick joke, maybe kids playing a twisted prank, but her voice trails off. My kids, she whispers, her voice fraught with fear. What if whatever did this comes back? What if they're not safe? Rain and I exchange a glance, both of us understanding the gravity of the situation.

This isn't just a case of potential infidelity or even stalking, we're potentially looking at something far more dangerous. This is the kind of case we live for. We'll take your case, Mrs. Everly, I say, my tone conveying not just our acceptance, but our commitment to seeing this through. We'll do everything in our power to get to the bottom of this, Rain says, echoing my resolve. Astrid's shoulders seem to drop ever so slightly at our words. It's clear she's been carrying this weight alone for too long.

Thank you, detectives, she murmurs, her gratitude palpable. The sun is already high in the sky, when we begin preparing to set up additional security measures around Astrid Everly's house. It's imperative that we work discreetly, ensuring that neither Zane Everly nor the stalker notice our presence. With Astrid's kids safely away at school and Zane presumably engrossed in his daily routine, we have a narrow window to operate under the radar. Rain and I arrive in our nondescript SUV, our trunk filled with the latest in surveillance technology. We have compact cameras that can be concealed easily, motion sensors that are no bigger than a pack of gum, and a couple of high-definition night vision cameras to cover the

darker corners of the property. While I focus on finding the optimal spots to place the cameras, rain meticulously checks for any blind spots in our coverage. We communicate in low tones, a silent dance of efficiency honed by years of working together. Once the equipment is in place, camouflaged amidst the every day, we retreat to our makeshift command center, the back of our SUV, screens aglow with feeds from the newly installed cameras. Everything appears serene. But we know better than to trust appearances, the true nature of the threat still eludes us, hidden in the shadows of uncertainty. Our next move is to keep a close eye on Zane. Tailing someone without drawing attention requires a blend of patience and

subtlety. We follow him as he moves through the streets of New Orleans, our steps shadowing his with careful precision. He seems to be following a routine, visiting places that one would expect a man of his standing to frequent, the office, a local cafe, and a series of meetings that appear mundane on the surface. Yet, our focus isn't just on Zane's whereabouts. We are equally attentive to his interactions, the pauses in his day, the way his gaze lingers a touch too long on certain individuals. It's a delicate balance, observing without engaging, collecting pieces of a puzzle we're still trying to understand. As the day wears on, the mundane nature of Zane's activities begin to paint a picture of a man ensnared in the trappings of a double life. The evidence is subtle,

hidden in the nuances of his behavior, yet unmistakable to the trained eye. He's cautious, perhaps too cautious, with his movements and communications, suggesting an awareness of being, being watched or, at least, the possibility of it. Zane's path leads him into a quaint flour shop nestled between a bookstore and a bakery. During a momentary lull in our surveillance, I pull out a container of Chinese takeout, cold sesame noodles and spicy orange chicken, our steakout meal. As we eat, Rain turned to me, a mischievous glint in her gray eyes. Hey, she said, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of seriousness, you'd never

cheat on me, right? I mean, with all this infidelity we see, you haven't gotten any ideas, have you? I can't help but chuckle at her question, the absurdity of the thought mingling with the gravity of our current case. Cheat on you, M. I start, leaning closer to her, our knees touching in the cramped space, and miss out on Friday night's takeouts and takeout with my incredibly sexy and talented partner. Rain giggles, the tension easing between us as she nodded in a agreement. Good answer, she said, her gaze softening. Your turn, I say, nudging her gently with my elbow. You wouldn't cheat on me, would you, bond you, non? Rain utters, feigning indignance. I would never consider such a thing, really? I ask with a grin. Not even if Brad Pitt

decided he was in need of a private eye with your, extensive expertise. Well, she draws, the corner of of her mouth ticking upward in a smirk, if we're bringing Brad Pitt into the fantasy, I suppose I'd have to at least, consider the consultation fee. As long as it's just a consultation, I quip, winking at her, I guess I can live with that. But just so we're clear, if Scarlett Johansson comes knocking, I expect the same courtesy from you. Do you expect us to work that case together, she says, her voice dripping with innuendo. Two heads are better than one, right? I ask with a grin, especially when it comes to, thorough investigations. Right, it's all about the team effort.

Rain laughs, shaking her head. Our light-hearted banter is cut short as the screens flicker with movement. Suddenly, the flower shop door swings open, and Zane steps out, cradling a bouquet of roses that seems almost too delicate for his broad hands. The sight snaps us back to the task at hand. We start the car and follow him at a discreet distance. Our route takes us through the heart of the city, past the colorful facades of the French quarter, and eventually into Marigny, a neighborhood known for its bohemian atmosphere and tightly knit streets.

Zane pulls into the parking lot of Latoil-Due Nord, a boutique hotel, a place that prides itself on discretion and privacy. Perched in our vehicle across the street, we watched Zane through binoculars, the lens bringing him into sharp relief against the backdrop of the hotel's understated elegance. He waits by the entrance, the bouquet of roses in hand, the casual stance of a man comfortable in his surroundings. Moments later, a woman approaches. She's strikingly beautiful with high cheekbones and a delicate, structured jawline. Her eyes, a deep brown, are alert yet hold a hint of mystery. Most distinguishing is her straight black hair that cascades down her back,

hair unmistakably similar to the tangle left on Astrid's doorstep. The air between them is charged, their reunion marked by an intimacy that leaves little doubt of their relationship. They embrace, a greeting that quickly deepens into a kiss, a confirmation of suspicions we didn't want to validate. Rain, with a camera in hand, captures this exchange, the shutter clicks a silent witness to the betrayal unfolding before us. Zane and the woman make their way to their room on the third. third floor. We watch in silence through the balcony window as they undress each other, their movements fluid and intimate. I'm left with a deep sense of discomfort, feeling the urge to look

away. But as I'm about to pull away and give them their privacy, I catch a glimpse of something unsettling. As Zane and the woman are locked in a passionate embrace, her head detaches from her body with a surreal ease that defies all logic. Her body slumps to the floor, but her head, her head, her her head remains suspended in mid-air. Internal organs dangled grotesquely from her neck, swaying slightly as if caught in a gentle breeze that does not exist. Before Zane can even begin to process the nightmarish turn of events, the woman's floating head lunges at him, teeth bared.

She's not just biting his face, it's more vicious, more savage. It's as if she's trying to consume him, her teeth tearing into his flesh with a ferocity that's both shocking and horrifying. Rain and I exchange a glance that carries the weight of a thousand words. It's a look that says, did you just see what I saw, and we need to move, now. Without a word, we leap into action. I grab my Beretta from the glove compartment, checking the clip in one fluid motion, while Rain does the same.

Our footsteps are a rapid, synchronized rhythm against the pavement as we sprint towards the hotel's entrance, bypassing the startled doorman who shouts after us, questions hanging in the air, unanswered. The lobby blurs past us, a mixture of luxury and confusion as the receptionist begins to protest, but the urgency in our strides silences any further inquiry. We take the stairs, two at a time, the sound of our boots echoing off the walls. Reaching the designated floor, we move down the hallway, guided by the cacophony of a struggle that grows louder with each step. The numbers on the doors blur past until we find the one that matches our frantic search. We come to a skidding halt outside the door where a cleaning lady stands, paralyzed by fear.

The sounds emanating from within the room are nothing short of chilling, a cacophony of snarls and screams that seem to seep into the very marrow of your bones. Her eyes, wide with terror, dart between the door and us, as if she's caught in a nightmare she can't wake up from. Open the door, now. Rain commands. For a moment, she hesitates, her hand trembling so violently it seems she might drop the key card. I lock eyes with her, my gaze imploring her to trust us. We're here to help. Please.

With a shaky nod, she swipes the card, the soft click of the locked disengaging sounding almost deafening in the charged silence that follows. Get somewhere safe and call 911. Tell them we have an emergency, I instruct her. She nods, her face drained of color, and scurries away. I cautiously push the door open. The scene that unfolds before us is one ripped straight from the darkest corners of the unimaginable. The headless nude body of the woman lies crumpled on the floor.

The room is drenched in the overpowering scent of an exotic perfume, the same one Astrid had described, a fragrance that now seems to cling to every surface, saturating the air with its cloying sweetness. But it's saying that captures our immediate attention. His back is turned to us, and from the neck down, he looks entirely normal, if one can consider any part of this situation to be so. But where his head should be, there's nothing recognizable as human. Instead, an undulating mass has taken its place, pulsing and writhing as if it's burrowing into his body, consuming him from the inside out. Rain and I edge forward, are weapons drawn and aimed squarely at what remains of him.

Zane Everly, turn around slowly with your hands up, I call out. The words feel surreal, as if spoken by someone else. He responds, but not in the way we expect. The movement is unnatural, a series of jerks and spasms that suggest the thing wearing Zane like a suit is unfamiliar with the body it's inhabiting. The parasitic mass where his head once was pulsates with a sickening rhythm, tendrils flailing, seeking, as if searching for a new host to infect. Eyes, if they can be called that, shimmer with a malevolent intelligence. Jesus Christ, Rain mutters under her breath.

My stomach turns, the scene defying logic and sanity. But it's not just the horror of Zane's condition that heightens the tension, it's the realization that the body of the woman, the one we just seen, is not where it should be. The room, though chaotic, lacks her presence. Rain, where's the, my question cuts short as a cold grip tightens around my wrist. I whirl around, my heart pounding, to face the headless, nude body of the woman. Her grip is ironclad, her strength unnatural. In disbelief, I see the sinew and muscle of her neck twitch and pulse where her head should be. I try to level my pistol at the headless torso, aiming to neutralize the threat. But she's too fast, too strong.

With an unexpected force, she twists my wrist painfully, causing my shot to go wide. The bullet, meant to stop her, punches a hole into the plush carpeting of the hotel room. Rain, quick as ever, tries to make a move to help me, but before she can get close, the amorphous head attached to Zane's body detaches itself and launches in her direction. It's like something out of a nightmare, a living mass with tendrils that act almost with a mind of their own. As it flies through the air, the tendrils extend, reaching for rain. It wraps its tendrils around her with a precision that betrays a malicious intent, disarming her in a single, fluid movement. The gun clatters to the floor, a sound harsh against the eerie silence that envelopes the room.

Raine struggles against the creature's grip, but the tendrils tighten, constricting like boa constrictors. They wind around her neck, her torso, squeezing with a strength that is both terrifying and otherworldly. Rain's face contorts with pain, her eyes meeting mine, a silent plea for help written in her gaze. Rain. I shout, desperation lacing my voice. My partner, my wife, the person I've faced countless dangers with, is now inches away from

death by this unimaginable foe. I yell at the creature. Let her go, for a fleeting second, the tension in the room ripples with the uncertainty of the thing's response. Then, in a voice that is eerily calm and chillingly clear despite its formless source, the creature responds. Stay out of my way. I won't warn you again.

Then, abruptly, the entity's grip loosens around Rain and drops her. Rain gasps for air, her face flushed from the constriction. As the headless woman releases her vice-like grip on my forearm, I rush towards rain as she stumbles back into my arms. I catch her, my relief palpable. We both regain our footing, keeping wary eyes on the creature. As we watch, stunned, the head slowly drifts back towards the woman's body, reattaching itself. to her neck. The scenes where flesh meets flesh knit together in a spectacle that's both

horrifying and mesmerizing. Within moments, the transformation is complete, and the woman stands before us, her appearance as flawless and composed as when Zane first greeted her outside the hotel. In the chaos of the moment, the entity undergoes yet another grotesque transformation. A pair of dark, leathery wings unfurl from her back with a sinister grace. They're massive, spanning the width of the room, knocking over furniture as if they're mere obstacles in its path. With a powerful flap, the woman launches herself towards the balcony, shattering the glass doors in her haste to escape. The night air rushes in, mixing with the stench of decay and the iron tang of blood, creating a maelstrom of senses that leaves us momentarily disoriented. We rush to the balcony, just in time to see the woman disappearing into the dark sky.

Her flight is erratic, a sign of its newfound form, but she quickly gains altitude and vanishes into the night, leaving behind a trail of questions and a palpable sense of dread. We stare at the gaping hole where the balcony doors once were, the shattered glass glittering like ice under the moonlight. Mondieu, what was that? Rain whispers, her voice a mix of fear and awe. I shake my head, unable to formulate a rational explanation. I don't know, but we need to move.

Now, there's no time to waste, we need to act fast before the police arrive and questions start being asked, questions we can't afford to answer, at least not yet. First, Rain slips on gloves and wipe down every surface we've touched, erasing our fingerprints from the glossy expanse of the door handle, the jagged edges of broken glass, and the sleek metal of the railing. As rain does that, I focus on retrieving the casing and the bullet lodged in the floorboard. Using a pair of pliers, I carefully extract the still warm, deformed slugs. Next, we gather every shred of forensic evidence we can, working with the precision of surgeons. Every second counts, and as we hear the distant wail of police sirens drawing

near, the urgency ratchets up. We collect the fragments of what was left behind by the creature. using tweezers to place each macabre piece into small, sealable bags. Rain quickly snaps photos of the crime scene, ensuring we have visual evidence of everything we've witnessed. I spot Zane's phone discarded on a chair, the screen cracked but still glowing faintly. I snatch it up, knowing it could hold the key to understanding not just his infidelity, but possibly even the origins of the creature we just encountered. Slipping through the service entrance, we make our escape.

just as the first police cruisers turn into the hotel driveway. The night swallows us whole, just another pair of shadows among many. The drive back to the office is a silent one, both of us lost in our thoughts, trying to process the night's events. The moment we step through the door of our office, Abby looks up from her desk, her face lighting up. But her smile fades when she sees the grim expressions on our faces. Everything okay. Y'all look like you've both seen a ghost, Abby says, her concern evident as she takes in our disheveled appearances. Rain lets out a weary sigh.

Clear our schedule for the next few days, she tells her. We've got a lot to sort through. I head to my desk and pick up the phone. I dial Astrid's number. She answers on the second ring, her voice tinged with apprehension. Mrs. Everley, it's Ash. I We need you to listen carefully, I begin, my words measured.

Zane Something happened to Zane. I explain, in broad strokes, the events at the hotel, carefully omitting the more horrifying details. Though I make it clear that Zane won't be coming home and that law enforcement will soon be in touch to provide her with more information. Astrid's reaction comes as a mixture of shock and estranged,

resigned calmness. The line is silent for a moment after I finish speaking, the only sound is her steady breathing. I. I don't know what to say. Is he? Her voice trails off, unable to finish the question. He's gone. I'm very sorry, I reply gently.

There's a heaviness in my own voice. Astrid takes a deep breath, a faint trembled detectable in her sigh. Okay. What do we do? do next. First things first, Mrs. Everly, I say, leaning back in my chair, my eyes tracing the grain of the wood on my desk as I gather my thoughts. We're going to make sure you and the kids are safe. I recommend staying with someone you trust for the next few days, somewhere you feel secure. We'll handle everything from our end. I can hear the hesitation in her voice. But, what about

you? What will you do? We're working on gathering as much evidence. We're working on gathering as much evidence. as we can, piecing together what happened, I assure her. We're going to do everything we can to get to the bottom of this. Her breath hitches slightly, and I can almost see her nodding on the other end of the line. Okay, Detective Tran. I trust you. Please, just, find out what happened. And stay safe.

After the call with Astrid, we dive into the investigation's next phase. The key, we hope, lies with Zane's phone. Cracked screen and all, it's potentially a window into the motives and means behind the horror we witnessed. The first hurdle, though, is gaining access to the device. With Zanes, status, asking him for the passcode or facial recognition is a non-starter for obvious reasons. That leaves us with the fingerprint sensor. It's a long shot, but it's all we have. We've lifted prints before, mostly from scenes less grisly than this, but the point is a

principle remains the same. With a bit of forensic delicacy, we managed to lift a clear thumbprint from the back of the phone, Zanes, no doubt, considering the placement and the repeated pattern of smudges. Using a technique that's equal parts art and science, we transfer the print onto a thin layer of silicone. It's a bit of a MacGyver move, but desperation breeds innovation. Holding our breath, we press the silicone against the sensor. There's a tense moment, A heartbeat where nothing seems to happen, and then the phone unlocks, granting us access. The phone's home screen greets us, a clutter of apps and notifications that hint at the double-life Zane Everley had been living.

As we sift through his messages and call logs, we stumble upon a series of texts between Zane and a woman named Chantria. The exchanges are a damning chronicle of their affair, sprinkled with explicit photos that leave nothing to the imagination. The intimacy and frequency of their communication suggests this wasn't just a fleeting encounter, it was an ongoing, sorted affair. Their texts suggest meetings that were carefully planned and executed with a level of secrecy you'd expect from someone with a lot to lose. They mention rendezvous at a place called Serenity Touch, a massage parlor that, based on the

reviews on Google Maps, offered services far beyond the typical spa menu. Delving deeper into the exchanges between Zane and Chantria, we begin to notice a pattern of coded language peppered throughout their conversations. Phrases like extended session and, private therapy recur, suggesting that their meetings involved more illicit activities. It became clear that Chantria was likely a sex worker at Serenity Touch, the massage parlor doubling as a front for a brothel. Chantria's messages to Zane were laced with a mix of professional detachment and genuine emotion. It was evident she had developed feelings for him beyond their transactional relationship. She frequently inquired about his day, his thoughts, and, more pointedly, his family.

Zane, for his part, navigated these questions with a calculated vagueness, sharing just enough to keep her engaged but always stopping short of revealing too much. Among the flurry of texts, one conversation, in particular, catches our eye, a discussion that paints a clear picture of Zane's reckless pursuit of thrill at the expense of others' feelings. In this exchange, Zane suggests introducing another worker from the parlor, Sariya, into their liaisons. His message is cavalier, treating the proposition as nothing more than a novel adventure to spice up their encounters. However, Chantria's response is anything but enthusiastic. She reacts with a mix of hurt and indignation to a mona

Chautroa. She accuses Zane of diminishing what they had. Her threat to end their relationship over this is clear and unmistakable, leaving no room for misunderstanding. The revelation of this discord adds another layer to the already complex narrative. Zane, in an attempt to mend fences and perhaps soothe his guilt, resorts to a classic, albeit cliched, gesture, a bouquet of roses. His subsequent visit to the quaint flower shop, as captured by our surveillance, now takes on a new significance. It was an attempt at reconciliation, a plea for forgiveness wrapped in the delicate petals of flowers. The key to unraveling this tangled web, we decide, is Saria. She's the missing link, a potential treasure trove of information on Chantria, and possibly even

insights into the otherworldly horror we encountered. But how do you approach us a sex worker in a brothel-fronting massage parlor without alerting the entire operation or, worse, scaring her off. Badges and warrants aren't tools in our kit. We need finesse, subtlety, and a bit of creativity. The neon sign of serenity touch flickers in the early evening dusk, casting an ethereal glow on the otherwise nondescript storefront nestled between a nail salon and a 24-hour diner. Its windows are darkly tinted, offering no glimpse of the activities within, a deliberate choice designed to preserve the anonymity of its clientele. As I enter the establishment, the interior unfolds like a scene from a classic noir film,

dimly lit, with soft, ambient music floating through the air. The decor leans heavily into Asian aesthetics, with bamboo plants strategically placed around the room, water features bubbling quietly in the background, and delicate paintings of serene landscapes adorning the walls. The air is scented with a blend of jasmine and sandalwood, a calming aroma that seems designed to suit the senses and disarm any initial hesitations. The camera, cleverly disguised as a button on my shirt, transmits live footage to rain, who's stationed in our vehicle parked across the street. The receptionist, a woman with a calm demeanor and a welcoming smile, greets me. Welcome to Serenity Touch. My name is My.

How can I help you? I clear my throat, the word slightly catching as I try to adopt the persona we'd concocted on the drive-over. My nervousness must be palpable, but just then, Rain's voice crackles softly in my earpiece, a steady whisper of encouragement. Stick to the script. You've got this, Mon Amour. Taking a deep breath, I meet Ma's gaze. Hi, Mai.

I'm, uh, sort of new to this kind of thing, I start, feigning embarrassment. A friend recommended. He says y'all give great massages. Of course, we offer many types of massage, Swedish, deep tissue, aromatherapy, all very relaxing and good for stress, she lists off. You look tired, maybe you try hot stone. Very popular and good for sore muscles. Actually, I was thinking of something perhaps more along the lines of a private therapy session,

I venture, using the coded language Chantria and Zane had employed in their texts. You know, something more, personal, Mize expression shifts subtly, her welcoming smile tempering into something more guarded, but still polite. Her eyes scrutinize me for any hint of duplicity. You say your friend tell you about us, she asks. Who your friend, Mize question catches me slightly off guard. I figure that Zane, with his double life, would the way. likely have used a pseudonym during his visits here. I think back to Zane's texts with

Chantria, remembering seeing him occasionally refer to himself as Mr. Zen, in their conversations. Yeah, Mr. Zen, I reply, maintaining my feigned casual tone but watching my closely for any sign of recognition. You know, white dude, a bit taller than me, with light brown hair, always looks like he's headed to a business meeting. You know Mr. Zen? My hesitates. her eyes scanning me more intently now, as if trying to peel back the layers of my facade. She leans back slightly, arms crossing as she assesses the truth in my words. She's not buying it, Rain murmurs through the earpiece. You have to sound more convincing.

Feeling the pressure, I push a bit harder, the story pouring out more desperately now. Look, my, I start, my voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. I'm going to be honest with you. My marriage, it's, it's on the rocks. My wife has been my fucking case a lot lately. And to make matters worse, we haven't been, connected, you know, intimately, four months. I'm just looking for something to feel again, to bring back some. Spark. My looks at me, her face showing a hint of curiosity. Oh, I see. You have big stress, You have no idea, I say, sighing heavily. My glances around the softly lit lobby, ensuring no one else is within earshot.

Okay, listen carefully, she says, her voice low and urgent. I can maybe help you, but we have to be very careful, okay. If police come here, I get in big trouble with my boss. She locks on to me with an intensity that lets me know she's more afraid of her boss than being raided by the police. Look, I'm not a cop or anything, I assure her, my tone earnest. I'm just a guy at the end of his rope, looking for some relief. Okay, I understand, my relents. She takes a deep breath, before reaching under the counter and pulling out a glossy brochure

that she hands over to me with a flourish. We offer very special session. Make you feel new love. Guarantee very happy ending. You interested? Yes, very much, I reply, genuinely relieved. Thank you, I follow my to a waiting room that is small and tastefully decorated, with a single plush chair and a small table adorned with magazines and a vase of fresh flowers.

She gestures to the chair. You take time. No rush, she tells me. Each girl very skilled. You choose, then tell me. I make special arrangement for you. Opening the brochure, I find myself looking at a series of suggestive yet tasteful photos of masseuses, each accompanied by a name and a brief description of their specialties.

They all appear to be of Southeast Asian descent. As we flipped through, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that some of these women might not be here by choice. As I continue flipping through the brochure, Rain's voice comes through the earpiece, her tone sharp. Wait, go back a page. I think I saw her. I thumb back to the previous page and my eyes immediately lock onto the photo of the woman. Her resemblance to the woman from the hotel is undeniable, the same high cheekbones, the same piercing gaze. Even her hair, neatly styled in the photo, matches the long, straight black hair we saw.

Under her photo, the blurb reads, Saria, a touch of mystique with every session. Trained in the ancient tantric arts, she will guide you to new realms of relaxation. My leads me down a narrow, dimly lit corridor that twists and turns more than I'd expected, passing several closed doors where the muffled sounds of clients having sex can be heard. Finally, we stop at a door that's slightly ajar. My pushes it open, revealing a small room lit by soft, golden light that casts long shadows across the sparse furnishings. The room is dominated by a large massage bed, draped in crisp white linens, and surrounded by candles that emit a soothing lavender scent. The air is warmer here, heavy with the scent of essential oils that mingle with the faint aroma of incense.

My gestures towards the massage bed with a small bow of her head. You undress, please. Saria, she join you soon, okay. You relax first. As I nod in understanding, My pulls a thick curtain across the doorway, enhancing the room's privacy before she exits. The sound of her footsteps fades quickly, leaving behind a silence that feels both serene and charged with anticipation. After a short wait that felt longer due to the anticipation, the door

curtain rustles slightly and Saria enters the room. Her presence commands immediate attention. She wears a silk robe that clings delicately to her form, leaving very little to the imagination. a sheer, flowing garment that accentuates her slender figure. Hey, handsome, she greets me, her eyes scanning over me. My name's Saria. What your name? I give her one of the aliases I often use in these situations. Hey, Saria.

My name's Sunny. It's nice to meet you. Sunny, why your clothes still on, she asks, her expression one of playful admonishment as she pout seductively. Massage cannot start until you take off. Hey, actually, I was hoping we could just talk for a bit, I say uncomfortably. She tilts her head slightly, a look of confusion briefly crossing her face before her professional smile returns.

Talk. Okay, we can talk later, but first, you shower. Make you feel more relax, yes. Seria's hand is gentle yet firm as she takes my arm, guiding me towards a glass and enclosed shower at the corner of the room. You very tense, she observes, her fingers pressing expertly along my shoulders. I help you relax first, then we talk. She's graceful, almost cat-like as she leads me by the arm toward the shower area at the back of the room. Her touch is gentle, yet firm, a professional maneuver designed to ease clients into relaxation. Her hands move to

the buttons of my shirt, intending to help me undress. I gently grasp her wrists, stopping her. I'd really prefer it if we could start with a chat, I insist, trying to keep the situation under control. You look strong, like athlete maybe. You work out, yes. She taps my arm lightly, her touch light and teasing. Very big muscle, not just fat. Good. I chuckle awkwardly, not used to being the focus of such comments. Thanks. Yeah, I try to keep fit. Keeping fit good for stress, she nods.

Saria's gaze lingers on me, her eyes sparkling flirtation. You so handsome. Your wife, she crazy to not see what she have. Why she make you so sad? Her accent is thick, her words laced with a playful yet sincere tone. Yeah, it's been tough. I respond, giving a half smile as I ease into the role we've constructed for this undercover interaction.

I resist the pull slightly, halting her progress. Actually, Saria, I really need to talk now. It's important. She looks at me, a hint of impatience flickering across her face before being quickly masked by her professional demeanor. Okay, we talk. But why you so serious? You come here to relax, no.

She pauses, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but then nods, stepping back. I understand. You nervous, I see. It okay, she says, her voice softening. Saria takes a step back and starts to loosen the sash of her rope. I show you first, so you more comfortable, she explains, her tone casual yet observing my reaction carefully. The silk robe slips from her shoulders, falling grace. to the floor, revealing her lithe figure, causing me to falter for a moment.

How I look. Sunny, you like what you see. I'm left there mesmerized with my jaw hanging open. But Rain's voice crackling through the earpiece snaps me back. Stay focused, Ash, Siria, I know about Chantria, I start firmly. The mention of the name causes her demeanor to shift, a visible jolt of shock passing through her. Chantria? What you know about my sister? She asks nervously, pulling her robe back over herself.

Chantria's your sister. I ask, surprise evident in my voice. The pieces begin to click into place, but there's still so much we don't understand. Yes, she my sister. What you do to her? Saria's voice is tight, her body tensed as if ready to bolt at any moment. I didn't do anything to her. I clarify quickly, but something, happened. I explain what we saw back at the hotel,

keeping my tone even to avoid alarming her further. Saria's eyes widen, her body tensing. You show me proof. You have pictures, I nod. I do, but they're disturbing. I don't care. I need to see, she insists, her voice firmed despite her obvious anxiety. I pull out my phone, hesitating for a moment before opening the gallery. I show her the gruesome scene we stumbled upon. Saria takes the device, her hands slightly shaking as she views the photos of Zanes' mangled, headless body. She gasps, her face going pale at the sight of the chaos and carnage.

This. Chantria do this? It looks like it, I reply, watching her closely. There was something unnatural about her, something I've never. seen before. She, she wasn't normal. Saria looks up from the phone, her eyes haunted. She promised she not do this. I lean forward, keeping my voice low and steady. What did she promise you? She hesitates, then sighs, a sound heavy with resignation. Okay, I tell you. But not easy story. I nod encouragingly, showing her it's okay to continue. We from poor village in Cambod

Soria, Sariya starts, her eyes downcast. Life very hard there. Our dad's sick, need medicine, but medicine too expensive. Then, one day, men come. They say they have work for us in America. Say we make good money, send home for family. Her voice falters, and it's clear the memories are painful. Our mom, she not want us to go.

She scared. But we need to be. money for our dad. We think we do right thing. What happened when you arrived in America? I prompt gently. Not like they say. They lie to us. They, they take us to place, lock us in room with many other girls. Beat us. The words come out in a rush, her face flush with the shame of recounting the ordeal. They, they sell us. Sell first time to high bidder. After, force us work in sex work. The story is all too familiar, a tragic narrative of exploitation that I've heard in different versions too many times.

Saria wipes a tear from her cheek. It hard, but we try to make life better here. Chantria, she always strong one. She say she make them pay for what they do to us. I nod, my expression solemn as I urge Soraya to continue, recognizing the courage it takes to reveal such personal pain. Her eyes darken with a fear. She don't tell me how. I think she just say to make me feel better. But then I find out. What did you find out? I ask, encouraging her to disclose more. One night, I wake up, hear noise from next room. I look, see chantria with

candles, strange symbols on floor. She chant, not sound like herself. Saria's hands clenched as she recalls the memory. And did she tell you what she was doing? I pressed gently, trying to piece together the events leading to the horror at the hotel. Saria nods, her eyes wide. She says she do dark magic from old village legend. She says she want become something strong enough to take revenge. She want become camhoing slab. Canhoing slab? I query, struggling with the unfamiliar term. Saria struggles for a moment, trying to find the right words in English. She looks frustrated, then grabs my phone, quickly typed something on it. I take the phone back and see that she has entered, camhoing slab into Google Translate.

The translation pops up as Winged Wraith. Winged Wraith, I read aloud, trying to grasp the significance. Is that what she wanted to become? Maria nods again, her eyes filled with fear. Yeah. She believe only way to be strong enough to fight back. To protect us. I scared.

I ask her stop. I make her promise to stop. I pause, taking it all in. This was no ordinary case of trafficking or revenge. It was something far darker and more complex. I need you to trust me, I tell Soraya, keeping my tone gentle. I just want to help you and Chantria. Saria bites her lip, her eyes darting around the dimly lit room, fear evident in her gaze.

I. I can't. I don't let you hurt her. Her voice cracks, the strain of loyalty and fear mixing palpably in the air. I just want to make sure no one else gets hurt, including Chantria. Anything you tell us will be used to help her, not harm her, I assure her, hoping to ease her worries. What you want to know, she asks. I need to know where she might go next. Who is she targeting? Saria hesitates. My sister, she, she says she find the big boss,

the one who make us come here. She pauses, her voice barely a whisper. She think to make him pay hardest. Make him example. The big boss. I probe, my mind racing with the implications. Do you know who he is? She nods reluctantly, her eyes darting towards the door as if expecting it to burst open at any moment. His name Jimmy Inthavon. She say he, he worst one. Jimmy Inthavon, I repeat, recognizing the name immediately. He's the head of the Blue Lotus, a mid-tier criminal organization that's been on the radar for everything from illegal gambling rings to murders for hire.

On the streets, he's known as the Shrike, because much like the bird, he has a penchant for impaling those who cross him on sharp objects as a warning to others. Do you know where she might find him? Saria shakes her head, her fingers twisting a strand of her hair nervously. No, no exact. But she talk about place, a warehouse. Where they keep us when first come. A warehouse could mean any number of locations in the city. Do you know where this warehouse is?

I ask, hoping for a lead. Saria shrugs. Somewhere north end of city. Near River. No, sure. I only go there one time, too many bad memories. Thank you, Saria. This has been very helpful, I tell her.

Her eyes meet mine. You really try to help us. Not just catch Chantria. Yes, I want to help both of you. I'll handle your sister's situation carefully. I don't want to hurt her, we just want to stop her before things get worse, I reassure her, hoping to ease the burden she's been carrying. She nods, giving a small, uncertain smile. Okay, I trust you.

Help Chantria, please. No want her become monster. I will, I say, feeling the weight of that promise. Rain and I spend the next several hours piecing together the clues Suria provided, cross-referencing everything from old case files to city planning records. We work well into the night, our office bathed in the soft glow of computer screens and the occasional flicker of streetlights from the window. We start by pulling up all known addresses connected to Jimmy Inthavon and the Blue Lotus.

We sift through heaps of digital breadcrumbs, ranging from property records to anonymous tips that had come in over the years. Each piece adds to the mosaic of the Shrikes operations but fails to pinpoint the current location. Feeling a bit stumped, we decide to revisit the basics. We review hours of CCTV footage from cameras around suspected Lotus properties, looking for any unusual activity that might indicate the location of the warehouse Saria mentioned. It's tedious work, but it pays off. Around 2 a.m., rain catches a break. She notices a pattern of vehicles that seem to frequent a large, nondescript warehouse on the northern edge of the city, near the industrial canal.

The area is mostly abandoned, filled with rundown buildings that scream, perfect hideout. It's a place we've checked before but not deeply enough. That's got to be it, Rain says, pointing at the screen. Look at the traffic there. It's subtle, but consistent. And always at odd hours. We cross-reference the property with recent purchases and leases, finally finding a match through a shell company known to be a front for Intavon.

It's not concrete proof, but it's enough to go on. With a location pinned down, we prepare what might be the most dangerous part of our investigation. Rain calls in a few favors from contacts who can keep the police off our trail for a while. We don't need the added complication of explaining why we're there or what we're dealing with. Secrecy and speed are paramount. We load up on equipment, more than the usual. We're not taking any chances. The arsenal in our trunk would make a small militia envious.

We've got AR-15th tactical vests studded with extra magazines, and a couple of Glock 19s with suppressors. Everything's laid out in the back of our SUV like a dealer's display at a gun show. We meticulously rig improvised explosive devices. packing them into little sacks filled with sage and garlic. Rain says they're good for warding off evil spirits according to Cajun myth. I'm skeptical, but I've seen enough tonight to entertain many possibilities. The drive to the warehouse is tense.

We go over the plan repeatedly. Infiltrate quietly and get to Chantria before something regrettable happens. When we arrive, the place is more eerily quiet than expected. The moon casts long shadows over the cracked pavement, and the warehouse looms like a dormant beast. Using a set of bolt cutters, we cut through a chain-link gate and slip onto the grounds of the compound. Every shadow seems to twitch with the possibility of danger, a reminder that we're walking into the layer of a monster. Just before reaching the main entrance, Rain stops short, her hand shooting out to halt me. She points to something in the shadows. My eyes are

Eyes follow her gesture, and my stomach tightens as I discern what's there. A body lies crumpled against the wall. Tattoos snake up the arms and across the exposed torso, clear gang identifiers that match the blue lotus's known symbols. It's one of Ith of Onstugs. I approach slowly, my flashlight cutting a beam through the darkness to reveal the man's neck ending in a bloody stump. I scan the area and find his head a few feet away, eyes wide open in.

a silent scream, the terror of his last moments etched permanently into his features. More bodies appear as we advance, each more gruesome than the last, heads, limbs, and other parts scattered haphazardly. We press on, guided by body parts like a macabre trail of breadcrumbs. The ground beneath our feet crunches with the occasional bone fragment as we move towards the warehouse, its large doors torn off their hinges. As we close in on the warehouse, the atmosphere is punctuated by the sound of screams and sporadic gunfire. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of gunpowder, and ground streaked in blood. As we cautiously step through the threshold, the interior unfolds into a scene from a nightmare.

Chantria, fully transformed, moves through the shadows with a terrifying grace. Her form is grotesque and magnificent, a malevolent blend of her human self and something far darker. Long, leathery wings protrude from her back, and her limbs have elongated, ending in talons that rend through flesh and bone with ease. Her eyes glow with a feral, otherworldly light. Inthavang's men lie scattered in disarray, some still twitching in their final moments. Chantria cuts through them with deadly precision, her movements neither hurried nor slow, but inevitable. Their screams are interrupted by the wet sounds of tearing flesh and Chantria's haunting. whales. At the far end of the warehouse, cowering behind a makeshift barricade of crates and barrels,

is the shrike. The gang leader's usual composure has dissolved into panic. He shouts orders that go unheeded, his men too scattered and frightened to mount any effective defense. We're powerless to do anything except find shelter behind an overturned table and bear witness to the unfolding carnage. As Chantria advances towards him, Inthavong pulls out his desert eagle, his hands shaking as he fires desperately. The bullets cut through the air, but Chantria dodges them effortlessly. She weaves through the air, her wings beating with a heavy, ominous thud that resonates through the property.

As the last of his pistol rounds click empty, Shrike's false bravado crumbles into raw desperation. Wait, please. Look, I got a quarter mill in that safe right there, he pleads, his voice breaking as he points frantically towards a heavy, iron safe in the corner. It's all yours, girl, just let me go, all right. Chantria pauses for a moment, her head tilting slightly, as if amused by Intavong's pathetic attempt at bargaining for his life. There's a mocking glint in her glowing eyes, and the faintest hint of a smile curls the

corner of her mouth. It's a sinister, unsettling gesture that chills the air between them. With a swift, horrifying grace, she lunges forward, her arms wrapping around in Thavong in a grotesque embrace. A sickening sound of tearing flesh and snapping bones echoes through my ears. Shrike's body torn in half, right down the center, his body splitting with sickening ease as if made of clay rather than bone and sinew. Blood splatters in an arc, painting a gruesome picture on the concrete floor. As Chantria's rage finds its terrifying crescendo, she tosses the two halves of his body in opposite directions with the indifference of a capricious child discarding a broken toy. The right half flies through the air, trailing a ribbon of entrails and blood, before slamming into a large shelving unit near us.

The impact is thunderous, reverberating through the vast warehouse. It sends the heavy shelving teetering dangerously. We barely have time to react. The shelving unit, overloaded with crates and metal tools, groans ominously, threatening to collapse. Rain grabs my arm, pulling me back just as the structure gives way, crashing down where we were crouched moments ago. Dust and debris fill the air, the crash masking our frantic movements as we scramble for new cover. Our sudden, desperate dash does not go unnoticed. The disturbance catches Chantria's attention, her head swiveling towards us with unnerving.

speed. As the dust settles, we find ourselves barely a dozen yards from her, our position dangerously exposed. Chantria's eyes, glowing fiercely in the dim warehouse light, fixate on us with a predatory intensity. Realizing the futility of standing our ground, I grab Rain's hand, squeezing it tightly. Run. I shout. Rain and I sprint, our breaths ragged, dodging between stacks of crates and abandoned machinery. The vast, shadowy expanse of the warehouse seems to stretch on indefinitely, a labyrinth of dangers. Chantria's monstrous silhouette cuts through the darkness, an avenging spirit too swift, too enraged to evade. Behind us, Chantria's wings flap ominously, the air hissing as she slices through it.

I glance back just in time to see her launching herself into the air. As we run, I reach into my coat pocket, fingers wrapping around one of the homemade IED side-packed. There a simple concoction, a mix of garlic powder and sage stuffed into a small canister. Without slowing down, I yank the pin and lob the makeshift granade back over my shoulder. It arcs through the air, trailing a faint white smoke. It lands near her chantria, exploding in a cloud of pungent garlic and burning sage. The burst isn't lethal, but the payload stuns her, her sensitive sense is overwhelmed by the intensity of the smells. The cloud of smoke provides a temporary screen, obscuring her vision in giving us precious seconds.

The sounds of Chantria's rage-filled roars fill the warehouse. As the winged wraith launches into the air, her head detaches with a surreal fluidity, soaring ahead of her body like a macabre scout. Her body, still terrifying in its headless state, propels forward, fueled by dark energy in rage. The detached head flies directly towards us with its eyes glowing as sinister red, a beacon of malice in the dim warehouse. As Chantria's head zooms toward us like some twisted missile, I pivot on my heel, R-15-shouldered in one smooth motion. I squeeze the trigger, sending a volley of bullets stitching through the air toward the disembodied head.

But Chantria is unnaturally agile. She dodges with a nightmarish grace, my bullets slicing only through the stale air. Rain, beside me, has her glock drawn, firing several shots. The head veers off at the last second, avoiding the shots with a mocking ease that sends a chill down my spine. God damn it! I curse under my breath, ducking behind a rusted forklift as Chantria's body follows the path of her flying head, moving with a speed that feels like a blur. We're almost at the door of the warehouse when I hear it,

a scream that cuts through the chaos with chilling clarity. It's rain. My heart slams against my chest as I whip around, my worst fears materializing before my eyes. Chantria's monstrous head has its elongated tongue wrapped tightly around Rain's ankle. She lifts her effortlessly into the air, dangling her like a puppet,

her body swaying with every unnerving twitch of Chantria's tongue. Rain. I shout, my voice cracking. My mind races, adrenaline surging through my veins like wildfire. I can't lose her, not like this, not to this nightmare. Ash. Watch out. Rain shouts, her eyes wide in terror.

Before I can react, Chantria's headless body closes the gap between us with horrifying speed. My weapon is knocked aside with a swipe of her telomlike hand, and I'm thrust against the wall, her ungodly strength pinning me effortlessly. The cold, hard concrete presses into my back as her talons dig into the wall beside my head. Chantria, wait. I choke out. Her talons pause, inches from my face, her headless body tilting as if puzzled. Why I wait? Her voice comes from the disembodied head, floating nearby. Your sister sent us. I shout, hoping the mention of her sister would pierce through her rage. She asked us to find you, to help you. The effect is immediate. The air around us shifts as if charged with a sudden current. Chantria's body

stiffens, and her head, floating eerily beside her, regards me with a newfound wariness. Sariya send you. Her distorted voice carries. a clear note of surprise. Yes, Saria, I confirm, my breath heaving. She's worried about you, Chantria's head floats closer, her eyes, glowing less fiercely now, examine me with an intensity that feels like it could peel back my soul. She really say that? Yes, she told us everything, I say. About the terrible things in Thevan did to you, she told us about the rituals you performed. She loves you, Chantria. She doesn't want to lose you, I have to do, she declares.

They hurt us. Hurt many girls, rain, still dangling from Chantria's grasp, adds her voice, her tone strained yet soothing. Chantria, listen. We're not here to stop you from making those fuckers pay. We're here to make sure you don't lose yourself in the process. Chantria's head floats there, the glow in her eyes softening. the supernatural aura around her wavering as if caught in a dilemma.

The talons near my face retracts slightly, loosening their grip on the wall. Her headless body turns slightly, the posture less aggressive now. Why I trust you? Her voice, disembodied and echoing, sounds less menacing, more curious. You can trust us because we understand the pain and the betrayal you've been through. We work to protect people, to help them, I explain, trying to bridge the gap of distrust. You cops, Shia S-K-S, her voice a bizarre blend of ethereal and guttural sounds.

No, we're private investigators, I explain, my tone calm and direct. Astrid Everly hired us. She was worried about her husband. Zane. I carefully watch her, trying to gauge her reaction. I can tell she's taken aback by this revelation. I know want hurt him. Not really. Just scare him, she explains.

Feel bad for wife, kids. Chantria's talons withdraw completely from the wall, letting me slide to the ground. She gently sets rain down, who rushes over to me, her hands immediately checking for injuries. Her head, still detached, moves with a purposeful glide through the air, swooping down to where Jimmy and Thavong had pointed out the safe. With surprising gentleness, her head picks up the heavy metal box as if it weighs nothing, floating back to where her body stands near us, dropping it at her feet. With a deft maneuver, the head reattaches itself to her neck, the seams knitting together

seamlessly as though they were never parted. Chantria stands upright, her posture regal and terrifying as her talons curl around the edges of the safe. In one swift, fluid motion, she tears the door off its hinges, revealing stacks of crisp $100 bills piled neatly inside. She looks down at the exposed wealth. This blood money, she states flatly. They sell our bodies, our lives, for this.

I do things, dark things. She gestures to the carnage around us. Rain, who's recovering from her ordeal, steadies herself and steps forward. Chantria, it's not too late to change the path you're on, she says gently. You can still make things right, in other ways. Don't let this darkness consume you completely.

Saria, she no can see me like this. Too much. Chantria's eyes meet mine, and in them, I see a plea for understanding, a deep sorrow for roads taken and those forever closed off. You take share, she instructs, nodding toward the safe. Split rest, give my sister, and give Mrs. Everly. They deserve, better than what life give. Looking at the money, I feel a chill despite the sticky heat of the warehouse.

The weight of Chantria's gaze, those glowing eyes, makes it clear that her request is more of a command, one that I'm in no position to refuse, not with the power she wields. Rain and I glance at each other, a silent agreement passing between us. We'll. We'll make sure it gets to them, I finally say, my voice steady, but. of my mind racing. Chantria nods, her eyes shifting away, as if looking back on the havoc she wrought is too much even for her. Good. This right thing to do. Her voice cracks slightly, the edges frayed. Where will you go? Rain asks, her voice soft, careful. Chantria looks toward the gaping warehouse doors, to the dark beyond. Somewhere far. Hide. He'll make

Maybe. Not come back. She turns back to us, a shadow of regret passing over her features. Tell Saria, I sorry. Tell her, be strong. Better life here for her. We will, I promise, my heart heavy. Enchantria, take care of yourself.

She gives a short, curt nod, then, with those powerful, dark wings, thrusts herself up into the air, and through the door of the warehouse. The breeze from her departure flutters through the space, sending loose papers and debris swirling in her wake. Then, she's gone, disappearing into the night sky, leaving us alone with the silence and the dead. Rain and I work quickly to gather the money from the safe. Once the money is secured in our sturdy duffel bag, we move on to the more grim task of wiping down a crime scene for the second time that night. By the time we're done, the eastern sky is beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn casting a pale blue over the city. We're tired, emotionally and physically. As we drive back to our office, the city of New Orleans is waking up.

The streets are still mostly empty, the quiet of the early morning hanging over the French quarter like a delicate veil. We don't speak much, there's a mutual understanding that what we've experienced tonight is too vast, too raw, to be distilled into words just yet. Back at the office, Abby greets us with a puzzled look, taking in our weary faces and the dirt and grime that coat our clothes. Rough night, she asks, concerned. Something like that, Rain replies, managing a tired smile. We'll fill you in later, I add.

We assure her everything is handled, then retreat to our private office to decompress. Rain sits across from me, her fingers drumming on the desk. What are we going to tell Astrid? About her husband, and the money? We tell her the truth about Zane. As for the money. I pause, weighing the words. We tell her it's a restitution of sorts. It doesn't replace her husband, but it's something to help her rebuild. And Saria? Rain asks, her gaze steady. We set her up with her share, make sure she's safe and can start anew. I lean back, feeling the exhaustion of the night washing over me. Rain nods, her hand reaching across the desk to squeeze mine.

We did good tonight, Ash. Yeah, I agree, squeezing back. We did what we could. I make my way to Siria's apartment in Gretna, carrying the black duffel bag weighed down with the responsibility of Chantria's last request. It's a modest building in a part of town that seemed better days, but there's a quiet dignity about the place, a testament to the lives within making the best out of hard circumstances. I knock on the door, each tap echoing slightly in the narrow, dimly lit hallway.

After a moment, the door creaks open and Saria's face appears. Hey, Sunny, she greets me with a tentative smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Her look is one of cautious optimism, worn by too many hard days. Hey, Saria, I say, offering a small smile of my own. Can I come in? She nods, stepping back to allow me space to enter. Yeah, please come. Her apartment is clean but sparse, the furnishings minimal, a few personal items dotting the space to make it feel lived in. She gestures to a small table with a couple of chairs. You want sit, I nod and place the duffel bag on the table, its contents shifting with a

soft rustle. She sits opposite me, her posture upright, and anxious energy about her. You find Chantria? Her voice holds a mix of hope and fear, the balance precarious. I take a deep breath, the weight of the news I bring pressing down on me. Yeah, I found her. I pause, choosing my words carefully. She was, she is very brave, Saria. She did what she thought was necessary, Saria's eyes search mine, looking for the unsaid words. She okay, I let out a sigh. She's safe, but she won't be coming back. She asked me to give you this.

I gesture towards the duffel bag, unzipping it to reveal stacks of bills, neatly bundled. This is your share of. It's money she wanted you to have. To help you, to maybe make things a little easier, Suria's eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the money, her hand hesitantly reaching out to touch the crisp bills as if to confirm they're real. This, this real, she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Yeah, it's real, I assure her gently. And don't worry about where it came from.

We've taken care of everything. It's laundered, clean money, Saria pulls her hand back, her eyes still locked on the money. But, why she do this? Why not come see me? Her voice breaks a little with emotion, the struggle between gratitude and loss evident in her tone. She wanted to, I reply, trying to provide comfort. But she's, she's changed. What she went through, what she became, it's complicated.

She didn't want to put you at risk. She loves you a lot, and this was her way of trying to make sure you're taken care of. Saria nods slowly, tears welling up in her eyes. I always tell her, no matter what, we together. But now, she choose this way. She wipes a tear from her cheek, her gaze hardening a bit as she processes the reality. She always protect me. Since we were little.

Always. She's still trying to protect you, in her own way, I say, offering a reassuring smile. Suria looks down, fingers tracing the edge of the table before she meets my eyes again. And what about you? I don't know how repay you. Just take care of yourself, and use this money to make a good life here. That's good enough for me, I say, standing up to leave. And if you ever need anything, you have my number. I hand her my card. Seria's fingers lightly grasp my arm as I turn to leave, her touch gentle yet firm enough to pause my steps. She leans close and looks up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. There's a brief moment where her

lips hover near mine, the space charged with unspoken words. Then, with a graceful pivot of her head, her lips press a soft, grateful kiss against my cheek instead. She steps back, giving me a small, sincere smile. Thank you, Sonny. Never forget this. I nod, returning the smile. Take good care of yourself, Saria. As I walk down the dimly lit hallway, the echo of my footsteps blends with the murmur of the city beyond.

The outcome of this case doesn't sit well with me. Sure, Jimmy the Shrike and his gang got what they deserve. But what about Zane? His mistakes were real, yet the brutality he faced raises tough questions. And his family, they didn't. deserve the fallout. Then there's Chantria and Saria, caught in an endless cycle of suffering. Chantria's transformation into something fearsome, a response to her deep wounds, and Saria, left to rebuild alone. It's all shades of gray, and none of it feels quite right. I still keep a casual

eye out for any news on Chantria. You could say it's part professional habit, part genuine concern for what became of her. Every so often, Stories pop up on true crime forums that catch my attention, unsavory characters found dismembered in the darker corners of the city, always accompanied by accounts of a flying demon woman with a detachable head. Whatever Chantria became, whatever darkness she embraced or was thrust upon her, it's still out there. My name is Alex, and if you had told me a year ago that my life would turn into something straight out of a crime novel, I would have laughed in your face. But here I am, standing in the ruins of my old life, trying to make sense of something that will never make sense.

It all started the day my mother, Sarah, was murdered. The pain was like nothing I had ever experienced before. It wasn't just sadness, it was a consuming, all-encompassing darkness that swallowed me whole. Grief has a way of making time meaningless. Days passed, but I didn't feel them. My world became a cycle of staring at the ceiling, refusing to eat, and pretending that, somehow, this was all just a nightmare I would wake up from. But I never woke up. The pain was real. The loss was real.

And I was drowning in it. Then Emily came into my life. She was a breath of fresh air, a ray of sunshine piercing through the endless storm that had become my existence. Beautiful, kind, understanding, Emily was everything I needed but never knew I was searching for. We met at a coffee shop, of all places. I was barely functioning, ordering the same black coffee every day, just going through the motions. And then, one day, she was there. She smiled at me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I smiled back.

We started talking. Casual at first, small talk about the weather, books, music. Then, as the days went on, the conversations deep. She listened when I spoke about my mother, about the whole her absence had left in my heart. And she never rushed me, never judged me. She just listened. And I fell for her. Hard. For the first time since my mother's death, I felt alive again. Emily had this way of making the world seem less cruel, less suffocating. With her, I could breathe. We spent hours together, lost in conversations, in laughter, in each other.

She became my anchor, my safe place. And for a while, I believed that maybe, just maybe, I could heal. But life has a twisted sense of humor. As I started digging into my mother's murder, desperate for closure, I uncovered something that shattered everything I thought I knew. The evidence was there, staring me in the face, undeniable and horrifying. The person responsible for my mother's death, the one who had ripped her away from me, was none other than Emily. The realization hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

My breath caught, my stomach twisted, and my heart felt like it had been torn in two. How? How could the person I loved, the one who had brought me back to life, be the same monster who had taken my mother from me? It didn't make sense. It couldn't be true. But it was. The evidence didn't lie. It led me straight to her, unraveling a web of deception and secrets I never could have imagined. And when I confronted her, she didn't even try to deny it. She just stood there, tears streaming down her face, and told me everything.

Emily had been manipulated, used as a pawn in a much larger game, one she never wanted to play. She told me about her past, about the horrors she had endured, about the problem. person who had pulled her into this darkness. And as much as I wanted to hate her, as much as I wanted to see her as nothing more than a murderer, I couldn't. Because I still loved her. That love made everything so much harder. How do you reconcile the person you adore with the person who destroyed your world? How do you look into the eyes of someone who has caused you unimaginable pain and still see the soul you fell for? I didn't have answers. All I had were my broken pieces and a to make. I could have turned her in. It would have been the easiest option. Justice for my mother.

Closure for myself. But as I looked at Emily, at the remorse in her eyes, at the way she trembled with the weight of her own sins, I knew that nothing about this was easy. I couldn't just throw her away, not without understanding the full truth. So I made a decision that would change everything. Instead of turning her over to the police, I chose to stand by her. Not as a blind fool, not as someone who excused her actions, but as someone who wanted answers. I needed to know who had orchestrated this nightmare, who had pulled the strings that led to my mother's death and to Emily's entrapment in this horror. We embarked on a journey of truth and redemption, one filled with more pain, more revelations, and more danger than I ever could have imagined. Emily sought therapy, desperate to confront her own demons, to atone for what she had done.

And I supported her, torn between love and duty, between justice and mercy. The road wasn't easy. There were moments I wanted to walk away, moments when the weight of it all felt too much. But every time I looked at her, I saw the battle she was fighting, the war within herself, the guilt that consumed her. She wasn't the monster I had feared she was. She was broken, just like me. And together, we tried to put the pieces back together.

As we uncovered the truth, we realized that my mother's murder was part of something much bigger, something far more sinister than either of us had initially thought. The true mastermind was still out there, pulling strings, covering their tracks. And we vowed to bring them down. Our journey wasn't just about finding justice for my mother anymore. It became about redemption, about proving that even in the darkest of places, there is still light. We weren't perfect. Far from it.

We were two shattered souls trying to make sense of a world that had betrayed us both. But through it all, we held on to each other. To love. To hope. Because in the end, that was all we had. Billy is shouting and the mother, sitting in bed and crying so, he directs the bag, take out the gun. and point to Billy. We start everything begins with attention of a girl named Shirley Van. For years this person kept a terrible secret to his mother and is that I knew that she killed two

former husbands, but as was his mother he could not. Denouncing the family is the first or I could never imagine is that this secret was going to come out too much, expensive and apparently his own mother, to escape the death penalty, accused her of these crimes is there, where the mysterious case of. Today, Betty Lbit was born March 12, 1937, in Roxborough, North Carolina being the second of the four children of the Margaret Lewis and James Marriage, Garland Dunand of his childhood just. We have information but what. We know that he had many problems. Three years suffered measles and because of this their ears were infected with. Doctor did not know how to. Do and the little girls stayed deaf. What to make a clarification because it seems,

that it is not clear what kind of problem. I couldn't hear that I had problems. Communicate to understand things but. His children said he did not hear perfectly, but I could do it. Done later we will see that I used. The phone so not really. I was 100% of the said this we can. Continuing the problem here is that parents have no money not. They could buy a headphones medication no. They taught him sign language and, from then on but till had it very, complicated. He didn't communicate well to speak.

And when he was older at school, things were not better because they could. Listening well the notes were very low and the companions mocked her thing. That made the 10 years stop. Study more or less for that age. Family moved to Hampton, Virginia until that moment the parents dedicated themselves to. Tobacco culture, but from there, his father. became a machinist and economically it was much better they had more money were more relieved but they still didn't invest in the little bail or take her to the doctor nor in making reviews

everything that they wanted in bottles of alcohol is from here when the authentic nightmare begins with this girl according to their version of the facts there father began to her hit her he assaulted and also invited others meant to do the same and when i had 12 years his mother was admitted to a psychiatric center since apparently suffered a pick out that is why betty had 24 to s of His little brothers helped them with. Duties to do the food clean the house to order everything Betty with only. Twelve years old had to make a mother an inn. Little time was his life was a complete nightmare and started fantasizing.

With escaping from home and that is then, when he knows the one who was going to become, in his first husband Robert Franklin, Branson Robert was older than her and, according to witnesses of the time it was very, good man cared for a lot and, I understood their problems above all, I understood that this girl wanted to escape, from home like that when he turned 15, They married and went to live together here. It is when something very interesting happens. Kazin becomes independent she stays. Pregnant has a girl and a year is.

Couple ends up breaking nobody knows the. Reason for that breakdown but they do know for. What were together again and that is that. Look Betty threatens Robert with. Remove your life if you don't go back with it. It will kill and therefore the subject ends. Giving in 17 years and in. That time has five more children one of.

The daughters of the marriage Shirley Van. Remember that part of your childhood with. A lot of love says it comes in the country. side, with many animals and that their parents, they appeared to be very happy Robert. I worked from son to son and meanwhile, Betty was a housewife is not even, able to remember the problems that his mother had because Robert, it was easier to. There were very much love a lot. Honey, but after 17 years everything is, the children ended did not understand why, but each

of the parents has a version of the facts according to the version. Betty Robert mistreated her and also the, cheated with other women and when, they divorced neither pension nor wanted to see, more to children, but according to the version. but according to the version of, Robert everything was very different and that is that the problem according to him was Betty said that and some nights went to bars and returned. Drunken also had suspicions that he was unfaithful and once separated the, woman did not allow him to see the children he, he never wanted to leave them but it is here when, something very strange happened something that Shirley would count years later in those.

Shirley Times was only 11 years old but, remember perfectly that your mother, he approached her a lot, Desampurada misunderstood and sought, comfort in his 11 year, old daughter when Robert left the mother turned her, daughter in her accomplice and is that every day, I asked the little girl to accompany her, pick up their father got into the car, they went to the work of this man to the, their parents' house door to, town bar door and stayed, there for hours never stopped, directly at the door but rather, on the street in front or two more streets. There they stayed there until Robert, he left somewhere and then saw him, leaving he never greeted her ever. I saw simply past end, surely until years later, I would understand that not

really. They were waiting but since the minute one his mother was. Hosting when Robert left Betty, change had never worked before but now he was a single mother and had six. Children the pension he received from the state. It was very poor so during the day, he looked for several jobs was a waitress cashier, cleaned in several hotels though. Children and soon realized that. Better what could I do then was. Look for a new husband at the beginning. A couple of days a week came out but then it became every night. He went out for a few hours again stinking. Alcohol and those hours became, Entire nights night weeks and, when he came back he didn't say where he had. State was usually with her friend.

July, but that July did not know her. Nobody ever had seen anyone. I knew who it was but July supposedly. It was her best friend the children suspected, that he left with men and thus got money, but they had no form of. Prove it and tell them either. Imported but when he left home, I left the fridge full and they never. They lacked anything however they're new. Lifestyle would go to the most.

Little older ones left home. They married had children made there. Lives but the little ones were. Trapped and among them was Shirley. Betty imposed on his daughter obligations. From a mother I had to go to class get. Good notes but also had to. Return home and take care of his brother.

Little Roby pick it up from school. Make the snack help you with the duties and then you have to leave the. 100% clean house wash clothes. Dishes order everything to clean thorough. Every corner and if Betty failed. Punished her the punishments she received. Shirley were tremendous but above all, they were blows with a blow belt in, areas that could not be seen and in others that were seen as for example all the face the children did not know what i know his mother was still thinking that it was a waitress cashier who cleaned houses but one day they learned that there was been arrested by laacting behavior in public is when they find out that at night he works in a club of

stripped his during a show a nipple and asked for a client who was, I would put back as I have told you. This happened in full show the club. It was full and among the customers there were. A policeman who see this arrested. Betty the behavior of this woman was going to, bad to worse and in 1970 married a man named Billy. George Lane this subject according to the witnesses was a ticano and selfish type and also had very bad character argued all the time and nobody understood what. Noses did in fact together. Witnesses report that they had a abusive relationship. but Betty goes to the worst part. Physically he had less strength than him and, therefore it has a body full of. Moritones in fact an occasion ended in, the hospital because he broke his

nose. This is how the first one comes. Signal this woman addresses her daughter. Shirley and asks for a little favor says that he can only treat her. Very bad that the whole body hurts that. It has burnet wounds that suffer a lot, very much confesses to the girl who in, your bag has a gun and that dreams. Many times to shoot Billy Schur. At first he understands it is a girl. Understand your mother's rage she feels. Empathy for her but then reaches. Please and is that Betty asks him to. The knight shouts in her name the girl.

Lift the bed goes to your room open. The bag and shoots Billy repeats in. Several occasions repeat that it is wrong. Who is suffering and Shirley ends. Accepting and that is how one night is. Mother starts calling her Shirley Salta. The bed goes to his mother's room and, find with a scene that puts the Punta Billy Hare is standing, shouting and the mother sitting in bed and,

crying so he goes to the bag. Open draws the gun and points to Billy, but he is so afraid that he does not squeeze the, Trigger and her sisters enter the scene, and the gun takes away the answer of his. Mother when they were alone, coward Betty decided to divorce. Billy, but he didn't stop harassing her. He followed everywhere with the car by, the street called her by phone, their house and constantly broke, and they returned that surely wouldn't do the, dirty work so one day he took out the gun and hit two shots for the, nobody knows the context of this, but they were supposedly

fighting and, after this attack Billy denounced her. The complaint at the beginning was for attempt, of murder but then, thus reconciled that the subject withdrew. The charges are together again, they fight again and once again, they marry, but after a month I. His daughter surely divorced at this point. He could no longer live with his mother was. A complete hell had to take care of his. Brother clean the house order had, to behave like an adult and with, only 14 years are already starting from everything, that this age decided to marry and leave. House was very young for something like that but in, place to explain her mother threw in, face that left her alone told her that her boyfriend was going to get tired of her and what? Nobody ever loved her

called her from. He insulted everything he lacked respect but, still surely left home and with him. Time forgave his mother because finally, and after all the family is forever, returning to his personal life Betty no, he wasted time and a year after L. Rating began to go out with Ronnie Charles. Trichol this relationship was also, Stormy and Betty began to suspect that Ronnie was unfaithful believed that he had, lovers at work in the neighborhood, in bars and also had something, with two of his daughters among which, was surely on one occasion this, girl decides to go see her mother, his house is enough to call the bell but, A, once there Ronnie says he is not a see-o, make some purchases return a couple of, hours and meanwhile

invites her to, staying to the kitchen, make coffee, feel and of course begin to, chat and in a few minutes this woman, enter through the door the most normal is that, greet your daughter a hug a kiss a. How is the day going but Betty loses? The papers accuse the couple to have. A romance of being, cheating on his daughter before that reaction, sure picks up his things and leaves without. Know that an hour later his mother, I would get into the car and try to run over. To Ronnie the 78 despite these problems, couple decides to marry and the following year. They divorce is then when Betty, know the next husband Doyle why. Parker knows each other in a bar and, soon they get married and there though. History is repeated Doyle was a, alcoholic and womanizer and his.

relationship once again was very toxic, fighting they insulted they were missing to. Respect but Betty was caught in. That spiral one day Shirley went to see her and, he found it full of bruises. Woman told him that because of a beating, was in the hospital, but still, I didn't plan to leave it had bought, a house and this was his name. Betty would be on the street not. It would have where to go and for that reason only, could hold Shirley said this was, lie that could go home that.

They could live together that did not happen. Nothing but Betty was still insisting, as the subject here is that in the, last Betty, visit told her daughter, that wanted to kill him that the only way of. Being happy was killing Doyle Shirley no. He thought it was something literal thought that. It was something metaphorical and as is logical. He supported his mother said he would be better, alone than to find someone much better, to keep going and with the passage of. Days he noticed very rare things without Vanera. I count your mother asks you to invite your little brother Roby to sleep at home, and Shirley accepts his brother. He wants a lot that invites him and they spend Friday together and in the

morning. Next Betty Lama's her by phone, says that it is already done and that the same. Night comes at home to. DeMell's body body. Surely can't believe it believes that. It is joking that teases it, but his mother is so serious that he does not process. The information and when the night comes, he went to his mother's house he meets. That the woman has told the truth while. Doyle was asleep Betty took out a gun covered the canyon with a pillow and, the first one shot him. He stuck but the second, crossed the skull and then grabbed the body and put it in a closet. Remember your daughter who has been mistreated that has had a very bad time and that Doyle's death was his only departure and surely feels sorry for her. It is his mother is queen gave his life and in. Your mind is a viatime so

together. They grab the body and take it to the patio. Rear and once there they cab on a hole, and lo. Burn 82 Betty marries another. Once this time with Jimmy Don Beach's, Jimmy was completely different from. Others was a retired firefighter to which everyone worshipped good attentive. Affectionate loyal was all Betty. I had always dreamed of witnesses. He was very good, God, time with family and the purposes of, Week was going to fish, I was also so, in love with Betty who built a wish-pozo in the patio of the house said that well symbolized his, love for her and that everything Betty, he asked him real if he asked for a,

a new house a trip to, for in what she asked for him, it would become a reality time passes and, everything is perfect, but one day Jimmy opens, the mailbox and sees a letter from his policy, insurance he at no time has, hired nothing with which he thinks that, that letter is a mistake, grabs the envelope, puts in the house opens it and discovers that. His wife has hired a policy, valued at $1,000 with that information. He stays in shock and therefore face Betty to know what. Devils is happening and why knows to. Hired that to what Betty responds. With a thousand forgives he says he didn't want, offend him that he didn't want to hurt him, but he asks him to keep in mind that, has heart problems

in any moment can something happen and she knows. It can be alone can be seen in the street with very bad economic problems and, Jimmy understands it perfectly too. This moment there is no but in summer of 1983 betty calls his daughter shirley and he says that everything can no longer with jimmy it is perfect they have no problems discuss and think that this man at any time to hit the that a bad will become alcoholic person and before that happens once that surely dies does not understand his mother is happy has a normal life and current a healthy life and as is logical he tells him that he is looking for problems where there are no and wants to kill a person who really is very good jimmy he has not done anything wrong with him it is very well

well taken care of her a lot has, made a well of wishes has, forgiven with the issue of insurance and, after discussing for several minutes it seems that Betty ends, convincing they say goodbye cut the call and after a while just in case, Shirley calls her again this time. His mother is calm or says that, you are not right, they will do well and without further admit but to the next day August 6, 1983 Betty, go to a county police station, Henderson in Texas and denounces that his husband has disappeared. Betilo tells the police that night of August 5, Jimmy went to fish to the Cedar Creek and no longer. He returned says he has problems, heart and that you are very afraid that he could give him a heart attack perhaps. He gave a heart

attack he fell into the water. Maybe something very bad happened to him and with this. History the police go to the lake and search everywhere and on August 12th. They find your ship near the port. Redwood Beach sports foresee you. Boats are thrown the pills that Jimmy takes for the heart and lifeguard is inflated and also inside. The ship is when the first hypothesis is fishing gives you a infarction grabs the pills they fall and inevitably stumbles and falls to water for a long time looking for the body inside the lake but by misfortune they do not find it in this case everyone was stopped looking for jimmy because this man was very dear have friends firefighters and groups of fishermen in neighborhood groups had a adult son had grandchildren had many family everyone was looking for to jimmy don beach and meanwhile betty asked for money asked for a pension for being the buta of a former firefighter and also literally claimed life insurance It had been very little time for this man, had disappeared and still she asked. Money took out that he was dead, and therefore wanted to charge and wilda. Police suspected Betty Shirley, he also did his mother and, asked what had happened to what

Betty, replied that what would have happened was, only his fault because she wasn't. Helper told her that she wanted to kill him and, if she had helped her brother, Robey would not load what the dead is there, when the whole truth of the case tells you, on August 5th in the afternoon he asked, Roby who left a couple of hours of, the house and the boy accepted a, Return returns home and is. Jimmy lying on the floor and with two, Betty gunshot wounds tell you that. He has killed unintentionally and asks his son,

that helps him hide the body, that the boy does it without more is his. Mother is the person who loves most in the world and if you kill Jimmy maybe. He has some reason and the woman has the impudence to ask your child to, bury the body in the well of the, wishes the greatest symbol of love then. Jimmy had her, for years surely doesn't forgive him.

Feel guilty for the two deaths for, Dole and Jimmy's and thinks that. The last case could do something to. Respect and another very shocking detail is that it is so in shock that never speaks. With his brother he doesn't ask what happened. How is it if it is fine and two? Same time Roby does nothing is. So when we arrive a year,

1985 when Shirley is left with a sister, his and with the couple of this prepares a dinner come a little and after dinner. They keep drinking and that's when the girl gets drunk is so alcoholized that you cannot contain and confess to. This couple has happened that there. Mother killed Doyle who killed Jimmy and, What others involved her and Roby, your sister when you hear this confession, grab the phone and call, anonymous to the police counts all the, data all points and a, registration order for Betelow's house,

beach where agents find what? Next in the well of wishes is, Jimmy's body in the back, Doyle's body and inside the house. There is a 38-gauge gun used, to kill the two men so far. It seems that the case is closed they have, a guilty have the bodies have, crime weapon but once arrested. Betty tells a story completely. Different and that dole was assigned by his. Daughter Shirley and Jimmy for her son Roby. I give it mistreating her hit her. Humiliated, threatened her and to defend her. His daughter Shirley hit him several shots and, then the body buried and in the case. From Jimmy the story was very similar. Jimmy and his son Roby are not going well. They always fought were discussed. Attacked and on August 5th Robey left the, I work something that

Jimmy did not even. Pinch of Grace the boy returns home. They fight they reach the hands and then. Roby grabs the gun and hit several shots a mother would never allow her. Son went to jail so she, same idea a plan go to the well of the, wishes and tea on the body there and how. I wanted to place new flowers and, every day I water them before this, accusation children are arrested and, they are immediately taken to prison and are, declared guilty they will surely receive. Capital punishment, however, little by little the,

research is advancing and demonstrates that Betty could be, lying to start with the death of. These Betty men would benefit, with Doyle's death. he stayed with the house and with Jimmy's death with a insurance of zero zero zero zero zero zero and secondly the autopsies revealed that the death of these men was not like betty had painted both men were shot on the back of the head and the shot was very close there was no fight there was a fight there were no shots on all parties were only focused on a specific area so the version the trial was not held from this woman against beel blue beach began very deep

specifically on july 11th nineteen eighty five and from the minute one she said to be innocent but but three of his six children, they talked against them and among them, were Shirley and Roby the version of the, boys fit 100% with the, Betty's anger autopsies made sense, but thus on October 11th of that, same year was convicted and, sentenced to death penalty during, quite a while tried to do several, appeals, but all of them were, denied his lawyer, moved the subject a lot, they granted interviews and their daughters, elderly defended her by cape and sword, Those daughters that when it all started, they went from Kasa Viet insured before the, cameras that both Dole and Jimmy there, they mistreated in fact before the media,

declared the following really, I think, kill me that is to tell each woman and child, mistreated each woman and abused child, that there is no possibility that there is no end, but the death that we cannot. Counterattacking was scheduled for, on February 24, 2000 and days, before date the woman was, interviewed again an interview of, which said I didn't feel, regrets because she was innocent. In fact he repeated several times that, I had very calm awareness like this, which now is your turn what do you think of? Case and who do you think he killed his, husbands.

However, people started asking questions. Where was Carl? Why wasn't he around? How could they contact him? To avoid all the speculation, Vera told everyone that Carl had abandoned her. Let's go back to 1925. Several officers entered the lavish home of an aristocratic woman to question her about the disappearance of her lover.

It wasn't the first time they visited, and it wasn't the first time the lady appeared distressed. She was a woman of great influence and social standing, so if they intended to accuse her of anything, they had to tread carefully. However, this time, the officers were determined. They were going to search every inch of that mansion. And that's exactly what they did. They walked through hallways, bedrooms, grand salons, and eventually reached the cellars. As soon as they pushed open the heavy doors, they were greeted by an eerie sight, a collection of 35 zinc coffins.

And this is where today's case begins. Vera remains an enigma. No one knows her real name, her exact birth date, or much about her early life. Some sources claim she was born in the late 19th century, while others say the early 20th century. Regardless, she was born in Bucharest, Romania, to a wealthy family. Her father was a prominent businessman, and her mother was said to be an exceptionally beautiful woman. As a child, Vera had everything she could. possibly want. Anything she asked for, she received. But there was one thing that was always

missing, her father's attention. He was constantly consumed by work, rarely present at home, and the few moments they shared were never enough for Vera. She always craved more, perhaps a kind word, a gentle touch, but, unfortunately, her father was incapable of offering her such affection. He simply wasn't the type to express love easily. Then, out of nowhere, tragedy struck. Just after Vera turned 13, her mother passed away. Her father, unable to cope with the memories in Bucharest, packed up their belongings and moved them to a property in the city of Burke, in what was then Yugoslavia. It was here that strange events allegedly began to unfold, events that made little sense

to her father. Devastated by her mother's death, Vera fell into despair. To comfort her, her father bought her a puppy, a playful and lively companion. The little dog was full of energy, always barking, always running about. If someone passed by the street, it barked. If a bird flew by, it barked. Any noise at all, and the puppy would bark nonstop. Although it was a bit noisy, Vera adored it, and her father decided to let it be.

However, one day, he returned home from work to find the puppy dead in the garden. The dog had been young and healthy, yet there it lay, lifeless. Confused and horrified, he turned to Vera and demanded an explanation. a hint of emotion, she told him she had poisoned it. Stunned, he asked her why she would do such a thing. She coldly explained that she had overheard him talking to a neighbor about getting rid of the dog, about how annoying its barking was. She had heard him say he might give it away.

That, to her, was unacceptable. If the dog wasn't going to be hers, it wouldn't belong to anyone else. What her father did next might not sit well with many people, but given the era and his strict nature, it was his immediate response. sent Vera away to a boarding school for girls. For those who knew her, Vera was described as obsessive when it came to men. She had an insatiable desire to always be surrounded by them. Typically, these were men much older than her. She enjoyed flirting, drawing attention, and was incredibly jealous, possessive, and suspicious. Her teenage years were filled with scandal. Coming from a

wealthy family, her name frequently appeared in the newspapers. She often ran away, getting involved with older men, having multiple partners at once. By the time she was 15, her father had completely lost control over her. No matter how many restrictions he placed on her, Vera always found a way to escape and cause another scandal. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Vera changed. Just before turning 20, she married a wealthy Austrian banker named Carl. He could have been her father, given their significant age gap. But that didn't seem to bother Vera. After the wedding, she presented herself to the world as a devoted, happy wife. She was young, beautiful, rich, and now married to an equally wealthy man. Soon after, she gave birth to her first and only child, a son named

Lawrence. Everything in her marriage seemed perfect. But there was one small problem, Carl traveled often for business, leaving Vera alone for extended periods. Slowly, suspicions crept into her mind. What if Carl was cheating on her? What if he had a lover, or worse, multiple lovers in different cities. These thoughts consumed her, driving her to madness. The idea of being alone made her feel abandoned, unworthy. And so, in a fit of rage, she devised a plan to make her husband pay for his betrayal. One evening, as Carl returned home for dinner, Vera poured him a glass of wine laced with arsenic. The dose was high enough to kill him quickly. Once he was dead, she placed his body in a zinc coffin and stored it in the cellar. She continued to live

if nothing had happened, occasionally sitting beside the coffin, drinking wine, and speaking to him. But people began to ask questions. Where was Carl? Why had he vanished? Why couldn't anyone contact him? To silence the rumors, Vera told everyone that Carl had abandoned her after a heated argument. A year later, she officially announced his death, claiming he had died in a car accident.

Not long after, she found herself in the arms of a Yugoslavian businessman named Joseph frenzy. He was rich, charming, and had a reputation as a ladies' man. Despite knowing of his many affairs, Vera was convinced she was different. She believed they were truly in love. She repeated her story about Carl's tragic accident so often that she even convinced a judge to declare her a widow, allowing her to remarry. However, her newfound happiness was short-lived. Eventually, Vera discovered that Joseph, too, was unfaithful. Enraged, she threatened to kill him. He laughed. He laughed. He left in her face. That would be his last mistake. This time, Vera took her time. Instead of killing him outright, she poisoned him slowly. Each day, she added small doses of arsenic

to his food. As his health declined, she played the role of the devoted, heartbroken wife. She told everyone how sick Joseph was, how she was caring for him day and night. The city pitted her. A young, beautiful woman, burdened with an ailing husband. Then, out of nowhere, she claimed he had miraculously recovered, only to abandon her shortly after. Once again, people believed her. No one questioned the disappearance. Years went by, and Vera continued her deadly routine. She lured foreign men into her mansion, men no one would look for.

Wealthy, older, often married men. They all vanished without a trace. Over a decade, more than thirty men entered her mansion, none of them ever left. Her downfall came when she set her sights on Millarad, a well-known banker from Vienna. His wife knew of his affairs but had always expected him to return home. When he suddenly disappeared, she demanded answers. She went to the police, who hesitated at first, Vera was a respected widow, after all. But when Millarad's wife began digging into Vera's past, the puzzle pieces fell into place. Two husbands had disappeared. Countless lovers had gone missing.

The police could no longer ignore the growing suspicions. They raided her mansion, uncovering the collection of coffins. Among the bodies, they found Lawrence, her son. When asked why she had killed him, she simply stated that he had discovered her secret and threatened to expose her. Vera confessed without remorse. She explained her actions in chilling detail. She killed to ensure that these men would never leave her. Sentenced to death, her fate was altered and the king of Yugoslavia refused to execute women. Instead, she spent the rest of her days in a high-security prison, slowly descending into madness. She was last seen ranting and raving, lost in her own delusions, before she finally passed away at the start of World War II. Did Vera Renzi truly exist?

Or was she nothing more than a sensationalized myth? The records are missing. The truth remains a mystery. What do you think? Could this story be real? Magali Bamo's life took a dark and disturbing turn in the years leading up to her tragic involvement in the death of her brother. Born on February 21st, 1983, in the now Democratic Republic of the Congo, Magali was one of five daughters raised by Jacqueline and Pierre Bamu. As a young child, she was initially raised by her uncles, and when she turned five, her family moved to Paris in 1988. Pierre, an ambitious man, had plans to start a carpentry business focusing on creating furniture for hotels and restaurants. He started taking steps to make it a reality, moving paperwork and seeking out permits in a workshop. However, the family's constant moving from city to city, country to country, delayed any real progress.

They would move to the Congo, returned to Paris, and the cycle continued for years. In 1996, the family's life took another turn when Pierre and Jacqueline moved temporarily to the Congo, while young Magalie, now 13, went to live with her Aunt Beebe in her husband Ferdinand in East London, specifically in Deham. Magalie was supposed to be well cared for since Bebe was a trusted, loving figure in the family, and Magalie would even call her parents regularly to tell them about her activities. On the phone, everything sounded great, Magalie shared how much fun she was having. But the reality was far darker.

Beebe and Ferdinand treated her as a servant, she cleaned, cooked, and obeyed their commands without question. Her studies took a back seat, and her needs were placed after theirs. But Magalie never told her parents, as she feared it would cause trouble. She assumed that speaking out would lead to problems, as Bibi and Ferdinand were so beloved by the family. After finishing her studies, Magali worked as a receptionist before moving to a dental clinic. It was there that she met Eric Baku, a football coach her age. The beginning of their relationship seemed ideal, Eric showered her with gifts and attention.

But soon, the relationship grew unhealthy. Eric became controlling, he forbade her from wearing makeup or spending time with friends, believing that men and women couldn't be friends. He said that men always had ulterior motives, and women were simply prey. Eric's possessiveness grew worse, and he began to belittle her, calling her stupid, weak, and useless. Slowly, Magalie found herself in a similar situation to the one she had with Beebe and Ferdinand, outwardly, everything appeared fine, but behind closed doors, she was being controlled and manipulated. Eric's influence on Magalie became so overwhelming that it pushed her into a belief system that closely aligned with his. Eric had been raised in the Congo, where he was taught to believe in spirits,

possession, and exorcism. His father, deeply entrenched in these beliefs, had raised Eric to think that children could be possessed by evil spirits. When a child was thought to be possessed, it was common to perform extreme rituals to drive out the spirits. These included depriving the child of food, water, and sleep, and subjecting them to violence. This was a form of ritualistic punishment, and it was believed that if the child suffered, so would the spirit possessing them. Despite growing up in a much different environment, where such beliefs were not held, Magalie found herself gradually influenced by Eric's ideas. Eric's childhood experiences with these beliefs were deeply ingrained in him, and his obsession

with possession and exorcism grew. He constantly talked about spirits, and eventually, he began to insist that Magalie's friend Naomi, who was going through a difficult period in her life, was possessed. Naomi had come to stay with them, and after a few weeks, Eric began to believe that Naomi's habit of biting her nails was a sign of possession. Eric proceeded to lock Naomi in a room for three days, depriving her of food, water, and sleep. During that time, both Naomi and Magalie prayed incessantly, but the situation escalated when Naomi managed to call her mother and ask for help.

This situation opened Magalie's eyes to the extent of Eric's madness. Magali finally began to see the severity of the situation and realized that Eric was becoming more erratic. Yet, despite the warning signs, the two tried to start fresh in 2009. They moved into a new apartment in North London, and in a desperate attempt to stabilize their relationship, Eric proposed to Magali. The proposal was accepted, and they planned for a future together. Pierre and Jacqueline, Magalie's parents, approved of Eric, and the whole family got along well, or at least, that's what they thought. For Christmas in 2009, Magalie and Eric invited Pierre and Jacqueline, along with the younger siblings, to spend the holiday in London.

The children traveled first, arriving on December 20th. At first, everything appeared fine, with the family calling frequently, talking about how well they were enjoying their time. But as the days passed, things began to unravel. According to one of Magalie's sisters, two days after the children arrived, Eric began accusing them of being possessed. The children initially thought he was joking, but soon, it became clear that Eric was serious. He began restricting their food, water, and even their ability to play. The children were forced to stay inside, only allowed to pray. Eric even made them jump out of a window to test if they were witches, if they flew, they were witches,

if they fell, they were just normal children. Magalie, instead of intervening, allowed this to happen. She did nothing to stop Eric, and even went as far as helping him force the children to lie to their parents, telling them everything was fine. As the days wore on, the situation only grew worse. Eric, now completely obsessed with the idea that the children were witches, started to torture them more viciously. One child, Christy Bammu, was particularly targeted. Christy, 15 years old, had always been a trusting, idealistic young man who looked up to Eric. But the truth about Eric's madness shattered that trust. The story is unclear about the exact trigger for the escalating violence, but some reports

suggest that Christie had an accident, possibly wetting the bed, and this was seen as an indication of possession. Others claimed that Eric believed Christy had urinated on himself while being beaten. Whatever the reason, Eric and Magalie's actions became more extreme. They both believed Christy was possessed and began subjecting him to horrific abuse. The torture included hitting him with tiles, using a hammer, twisting his ears with pliers, and stabbing him with knives. The torture continued for days, with neighbors hearing the screams but dismissing them as some sort of bizarre family behavior. On Christmas Eve, the landlord

of their building received complaints about the noise and came to check on them. Eric and Magalie insisted that everything was fine and that the children were simply being loud because they were visiting. The situation went unnoticed. However, the following day, Christmas Day, the tragedy unfolded. Eric attempted to baptize the children by submerging their heads in water, believing that doing so would cleanse their supposed evil. But when it was Christie's turn, he did not resurface. He was too weak from the ongoing abuse, and moments without oxygen were enough to end his life. Eric, the very man responsible for Christy's death, called an ambulance and claimed it was an accident.

But no one believed him, and both he and Magalie were arrested. The trial was brutal. The jury, which included seven women and five men, could barely process the horrors that had unfolded. Magalie tried to claim that she was a victim of manipulation, that she was suffering under Eric's control and never intended to hurt anyone. But her sister Kelly contradicted her, stating that Magali was fully complicit, actively supporting Eric in the abuse. Eric's defense team argued that he wasn't fully responsible for his actions, citing possible

schizophrenia and the cultural beliefs about possession that had influenced him. Despite this, the evidence against them was overwhelming. Eric was sentenced to 30 years in prison, while Magalie received a 25-year sentence. The case left many questioning how far cultural beliefs and personal obsessions could drive people to commit such atrocities. It also raised important discussions about responsibility, manipulation, and the role of family in preventing such tragedies. While the justice system passed its sentence, the question remains, were these sentences fair, and what more could have been done to prevent the horrors that unfolded in that London apartment? This tragic story serves as a haunting reminder of how mental illness, manipulative relationships, and extreme

beliefs can converge into a deadly outcome. The lives of these young children, particularly Christy, were senselessly taken, and their stories will forever be a chilling reminder of the dangers of unchecked belief systems. For the authorities, the Lerius case seemed simple. In their eyes, the little girl had just used the Combee to sneak off with friends or maybe even a boyfriend. A statement that outraged her parents because, let's remember, she was only 11 years old. She was still a child, playing with dolls and watching cartoons.

But for the police, she had a boyfriend. On Thursday, June 8, 2017, Valeria Gutierrez, just 11 years old, was thrilled. Her father, Sergio, was coming to pick her up on his bicycle from her mother's house, and she would spend a few days with him, just like every Thursday. She packed her bag with excitement, and at around 5 p.m., Sergio knocked on the door. Valeria left with him, and they spent some time walking around together. As they strolled, Sergio noticed a few raindrops starting to fall. It had rained heavily in nearby areas, and though he didn't mind getting wet,

he didn't want his daughter catching a cold. So, he decided to put her on a combie for the final stretch of the journey, keeping her dry while he followed behind on his bike. They had done this before. If it rained or got too cold, Sergio would put her on a journey. combie and trail behind. Valeria felt like a grown-up, independent, and Sergio loved seeing her so happy. It was their little game, and they both enjoyed it. They arrived at a stop along Route 40. Valeria hopped onto the combi while Sergio began peddling behind. At first, everything seemed normal,

the conby moved at its usual pace, following its routine path. But then, out of nowhere, it suddenly sped up. Sergio couldn't keep up. He thought he would find Valeria waiting for him at their usual stop. But when he arrived, she was nowhere to be seen. He searched nearby streets, checked at home, but Valeria had disappeared. And that's where this nightmare began. The disappearance of Valeria. Valeria Teresa Gutierrez-Ortiz was born in Mexico in 2005, the daughter of Jacqueline Ortiz and Sergio Gutierrez. When she was still very young, her parents' marriage ended, but they maintained shared custody, alternating weeks of care.

By 2017, Valeria was 11 years old and in the sixth grade in the municipality of Nezawal-Koyal, in the state of Mexico. She was described by loved ones as a charming little girl with big dreams and lots of friends. She was still just a child, boys weren't even on her mind yet, a detail that would later become crucial. That Thursday, June 8th, Valeria dressed in light blue jeans, a purple blouse, and a light blue jacket. She was beyond excited to go to her father's house. She packed her backpack with care, filling it with a few essentials, her school uniform, hygiene products like a toothbrush, and extra clothes for the weekend. Since there was no school, she and her father planned to go on

little adventures, take walks, and enjoy their time together. When the doorbell rang at her mother's house, her father and his partner were outside, both with their bicycles. The sun was shining, so biking home seemed like a great idea, they would ride together, have fun. But halfway there, it started drizzling. Sergio, knowing it had rained heavily in other parts of the city, decided to have Valeria take a combie for the last five to ten minutes of the journey to keep her from getting wet. At the stop on Kaya Menanitas, he reminded Valeria where to get off, at the corner of Escalarillas. She nodded and, worried about her phone being stolen, handed it to her father before stepping onto the vehicle. A few moments later, the Combe arrived, and she climbed

inside. That was the last time her father saw her alive. A sinister discovery, hours later, at around 1 p.m. the next day, residents of Cayet Sandunga 158, located between Cialido Lindo and Amaneser Ranchero, called the police about something disturbing. The night before, around 10 p.m., they had noticed a combi parked in the middle of the street. At first, they didn't think much of it. There was a nearby auto shop, so maybe it had broken down or was left for maintenance. But by the next morning, it was still there. One or two, hours wouldn't have raised concern, but after so long, people got suspicious. Around 1 p.m., a group of them approached to check it out. Inside the vehicle, they found the lifeless body of a young

girl. When the police arrived, they immediately sealed off the area and quickly confirmed what everyone feared, it was Valeria Gutierrez. Her body wouldn't be released to the family for more than 24 hours, supposedly due to an autopsy, which revealed the horrifying details of her final moments. Valeria was found in a passenger seat, still wearing her school uniform, which was torn. She showed clear signs of struggle, though some sources claim the injuries occurred post-mortem, as the attacker had strangled her first. Additionally, traces of male DNA were found on her body. There were no witnesses. No one heard anything. No one saw anything. But to the police, the answer was obvious.

the suspect had to be the driver of the combi. A criminal with a dark past, the authorities began questioning all combi drivers in the area, trying to determine who had been behind the wheel of vehicle 278 on Route 40. The name they found was chilling, Jose Octavio Sanchez Razzo, 43 years old. And here's where things get even more unsettling. The ID card released to the public showed that Jose Octavio was 24 years old. But looking at it, his photo, it was clear he was much older. The ID was expired. He had only been working for the transportation company for eight days, meaning he was hired despite his outdated credentials. Most disturbing of all, he had a record. Some sources claim he had already served time in prison

and was recently released. Others say he had been accused by four women, aged 17 to 20, but was never arrested. Regardless of whether he had been jailed or not, the key issue was that his employers never checked his background. And with this shocking revelation, on Saturday, June 10th, he was arrested. Justice, or something else? The crime outraged the public. Protests and marches erupted, demanding stricter security measures. People were furious that a man like Jose Octavio had been allowed to drive public transport, putting women and children at risk. The local government promised changes, more patrols near schools, better police training, GPS tracking in public transportation, more firearm and drug inspections, and improved street lighting.

Jose Octavio was sent to the Chowdy-Lanis-Chali Justice Center, where he was interrogated and ultimately confessed. He was then transferred to the Nezabordo prison. Surprisingly, for days, he had no issues. No fights, no conflicts, no incidents. But on the morning of June 15th, at 6 a.m., a guard found him dead in his cell, hanged. At 4 a.m., the routine check showed nothing unusual. By 6 a.m., he was dead. Officially, he used a stolen laundry line to hang himself from the cell bars.

But then came an explosive revelation. another inmate, Manuel, reached out to the press, claiming Jose Octavio hadn't killed himself. According to Manuel, the other prisoners had made a pact to kill him. The prison was overcrowded, the environment tense, and the guards didn't intervene when fights broke out. Some believe his death was orchestrated as revenge for Valeria. Others think he was silenced to cover something up. So, what do you think really happened? The boys thought that plan carried. Mad will last a whole month but in reality,

in the girl's mind I had been, a whole year planning point by point. How would he kill his parents without moving a, only finger? We started on May 4th, 2013 a girl from, 17 years denounced the disappearance of his, parents before the authorities carried, enough hours without knowing anything about them, and after calling his aunt that either,

nothing so worried was the, police was a couple of the third, age and never did something like that before. They had very marked routines always, They did the same went with the same, people and disappear because not. Police made no sense in a principle stated that it was disorient that they would have lost that they entertained themselves. That would be with someone from the family, but with the passing of the hours, discovered

something terrible and is that the, police found their lifeless bodies in, a field and that is where the sinister case of, today it all started 17 years before, event specifically in February, 1996 in Federal District Mexico with the birth of little Anna Carolina, Lopez and Riequez this little girl was the daughter of, an aide a woman on HIV and a man, that he was out of work and without money for that shortly after birth. His parents adopted his first year of life an orphanage passed but he had the great luck of being adopted by, a marriage of good social position. His names were Maria Albertina, Enriquez Artagon, 45 and Ephron, Lopez Tano from 65 this marriage. It has a very interesting story and it is, that met being quite a lot.

Greater Ephron was already married and fruit. Of this marriage had six children, but, these were already very old were. Married had children were, independent Jeffin and Albertina were, alone. So after thinking about it, they decided to adopt owners of several business businesses distributed between Texas, United States and Chihuahua Mexico by, just breathing were already earning money, and although they were very old they looked, capable of raising another son was like this, how they decided to open the doors of their, heart to little Anna Carolina to, who affectionately called Jenny the, My adoptive dad's children were not like, my brothers did not seek their dad more, that to ask for

money and that. They bothered a lot they were already older from, age when I was little according to friends, and relatives this girl always had. Everything you asked for money toys. Everything he asked was granted and already, in his adolescence his parents. They lent the car to be where, I would like and also very short. They planned to buy one. Behavior was usually, quite good and their notes were, excellent always delivered homework. He was punctual studied a lot, but, unfortunately there was a little, inconvenient and that is that parents are, Legwis noticed that they were very old and, school children got with her by, that on the one hand seeing that parents, all children were so old, they assumed that it was

adopted and therefore, they called her Anita to the orphanite thing, that the girl outraged her a lot and, instead of getting angry with children, angry with his parents and second, Place Anna Carolina was very short and though, children also got into that in fact, Some sources say that only measured, met 47 due to these problems the girl, I used very introverted just spoke with. No one had many friends but doors out seemed enough. Happy he liked studying wanted to get, a career to be someone with benefit and, his parents were very proud of.

She here is when big problem comes. Of this case and that is that in 2012 Anna, Carolina threw a boyfriend a boy, called Jose Alberto Greheda Bestista L, which one is more than her two. Principle the relationship did not affect, negatively to the girl rather to, opposite since according to several witnesses. S-U-A having very bad character but with this, chic, quiet, more relaxed, more mature but, soon this relationship apparently, perfect became unstable cut. They cut again and the notes were, they were affected and as is logical. Parents seeing this they forbade him to see, Jose, but this girl as a teenager,

what was it I didn't want to listen, keep seeing, his boyfriend was still staying and in a certain moment he began to say that he wanted to leave, studies to marry him and have, children that their parents could not tolerate in 2013 to 17 years was studying at Tech Millennio, Chihuahua campus and according to several records in the middle of the year he went to, move to a school located in United States detail that invites us to raise two hypotheses the first is that the girl agreed with her. Parents would go to the United States, graduated and then returned to Chihuahua, and she would marry her boyfriend and the second. Hypothesis is the most defended by day, today and that parents did without. Consulting him wanted him to move away from. Boyfriend, and she would marry her boyfriend. who had a future a few, studies and seeing that he ignored them. They decided to send it to the United States. But whatever the authentic, hypothesis, what is clear is that Anna, Carolina was taught from everything she wanted, be free to have children and, I really felt that I was ready to, all that so expressed how he felt. Before her boyfriend and a friend in common A, boy named Maro Alexis Dominguez, Zamorone Marro supposedly in several, occasions expressed that he wanted to

kill his, mother who wanted to know how she felt, kill someone who was curious like this. When the girl commented that she was fed up. Of his parents he asked him that he could, kill them if they would do honor Carolina. The companies would inherit the whole house. Money and would also be free was the plan. Ideal and for a month they were. Meditating they thought about how, when and finally they agreed that the crime moment is night of the three. May 2013 as I have remarked in several, occasions the marriage of friend and Maria, Albertina were older people and occasionally, when someone went home to, handle, collect to cook but on Friday TR of, may this person had free and another. Very interesting point is that all. Friday Ephron was going to play pool,

so the three friends taking advantage of the fact that the old man would not be at home they decided, kill, Darkmore Alexis and Jose Alberto. They entered the face quietly and they hid and Anna Carolina got into the kitchen and prepared dinner prepared the utensils the pot the ingredients end, while tuggling all that called, ingredient insisted insisted and finally the woman entered the kitchen and at that time Alexis Moore about it and from behind it past a cable, by the neck and strangled it after. Struggle for a while the woman lost the life, but so the three friends do not. They could be 100% safe with which. They took out a syringe and injected into, jugular a mixture of chlorine and poison. For rats they tied his hands, they put the errand pair

in a bag and they waited for Cren to return home. When man arrived, they repeated the same operation Anna Carolina was in. The kitchen pretended to cook and out of nowhere, he called his father and when the man entered was strangled behind by, Jose Alberto the boy passed a cable. By the he pressed and once died. They injected into the chlorine neck and Rado's poison after double. Homicide the three friends put hands. To the work they tie the hands of the bodies. They introduced them into bags, leave them in the dining room and clean everything and after. The operation stole money from the house and they went to dinner hot dogs and drink. Beer waited all night and next morning the bodies loaded in, the family car and took them to and Field located very close to Toad. Green once there

they left the bodies. They threw 13 liters of gasoline and then they, they were. set fire to them and four, and went north by the, see you dad Juad Juarez Road until you take the, path that leads to Namak and once, there they stopped the vehicle they got out of. This and set fire here is, when something very interesting happens and it is, that when causing the fire Maro Alexis,

burned their face those burns were, quite serious with which he left two, friends to go and a couple. Happy was a shopping center to look, commitment rings at some point, in the afternoon Anna Carolina, called her aunt, said I was worried that I didn't know anything, of his parents that Sella knew something and the woman either had news that the girl went to police station and denounced but after that he left with her boyfriend to a fiesta 15 years when the girl denounced in commission everyone felt compassion for her she was a girl adopted with good notes good behavior with very old parents and in a principle was very affected but the same day the police denounced found two lifeless bodies in a field both bodies were very burned and at first glance they could not recognize but after seeing the dentures knew they belonged

to. Two older people by informing the, girl there she was very cold not, showed empathy did not show, feelings or at least if he showed them. They were not very noticeable so, they immediately suspected it. Day four asked some questions and, after that they sent her home but, on the fifth day they called it again and this time they also called their boyfriend thing, that Anna Carolina did not think about. This point the girl repeated the same, same story the same words, but, Jose Alberto with a little pressure. It collapsed and counted point by point all, what they had done after a long. The police had it very. Of course they called the girl, and they told him that they already knew the truth like this, that the best I could do was, confess what she answered. Next I wanted

love and they only. They bought everything with money but never. They will show their love with humility nobody. It will understand what I endured many. I did not do it because I had my, I had a lot of reasons since I was 10 years old, courage against both of shock scolding, humiliation and age pressures. They didn't help we had very bad. Relationship basically the girl said that her parents mistreated her but, especially Ephron, this made to see, Carolina as the victim of the case as, a girl who has been forced to kill, his parents, but we look back, we will remember that friend had six others, children six children, some of whom, they also had children we could say that. They were all a big family and some of,

its members anonymously said, that the girl was lying at her. Parents were good people then. They worshipped that they gave him everything he asked, and more, and that this argument did not have, no sense never imagined it, able to do something to their parents they. They gave everything when I learned about the news and what was she, music. I cried there was only one way out of doubts and was submitting Anna Carolina. Lopez to an exhaustive analysis and this showed very valuable data for the. Research turns out that the girl was an extremely dangerous murderer with the highest psychopathology level in the FBI violent crime scale. These studies also revealed that the girl had traits of sexual sadism and a great lack of regrets according to.

Experts Anna Carolina has an IQ very high and this allowed. him to know that. She could not kill her parents. It was very thin, very thin, barely had, strength and although they were old, she didn't have the means to do it. I needed stronger people. They would throw a cable and these people were. His boyfriend and his friend the boys thought, that this plan had Mata a month, whole but actually in the mind of. The girl had been a year for a year, planning point by point how I would kill, your parents without moving a single finger, when the truth is that she doesn't. He directly killed his parents only. He called only his parents' end. boys ended them and day four. In the afternoon he went to police station and pretended,

that I did not understand anything and now is when. One of the most outrageous points arrives of the case and that is that the boys were of legal age, but she was minor and, therefore the convictions would be very different the men were, sentenced to 37 years in prison and she, 14 years and six months in a center of, social reintegration for adolescence. While the girl was held, showed an exemplary behavior, he showed quietly collaborated in everything. He pointed to many activities made friends, and according to several articles it appeared to be, completely normal her currently, is practicing Udo and is registered in, the painting workshop with others, young people where they paint fruit pictures, apples, etc, is also in class, of fabric

and is currently studying. Fourth semester of Bachelor within the Center specialized in the first, fourth months of eating is said that, virtually no one went to visit her. Adoptive family did not want to know anything and, his former friends neither. Inside the center they said it was, changing that it showed much better. More OpenCom commented that the girl would be free at the age of 32, but as has happened in other cases here, a plot occurred and it is that, ended up imposing the national law of justice for offenders, which imposed five years in prison as, maximum penalty for minors by Elana. Carolina underwent that benefit and, requested the reduction of his conviction. Obviously this news turned around, to the world and thousands of people protested.

His crime had been atrocious and nobody, I thought that in such a short time, would have renovated at the time it was set, that a potential sign that was very, dangerous and now they wanted, leave it freedom but no matter how, they complained it was too late and the cha. I was released in 2018 I have tried, look for what it was after that end, results grew a lot of threats with, which justice had to get it out of. Chihuahua is currently no more. Information available so now is, your turn what do you think of the case and you believe that the girl is really, repentant. When he got closer to the fish tank, he realized something strange. The fish was still alive. Not only that, but the tank didn't smell at all.

Whatever was causing the unbearable stench wasn't coming from there. And yet, the most putrid odor in the entire house was concentrated in that very room. Following the trail of decay, the man's eyes landed on the closet. At the beginning of 2007, a teenage boy at a study camp called his parents to ask them not to go into his room. He told them his fish had died, and he hadn't had the chance to clean it up before leaving. He assured them there was nothing to worry about, he would take care of it as soon as he got back. But his family wasn't convinced.

The entire house reeked. The overwhelming stench was unmistakably coming from his room, but not from the fish tank. Instead, it was coming from the closet. This is where today's disturbing case begins. To understand this story, we have to travel to one of the most well-known districts in Tokyo, Japan, Shibuya. In one of the wealthiest areas of the city, lived a prestigious family, the Moodos. The Mudo family was composed of two highly successful parents and their three children,

all of whom seemed to be on the path to greatness. From an early age, they embodied the rigorous standards of Japanese culture. They excelled in math, literature, and even sports. But as with many traditional families, their achievements weren't just a result of talent, they were demanded of them. The Mudos had a reputation to uphold, and their children were expected to reflect the family's excellence. For generations, the Moodos had been dedicated to dentistry. The grandparents had opened a dental clinic in Shibuya, which the parents later inherited. They became

dentists, ran the clinic, and expected their children to follow in their footsteps. No exceptions. But that wasn't their only source of income. In addition to running a successful clinic, the Moodos were deeply involved in real estate. They bought, renovated, and sold apartments, making a fortune in the process. Their high standard of living meant that their children had to be just as perfect as they were. And now, let's talk about those children. The eldest son remained somewhat of a mystery. His name and age were never widely disclosed,

but what is known is that he was everything his parents wanted him to be, the golden child. By 2006, he was studying to become a dentist and was at the top of his class. He was their pride and joy. The second child, however, was not so fortunate. Uki-Mudo, the middle child, struggled to live up to expectations. He tried his best, but it was never enough. Unlike his older brother, he didn't excel in any subject. His grades were consistently poor, despite being transferred to different schools and given

extra tutoring. He barely managed to graduate high school, and his grades were so low that he wasn't even eligible to take the university entrance exam. For his family, this was an unforgivable disgrace. And then, there was the youngest. Assumimuto was born on June 13, 1986. She was a stellar student, and unlike Yuki, she had the intelligence and work ethic to make her parents proud.

However, she had her own ambitions. While she appreciated the family business and the real estate empire they had built, her true dream was to become an actress. She knew her parents wouldn't approve, so she kept her passion a secret for years. After finishing high school with excellent grades, she studied programming. But at the age of 18, she packed her bags and left home without warning. No one knew why she left, where she went, or who she was with. Soon, her family discovered the truth, she had landed a role in a movie.

Initially, her parents were stunned. She had betrayed their expectations, but at the same time, she had achieved her dream. Maybe she would become a famous actress, they thought. she would make it to Hollywood. But their excitement turned to horror when they found out what kind of movie she had been cast in. Assumi had taken a supporting role in a low-budget live-action adaptation of the anime Cream Lemon. For those unfamiliar, Cream Lemon was not just any anime, it was an erotic series. When the film was released, it received a strict 15-plus rating, meaning it contained explicit content. Her parents were mortified. But Asumi wasn't deterred. She reassured them that this was

just the beginning, that she would land better roles in the future. She claimed to be a rising star, a pin-up model, and a successful actress who was earning good money. Little by little, her family started to accept it. They calmed down, convinced themselves that things would work out. But the truth was much different. Assumi wasn't making as much money as she claimed. She wasn't getting as many job offers as she said. And soon enough, she found herself with no choice but to return home. However, returning home came with conditions. Yes, she could continue acting and modeling, but she also had to go back to studying programming. She agreed.

Her parents and older brother welcomed her back with open arms. But Yuki? He was furious. Yuki couldn't understand why Asumi got away with everything. He had spent his life trying to earn his parents' approval, yet he was never good enough. He struggled to study, failed his exams, endured constant scoldings, and was brandy granted a failure. Meanwhile, Asumi did whatever she wanted, ran away to be an actress, abandoned their traditions, and still, their parents forgave her. The resentment that had been

simmering inside him turned into pure hatred. He refused to speak to Asumi. He ignored her completely. If someone called the house asking for her, he pretended to forget the message. He blamed her for everything. And worse, he started watching her closely. Asumi confided in her friends that Yuki's behavior was becoming disturbing. He stared at her in unsettling ways, made inappropriate comments, and even rummaged through her belongings when she wasn't around. She felt like a piece of meat when he was near. But she never told her parents, convinced they wouldn't believe her. In his eyes, Asumi was everything he wasn't, intelligent, charismatic, and free. And he despised her for it. Then came the breaking

point, New Year's Eve, 2006. In Japan, New Year's is a time her family. The Mudo's, being deeply traditional, had planned a trip to Fukushima to visit relatives. The entire family was supposed to go, but Yuki and Asumi refused. Yuki claimed he had to study for his upcoming academic camp. Asumi simply said she didn't feel like going. Their mother was furious. She was sick of their defiance, sick of their lack of respect for tradition. But nothing she said mattered. That night, the tension was unbearable. And when the family left the next morning, only Yuki and Asumi remained in the house. What happened next was unspeakable. The argument started small. Assumi demanded to know why Yuki treated her the way he did.

Why did he hate her so much? Why was he so cruel? He exploded. He called her a disgrace, a failure, the shame of the family. And she fired back, saying the only reason he kept failing was because he was stupid. Something inside Yuki snapped. The story continues, leading to one of the most gruesome cases in modern Japanese crime history. It must have been around the year 2010 when a friend, let's call him Bob, and I were out and about. We wandered through our tiny village with our dumb, naive teenage minds. Back then, the village had only about 1,000 inhabitants.

Everyone knew everyone, and nothing much ever happened. But that day, without realizing it, I was about to create a story that would be told for years to come. At some point, we got thirsty. The Roo is just around the corner. Let's grab a green monster. Bob announced, and off we went. Man, I was craving that monster.

Once we got to the Roo, we prowled through the aisles until we reached the drink section. Red Bull, Rockstar, Nah. Monster. That was the one. Off to the checkout. One euro and 49 cents for a 0.5-liter can, madness. We paid, but I had to take a quick bathroom break. Where's the bathroom key?"

I asked. I knew they always kept it behind one of the registers. But the cashier, whom I always saw as a grumpy old hag, just refused to give it to me. No chance. I asked her over and over again, but nope, the local toilet gatekeeper wasn't having it. You stupid cow! I thought to myself, hatching a plan. I'll just take a shit between the crates, I said to Bob.

We laughed, and well. I did. I walked back into the store, made my way to the drink section, and zeroed in on the area with the beverage crates. Then, I started stacking a little tower out of the crates until I was completely hidden from view. Once my fortress was complete, I perched myself on two crates, and left a fat one right there. Mission accomplished.

And I didn't get caught. But now comes the best part. Years later, I was still living in our little village and ended up taking a part-time job at that very same row. One evening, I was walking through the store with an older employee, let's call him Volker. I casually asked him, without thinking about my past crime, what's the craziest thing that's ever happened here? By then, I had completely forgotten about my little incident. He started telling me about a break-in. Apparently, the butcher back then grabbed a shotgun and shot one of the

burglars right in front of the store. Holy shit, I thought. Wild stuff happens in this village. And then, completely out of nowhere, he served it to me on a silver platter. And once, he began, I still can't explain it to this day, someone just took a shit in the drink section. In M.Y. Drink section, that drink section was his pride and joy. For days, employees and customers kept complaining about a god-awful smell. But I just couldn't find the source, he said. And then, at some point, I had to restock the shelves, and there it was. Then he added, visibly irritated but trying to laugh it off, I'm telling you, whoever did that must have been

planning it for weeks. That wasn't some random act. I was in shock, but at the same time, I could have died laughing. The sheer absurdity of the moment was just unbeatable. Bulker, I'm sorry. My mom, the theater, and the curse that ate us alive. You know, sometimes life throws stuff at you that's so weird, you can't even figure out how you got there. This is one of those stories. It starts out kind of ordinary, or at least it pretends to be. But stick with me, because things spiral fast. So, my mom works at this theater, kind of an artsy place, you know, small stage, big dreams, that type of vibe. She's in charge of the shows, the casting, the ideas, basically the queen of the weird little empire.

Growing up, I'd hang around backstage, messing with the props and sometimes sneaking candy from the green room. But one day she changed. I mean, like, really changed. I remember this one evening, she came home and said something strange. She was pacing in the kitchen, muttering to herself like always, but then she paused and looked at me and said, the audience is getting bored. I need to shake things up. I was like, okay. Are you adding music or something, but she just smiled and handed me off to a babysitter. I didn't think much of it at the time. Figured she was just planning something extra theatrical. But my gut told me something was off. Call it paranoia or intuition or whatever, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I texted

my best friend, Jason. He's the type of guy who's always down for trouble, always ready with his car and a half-tanked gas meter. I think something weird's going down at the theater, I told him. He replied, say less. Ten minutes later, we were driving toward that old brick building where my mom practically lived. It was late, like almost midnight, and the sky looked bruised, all purple and gray. The parking lot was empty except for her car and a delivery van with tinted windows. Jason and I slipped inside through the back door she usually forgot to lock. We crept past curtains and ropes, stepping over wires and old costumes. And then, we saw it.

My mom was on stage. But she wasn't rehearsing. No one was clapping. There were no lights or music or cameras. It was dead silent. And lying there in front of her was a girl, mid-twenties, maybe, blonde hair soaked in blood, limbs limp like a puppet whose strings had snapped. My mom was leaning over her, knife still in hand, and then, I swear to God,

she kissed the corpse on the forehead. Jason almost threw up. I couldn't even speak. I backed up and hit a metal pole that echoed through the room like a bell. My mom turned her head sharply, eyes wide but not surprised. She didn't say anything. Just smiled like she knew we'd come. But the weirdest part wasn't even the murder.

It was what the girl said before she died. I hadn't heard it, but my mom told me later, almost proudly, like it was some twisted badge of honor. The girl had cursed her. Said something like, you and your bloodline will feast on yourselves. Cannibals until the end of time, at first, I thought it was just a final dramatic line. You know how people get theatrical when they know they're dying, poetic, desperate. But it wasn't an act.

It was real. All of it. Things went quiet after that, at least for a few days. I didn't see my mom much. She claimed she was preparing for a new kind of immersive theater. Said it would be visceral. I didn't ask. But then it got worse.

A week later, I got kidnapped. Yeah, like full on taken. It was the brother of the girl my mom had killed. This guy was off the rails, looked like he hadn't slept in years. He tied me to a chair in some underground storage room with flicking. flickering lights and a nasty smell of mildew and meat. I want you to feel what my sister felt, he said. I want you to become what she cursed.

He shoved a plate in front of me. At first, I thought it was beef or something. Then I saw the fingernails. Eat, he said. I kept shaking my head. No way. Hell no, but then he pulled out a gun and aimed it at my head. Eat or die, so I ate.

I didn't want to. Every bite was like chewing guilt and shame and sin, but I swallowed it down because I didn't want to die in some damp basement. I thought it would end there. I thought he'd let me go. But the thing about curses? They stick. After that night, I couldn't stop thinking about the taste. As disgusting as it was, there was something, magnetic about it.

Like my body was waking up to something ancient and horrible. By the time my 18th birthday came around, I was gone. That morning, my uncle came by with a gift. We laughed, we hugged, we took some dumb pictures. But later, when I went to the bathroom with a weird craving clawing at my insides, I dragged him in with me. It was brutal. Messy.

Primal. When I was done, I stared at the mess in the mirror, blood on my teeth and tears in my eyes. An hour passed. My mom knocked on the door. You okay in there? That's a long poop, but moms no. And when she opened the door and saw what I'd done, she didn't scream. She just nodded.

Maybe the curse had finally completed the circuit. I was one of them now. Then I ate her too. And my dad. And my cousins. Everyone at that party. I don't know if it was hunger or madness. Maybe both.

After that, I went rogue. Roaming the streets like a beast in human skin. Looking for my next meal. And that's when I saw her. She was beautiful. Not like Instagram influencer pretty, like, hauntingly beautiful. Pale face, dark eyes, and a porcelain mask covering half her features. My heart stopped.

She looked just like the girl my mom had killed. But I didn't want to eat her. I wanted to know her. So I asked her out. And she said yes. We started dating. We bonded over strange books and nighttime walks and our mutual weirdness. But not everyone was happy about it.

There was this girl, Sonny. She was part of the same twisted legacy, one of the cursed clan. She found out I was dating. someone from the opposite side, and she lost it. You're a traitor, she screamed. You'll bring death to us all, I tried to calm her down, told her she was overreacting. But she grabbed a butcher knife and said, Anyone who mates across the curse dies slow, I ran.

Hit at Jason's house for months. He never asked questions, just let me sleep on the floor and brought me takeout. But Sonny found me. I remember the night perfectly. Rain on the roof. Dim TV glow. Jason snoring on the couch. And then, I saw her.

Sunny. Standing outside the window with that same creepy knife, her mouth twitching into a grin that didn't reach her eyes. I ducked under the bed. Too late. She was already inside. She swung the blade down, aiming for my neck, but I rolled just in time. screamed.

Jason woke up and tackled her. Cops came. She got locked up. We thought that was the end of it. But curses don't die easy. Time passed. I married the masked girl. Jason was my best man.

Things felt normal again, for a while. But one night Jason called me, sobbing. His daughter, only five, had done something, wrong. She had killed a rabbit, but not just killed. Played a game with it. Kagome, Kagome, he said. And then, when the bunny lost the game, she cut it open. Aid its insides.

Laughed. I didn't know what to say. That curse wasn't just spreading. It was evolving. Growing roots in the next generation. Jason's mom tried to force the girl to abort every pregnancy, she had, terrified of what might be born. But in her last pregnancy, Jason's sister escaped, gave birth in secret. And now, this new child was already tasting blood, already becoming.

Jason whispered to me on the phone, she's five. And she's a monster, I was silent. Because deep down, I knew the truth. So was I. So was my mom. So were we all. And the scariest part. Maybe it wasn't the curse. Maybe it was just, human nature finally waking up. The end, Lucia Garito Palomino's life and tragic end. Lucia Garito Palomino was born on July 9, 1959, in Malaga, Spain. She was the second of four children born to Rosa Palomino and Jesus Garito. Friends and family always described her as cheerful, positive, and hardworking.

At some point in her life, Lucia met Mademino. Manuel Alonso Herrero, the man who would become her husband. Manuel, a construction worker passionate about hunting and fishing, had already been married and had two children, but that didn't stop their relationship from flourishing. The couple eventually moved in together, building their life as a couple and making plans for the future. They had a daughter, whom they named Sarah. The pair shared a love for animals, which led them to start constructing a large estate

in El Horon de La Tori in 1996, which they named Los Naranyos. Their plan was to establish a dog-breeding business on the property. Both took on distinct roles in this venture, Lucia managed the dogs and handled most of the paperwork, a detail that would later prove crucial. At first, the business thrived. But in 2004, Manuel decided to take things in a different direction, using his connections to collaborate with Seprona, Spain's Environmental and Animal Protection Agency. With so much space and so many empty cages, he began housing exotic animals seized by authorities,

creatures often confiscated due to illegal ownership or trafficking. These animals were kept temporarily at Los Naranyos until they could be relocated or sent back to their countries of origin. And no, we're not talking about a few parrots or guinea pigs. We're talking about large, often dangerous animals like lions, tigers, monkeys, and reptiles. To legally host such creatures, Manuel obtained a special license and started receiving financial support from the government to manage this task. But here's the thing, those subsidies are not. They turned out to be very profitable. For every animal he took in, Manuel reportedly received financial aid.

While he wasn't exactly struggling financially, the allure of easy money was too tempting to resist. And so began a journey into corruption. A web of deception, Manuel allegedly partnered with corrupt civil guard and Seprona officers to maximize his profits. According to reports, he allowed people to hunt exotic animals on his property in exchange for money. Think about that, lions, tigers, and other majestic creatures being hunted for sport, all on his land. But that's not all. Manuel also reportedly sold some of these animals, but in a bizarre twist, these sales were often fake.

For instance, someone might buy a monkey from him, take it home, and think the deal was done. But as soon as they left, Manuel would alert Saperona that someone was keeping an illegal animal. The authorities would then seize the creature, return it to Los Naranyos, and Manuel would pocket another subsidy. This cycle of selling, reporting, and reselling animals became a lucrative scheme. At the center of this operation were Manuel and two key accomplices, Raphael Garcia Bueno, a local businessman, and Lieutenant Alonso Gomez O'Cone of the Civil Guard. Raphael reportedly acted as an investor, while Lieutenant O'Cone used his influence to secure more subsidies and financial opportunities. Together, they allegedly aimed to turn Los Noranos into the most

important exotic animal reception center in Andalusia. Expanding the scheme, as their initial ventures succeeded, the trio reportedly sought other ways to make money. They allegedly turned their attention to refrigerant gas emissions from businesses. Their plan. Create an entity that issued certificates claiming these emissions were under control. Businesses were under no legal obligation to purchase these certificates, but as representatives of the law, they reportedly pressured companies to pay up under the threat of fines. This gas certificate scheme was investigated between 2009 and 2010, but was ultimately archived without any convictions. Whether it was real or just another rumor remains uncertain. Standing in the way, one obstacle to their plans came in the form of Civil

Guard officer Ignacio Carrasco. Lieutenant O'Connor instructed Ignacio to demand these gas certificates during inspections, but Ignacio refused, citing the lack of legal grounds. Enraged, O'Conone reportedly tried to intimidate him, even involving a sergeant. When Ignacio stood firm, the group allegedly decided to get rid of him, not through violence but by isolating him professionally. Ignacio, once a respected officer, was reassigned to desk duty with an obsolete computer, a clear message about who held the power. Despite the pressure, Ignacio did not give in, but the isolation took its toll.

He eventually fell into depression and had to take psychological leave, effectively ending his career. Trouble at home. Meanwhile, back at Los Naranyos, the situation grew darker. Manuel's activities became increasingly suspicious. According to Lucia's best friend, Maria Jose Buendia, Manuel flaunted large amounts of cash and even showed her sacks allegedly containing drugs. The more Manuel got involved in illegal activities, the more tension filled the household. Lucia became a victim of domestic abuse. Although she tried to report him multiple times, her complaints went ignored or were dismissed. Some sources claim she tried to file charges four times but faced obstacles each time.

To make matters worse, Lucia felt trapped. She couldn't confide in her family, who believed her life was idyllic. From the outside, everything looked perfect, a happy family, a thriving business, and a beautiful estate. But behind closed doors, Lucia lived a nightmare. In secret, she began collecting evidence of the illegal activities happening at Los Naranyos. She meticulously gathered documents incriminating Manuel and his corrupt associates, storing them in a folder she handed over to her lawyer for safekeeping. A turning point. In 2006, things reached a boiling point. Manuel hired a Ukrainian woman, Galena Sokoluk, ostensibly to help with the estate.

In reality, she was his lover. When Manuel finally confessed the affair, he demanded that Lucia and their daughter Sarah leave the estate immediately. This led to a bitter legal battle. Lucia fought for her right to stay, arguing that the estate was her home and Sarah's. Despite working there for years, Lucia's lack of formal employment records left her at a disadvantage. The court eventually ruled that she and Sarah could stay in the house, while Manuel retained control of the surrounding property. Manuel made life unbearable for them. He moved into a neighboring plot, installed a gate to access the estate freely, and constantly harassed Lucia.

The story starts with Lucia, sitting nervously and going through. her written statement at the police station. She notices something odd, pieces of her testimony are missing. The details about drugs, corruption, and shady dealings, the very thing she had stressed in the interrogation room, are nowhere to be found. That's when it hits her, someone on the inside is part of this mess. Someone powerful enough to erase evidence is now a threat to her life. It's a realization that makes her blood run cold. Lucia doesn't waste time. Grabbing her belongings, she decides to flee back to her home country. But that's not the only strange occurrence.

Her folder, where she kept every critical document, mysteriously vanishes. No one knows how or why. Even her lawyer, upon hearing about her untimely death, packs up and leaves Malaga in a hurry. It seems like everyone knows something terrible is going on, but no one dares to speak out. Still, someone has to step up. Uncovering the truth amid the chaos, after Lucia's tragic death, a court battle and sues over the pension her daughter is entitled to. The legal battle reveals more strange irregularities. Lucia owned a percentage of Los Naranyos, a sprawling estate. Naturally, her daughter

should inherit this share. However, Alonso Gomez O'Con, a key figure, testifies that Lucia had little involvement in managing the estate, particularly when it came to the animals. His testimony dramatically reduces the share her daughter would receive. Manuel, Lucia's ex, appears to be playing a long game. Over the years, he sells parts of the estate, one portion to his girlfriend, Galena, and another to unnamed Moroccan buyers. Later investigations reveal these transactions to be fraudulent, nothing more than a facade to make himself appear broke and avoid paying what he owes for child support. A judge labels these deals as sham sales since no money ever exchanged hands. It's an elaborate scheme to dodge financial responsibilities,

leaving Lucia's daughter with virtually nothing. The police and their investigation. authorities tap the phones of Manuel and Galena, hoping to uncover clues about Lucia's death. Instead, they stumble upon other crimes involving exotic animals, dubious trades, and bizarre dealings at the estate. Yet, frustratingly, nothing links directly to Lucia. In June 2008, desperate for leverage, police arrest Galena for legal irregularities regarding her stay in Spain. Manuel, upon learning that Galena might be deported, panics. The phone calls start flying. He's calling favors, pulling strings, and trying to sort out her paperwork. Interestingly, during these frantic conversations, he lets slip hints that he knows he's being monitored.

When police interrogate Galena, they get nowhere. The only useful tidbit she shares is a name, Yvonne, her cousin. She doesn't explain further, but the name is enough for authorities to issue a warrant. The problem? Yvonne vanishes into thin air. Phone taps yield nothing, his line is silent, neither making nor rifted. receiving calls. It's like he's a ghost. A New Hope, Ignacio and Rosa take a stand, enter Ignacio Carrasco, a man fed up with corruption. Lucia's murder becomes the breaking point

for him. Joining forces with Rosa, Lucia's sister, he partners with the Unified Civil Guard Association, UGC. This organization, made up of law-abiding officers and lawyers, is determined to fight back against corruption. With Ignacio's help, they launch an independent investigation parallel to the official one. Meanwhile, the official investigation takes a strange turn. Miguel Rodriguez, a diligent investigator, is suddenly removed from the case and transferred to the Basque country. It feels like punishment for doing his job too well. Taking over the case is Valentin Fernandez, someone the family accuses of doing absolutely nothing. The situation gets murkier in 2009. The court orders surveillance on the phones of Manuel, Galena, and Yvonne to be discontinued.

make matters worse, another crime occurs on the estate just a year after Lucia's murder. Two armed men, allegedly attempting a robbery, are shot and killed by Manuel. He claims self-defense, but the details don't add up. The case of the robbers, according to Manuel, the two men, Jose Gonzalez Farias and Adelaus Fierrez, were armed and advancing toward him. He fired two shots, both fatal, while the men shot seven times but failed to hit him even once. Investigators find inconsistencies. For one, the guns carried by the supposed robbers had their serial numbers filed off, and their DNA didn't match the victims.

More suspiciously, there were drag marks at the scene, suggesting the bodies had been moved post-mortem. Blood patterns indicated they were executed while pleading for their lives. Adding to the intrigue, police discover a trove of weapons in Manuel's home, as if he had been expecting trouble. Among the items is Ivan's passport, Yvonne, the same man. who has been missing all this time. Yet, no further investigation into this baffling connection takes place. Tangled threads, drugs, corruption, and betrayal. In October 2009, a large-scale anti-drug operation targets corrupt officers suspected of stealing narcotics. Valentine Fernandez, the officer heading Lucia's case, is implicated in this new investigation. He defies orders

during the operation, jeopardizing its success. Around the same time, a massive drug heist occurs at police-controlled warehouse. Suspiciously, security cameras fail, and no officers are present during the robbery. Further phone taps reveal Valentine's shady dealings, including illegal drug seizures. By 2016, he is convicted of drug trafficking and document falsification, receiving a 10-year sentence. Yet, his ties to Manuel Alonso and their connections to Moroccan drug network suggest a much broader conspiracy. Fighting for justice, despite the mounting evidence, Lucia's case remains stagnant. Her sister Rosa, Ignacio Carrasco, and lawyer Luis Portaro refused to give up. They gather every shred of evidence they can find and present a detailed report to a judge in

2012, successfully reopening the case. However, many crucial pieces of evidence are missing, including Lucia's infamous folder. Witness accounts emerge, adding more weight to the allegations. One neighbor recalls seeing Manuel breaking police seals and entering Lucia's home days after her death. He left with a stack of papers, shouting about sensitive information Lucia had been keeping. Unfortunately, no physical proof of these claims remains. Twists, turns, and breakthroughs. The reopening of the case leads to a cascade of arrests in 2015. Several individuals, including high-ranking officers, face charges ranging from perjury to corruption. But the question of who killed Lucia remains unanswered. Authorities revisit old evidence with new

DNA techniques. They identify multiple profiles on a key found at the crime scene, one of which belongs to Unhell Velo, alias L. Rana, a known member of a criminal gang. His arrest sparks further revelations. Manuel, desperate to save himself, begins pointing fingers at others, including several civil guards. Internal Affairs uncovers testimonies suggesting a meeting took place before Lucia's murder. The plan? A robbery at Los Naranyos to steal hidden drugs and money. However, the scheme turned deadly, leaving Lucia as collateral damage. Part 1. I hope every bite, break, scratch, and tears felt as fuckers who deserve it make their way down to hell.

Cerisei, Forrester. The party had been loud and all the adults were mingling, laughing, kids were running around. I had a tray of snacks in my hand heading to the kitchen for clean up. This was our bash. The first bash we had since buying this home four years ago. My husband Jed smiled at me from across the room as him and his rowdy friends laughed at some inane joke. My sister Charlie was gathering up her four kids getting ready to leave. Their ages ranged from four to twelve.

Two older boys and two younger girls. She was hustling them to gather their things and head to their car. Grabbing coats, bags, and the toys they had brought over. Most of my relatives were doing that actually as the party was winding down. We were calling it a night. I looked around briefly for my daughter Cora. She was three, wearing her dark blue navy dress that was styled like she was a little sailor. Her bright brown eyes laughing in merriment and dark black bull cut hair, as she ran after her cousin. Cora was rambunctious and always getting into some kind of mischief. I see her in the yard with her

cousin playing. Our neighborhood was voted as one of the safest in the country and the girls know not to be near the driveway or the street. The guests are getting into their cars. I start asking where Cora is and people are looking around with me. We are calling her name. I'm telling her to come and say goodbye to our guests. A small tingling of fear is up my spine, but I brush it aside. She's probably hiding or off playing and can't hear me yelling for her. 60 minutes later. She's not here. Panic sweeps me in cold harsh waves.

My heart is pounding loud in my chest. Now everyone is yelling for her. We are all looking around, asking neighbors, checking bushes, anything and everything. Looking for Cora. There is no sign of my little girl. Three days later. They find her. The police.

The call came while I stayed. stared bleakly out the window. The leaves were blowing noiselessly down as the winds gently blew through their branches. It was gloomy outside. Almost calm and serene. Unlike my frantic mind that hadn't stopped thinking, hadn't stopped worrying, hadn't stopped looking. My tears are drying up now. Maybe from dehydration. I don't know. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't do anything but stand frozen wondering where my baby is. Who has my baby? Where is my baby?

My arms long to hold her and crush her tight against me. I want to ruffle her hair and hear her giggle as I tickle her neck. I want to smell her baby scent and make this nightmare go away. I want this all to go away. I pray reverently in my mind that she just got lost. Some kind person has her and is bringing her back to us now. I make a thousand promises as I beg God to bring her back to me. The blaring of the phone made me briefly turn.

It's my husband Jed's cell. He too looks like shit. Bleak red-rimmed eyes, dark brown hair disheveled, days-old scruffed that needs shaving. He's wearing wrinkled pajamas and is barefoot as he reaches for his cell. He answers. Our world ends. One week later. My baby lies in the white satin-lined coffin unmoving.

She is a pale ashen white color. The Morg did their best to add some artificial blush to her cheeks without making her look garish. But all the life and vitality that once lit up Cora is drained from her cherubic face. I had touched her silk and dark hair, kissed her cold cheeks and whispered how much I loved her. I want to crawl in the coffin and die next to her. It is sheer agony as Jed stands beside me tears running down his face. Rage, sorrow, and grief overwhelms us both. They had found her in a ditch off Highway 265.

An isolated stretch of road about two hours from where we lived. She had been raped, strangled, and pieces of her were missing. I didn't ask, I didn't look. I was told it would be too hard and traumatizing to bear. It was only because a passerby had stopped to take a piss off the road when he spotted her. At first he thought it was some doll that got thrown away. I was spared the horror of having to identify her little broken body. The words describing what was done to her were torment enough.

Who rapes a baby? What deranged, unfeeling monster could do such a thing? How does such evil live in men's hearts and be allowed to exist? Three months later. I can't remember the story of the urban legend. I can't remember anything except the raw blinding pain that greets me the moment I open my eyes and doesn't stop until sleep and unconsciousness claims me. I can't say where I heard of the deal.

I think in my delirium. Maybe in those blissful hours of nothingness I made a deal. A deal with the God knows what. It came to me in those moments of haziness. How to make the pain stop. How to make it go away. It became my new purpose. My only goal.

Three days later. I've been researching like crazy. Almost deranged since I found my new purpose. I was pursing a law in college before deciding to stay at home and raise a family. The passion I had once poured into academic studies I now poured into this. Jed stares at me from the kitchen watching as my eyes scanned pages of various websites. I jot some notes in my notebook. He asks if I am hungry and I shake my head in the negative.

There is a box of crackers and water beside me that I grab mindlessly while reading. I can feel him wanting to ask me questions, wanting to know what I am doing, wondering why I am looking at the things I am looking at. But he holds back. He himself feeling lost and despairing. So we are silent and living in our own thoughts. Mine with single-minded focus. His in disarray and fear.

Was he going to lose me too? One month later. Jed is staring at me in wide-eyed disbelief. He's looking at my packed suitcase. Just one. The blue hard-shell luggage is placed at the front of the door. I don't care for any of the designer dresses, frilly tops, satin skirts, or my other dozens of carefully collected shoes, nothing. All the beautiful things I had once loved in a life, I no longer care about.

I am wearing a solid black sweatshirt and blue jeans. I had packed the essentials and the bare minimum of what I would need. I stare at him with a resolute coldness that has been the only emotion I can muster these last few months. I am a shell of a woman. Not the woman he married or once knew. This should hurt. It doesn't. Nothing can eclipse the pain of losing.

my baby. He pleads with me to reconsider, he begs me to stay, he tells me we can get through this together. I shake my head. Because we can't. For what I am about to do is so beyond anything I've ever fathomed that I don't know what will become of me at the end. A plane right away. The house is small, yellow, dilapidated. It was vacant, of course. The locals all say it's haunted. So haunted that it's made a few rounds on the internet. When I called the realtor about renting the place for a night he actually stammered. Really? Was I serious? Did I not know the history of the home? People had run screaming from the house due to all the unexplained things they experienced.

I had given him a story that I was a paranormal investigator. This was my life's work. I knew what I was doing. I don't. But he gave me the keys anyways. The porch is creaking, it's afternoon. The weather is cool with a soft breeze. I leave my suitcase in the car. I have a plastic bag that holds a black candle, a red candle, dirt from the daughter's grave, a knife, some photos.

I don't need much. Just my life. I open the door which surprisingly doesn't creak. Once I am inside the house it has an oppressive dark. almost suffocating feel the moment I walk in. There is a heaviness of the soul stepping over the threshold from outside to in. I feel a bit nervous, scared even. What am I doing?

I tighten my hold on the plastic bag in my hand and close the door behind me. I set up in the small dusty living room. It still has the previous residence furniture. A floral printed stained cream-colored couch. Once white curtains on the windows are, now aged and stained with neglect. A child's plastic toy riding bicycle in the corner. I stare at that a moment longer thinking of Cora. Her laughter. Did I just hear it? It's night time. The sun has dropped. The shadows have gotten darker. I sit cross-legged on the floor. I'm glad to have worn jeans.

The entire space is grimy. This house has not been cleaned or occupied. in so long there is a thick dust layer on the floor. I set the black candle to my left. The red candle to my right. The circle around them made from the dirt of my dead daughter's grave. The knife in the middle. I wait. A soft scraping almost like nails against the wall begins.

It's down the hall. I can't see through the darkness. Whatever is there it's edging towards me. I light the candles. And then I start talking. It's word vomit. I tell the tale of my life. My perfect life that up until a few months ago was an idyllic sort of life.

The kind you read about in movies and books. I talk quickly. Describing the handsome successful husband, adoring beautiful wife, healthy cute toddler. I had grown up in a close-knit town surrounded by family and friends. I ended up settling in an upscale but modest neighborhood. near my parents when I graduated college. My husband was my high school sweetheart. We were the ideal couple goals according to our friends.

I had everything. The key word being had. Now I have nothing. I am here to make a deal I say shakily to the darkness. I want to make a deal. The skeletal thin hands with long pointed fingernails are the first to emerge from the shadows. Then the dark stringy hair and the soulless black eyes. It's a woman. Or at least it looks like a woman. She floats forward. Slow. Tilting her head.

She can probably kill me. I don't care if she does. A deal? The words are a whisper. I nod. Her face remains expressionless. She thinks I'm a fool. She can just kill me and be done with it. But she can't. Because she is also nothing. Just a screaming, forgotten thing, born of darkness and grief. I am a kindred spirit. You will make a deal with me. I say firmly as I come to the end of my life story in Cora's murder. The woman now understands why I am here. I am resolute in my request. No. She begins turning away. The shadows creeped close. The chill in the air has increased. Yes.

I am enraged. I jump up. Filled with a grief I can't escape and a sorrow that drowns out all else. Then I throw the photos at her. The crime scene photos of my beautiful baby. Broken, naked, bleeding, mutilated. Things a little three-year-old should never be. I weep dropping to the floor.

The tears fall hot and heavy. heavy. I am screaming incoherently. The thing or woman turns and stares at the photos strewn about. Its soulless eyes roving over each one. I had stopped by the police station before I headed over here. The detective assigned to our case had initially refused to show them to me. He begged me to remember my baby with only good memories. He said the photos would scar my soul. But I insisted. I said it would give me closure. He disagreed but sighed heavily as he saw the hard set to my jaw and pulled out the file. It's going to eat you alive, he claimed.

It doesn't matter when my soul is already dead. My forehead is pressed to the floor. I am curled up inside myself as my body racks will sobs. I feel a hand. Soft, stroking my hair gently, patting and almost loving. The pointed name is. grazing against my scalp. I sit up slowly. The woman is slightly behind me just a fathomless void. I tell her again I want to make a deal. I need to make a deal. I pick up the knife.

It's sharp silver glinting in the candles glow. I am shaking as I open my left palm. The deal is signed with blood. Usually a left slice across the palm. The thing reaches out. It takes out. It takes the knife from my hand. She looks sad. Weird how I can tell this. I leave my palm wide open and lay it across my lap. Ready for her to slice my hand. Then she moves so fast, I barely comprehend it. She's quick as she yanks my hair hard, tilting my head back, and slices the knife across my throat instead. Hours later. I wake up cold. I feel like a bad hangover with my mouth dry. It's morning. The candles have burned out to puddles.

The knife lays beside me. Was it a dream? Did I hallucinate? I feel around my throat. No mark, no bruise, no pain. Did I imagine it all? But an awareness fills me. A clarity I did not have before.

The way is clear. I stand up, brush the dust off my jeans. I am alone. I pick up the knife, the remnants of the candles, and look around. The crime scene photos of my baby are gone. That's okay. I nod. And turn away.

I open the front door to let the rays of the morning sun hit my face. I smile. It's been so long since I have. I know the monster who killed my baby. I know who he is. And I also know where he is. Now I just have to make him pay. Part 1. Back in 2022, something happened that honestly I still replay in my head like it was yesterday.

It started out kind of innocent, even promising. But by the time I realized what was really going on, I was already in way too deep. So, here's the setup. I was 29 at the time, working as a mechanic. Just doing my thing, you know. Grease on my hands, busted knuckles, dealing with busted up cars all day. Not glamorous, but I was good at it. One of our regular customers was this woman who owned a security apparel store. She always pulled up in her company truck, dressed like she was ready to command a boardroom or go to war.

Fast talker, sharp as hell, and she walked like she had a purpose. The kind of person who doesn't just take up space, she owns it. We never had anything going on, no weird vibes. Strictly professional. She'd bring her vehicle in, I'd fix it, she'd pay, and off she went. Simple. But then things shifted. Her brother, who was also her business partner, got arrested.

I won't get into why, but let's just say it was serious enough that he wasn't coming back to work anytime soon. That left her in a tight spot. She only had one other employee, a dude who did everything from paperwork to sales. But apparently, that guy wasn't cutting it, because she fired him a few days later. Now she's panicking. No help, the business still running, customers expecting their gear. So she starts calling around, looking for someone she could trust.

And that's when she calls me. At first, it was just a, hey, could you help me out for a day or two type of business? deal. I said, sure, why not? Then she starts dropping lines like, I need someone reliable, and I see potential in you, and, you could grow into something big here. And I'll admit it, I was flattered. I'd been feeling like I hit a ceiling at the garage anyway. So when she offered me a full-time spot, I said yes. That's when the trap closed. At first glance, it looked like a step-up. New title, cleaner job, maybe even a future. But beneath the surface, it started to feel like I was getting pulled into something I didn't fully understand.

She wanted me in the store by 6 a.m. on the dot, every damn day. I couldn't leave until 6 p.m. After that, sometimes she'd need me at her house to help watch her daughter while she ran errands or caught up on work. She kept saying it was just temporary, but that so-called temporary gig turned permanent real quick. I brought it up once. Said the hours were a lot. That I was feeling drained. She hit me with, I'm hard on you because I believe in you.

One day, you could run this business. I just need to know you can handle it. And yeah, I fell for that. I swallowed every word like it was gospel. I kept grinding, showing up early, staying late, doing stuff way outside my job description. It was like I was trying to prove myself to her. I didn't even realize I was being manipulated until it was too late. And then, the weirdest thing happened.

One day, my brother and I were working in the back of the store, putting together some display racks. He stepped out for a bit to go grab something from the truck, and she walks over to me. Casual. Calm. Almost playful. She looks at me and says, do you feel any chemistry between us? I was like, what the hell? I froze. That came out of nowhere. But I told her the truth. I said, yeah, maybe a little. I mean, she was attractive and intense, and we spent a lot of time together. But I never acted on anything because we had a professional relationship. She smiled. Said she felt the same way.

And then she just hits me with this bomb. When you think about that chemistry, is it just like, you want to fuck the hell out of me? Or is it something deeper? More romantic. That question shook me. It wasn't playful anymore. It was bold.

She was testing me. So I told her, it was more romantic. That I wasn't the kind of dude who just sleeps with some. someone and disappears. If something happened between us, it would have to mean something. She seemed pleased. Like that's exactly what she wanted to hear. Then she starts telling me these wild confessions.

That she'd fantasized about me. That she'd watched me back when I worked on her car and always thought I looked strong. That sometimes she got so turned on just being around me, she had to go home and change her underwear. I swear I'm not making that up. Right then, my brother walks back in. She immediately stops talking. Conversation dead. She says we'll talk more later. And she kept that promise. Later that night, she takes me on this drive. Just us in her car, parked somewhere quiet. She opens up again. Says she's been craving more than just sex, she wants connection, passion, someone to trust. She tells me she imagines me being rough with her, but also tender. That she wants to be

claimed, but not used. I told her I felt the same. And I wasn't lying. We ended up at her place. Her daughter was home, the babysitter was there, my brother was crashing on the couch, so nothing happened. But the air was heavy. Electric. Like something big had just started but couldn't finish. Next morning, I show up early. She's already there. She pulls me into the back room and asks, real soft, can I kiss you? Before I could answer, she grabs me and kisses me. And it wasn't just a peck.

It was intense. Her hands were on me, pulling me in. Her lips were hungry. Tong all over the place. Like she'd been holding back for months. But I froze. Not because I didn't want it. I did.

But it hit me too fast. I wasn't expecting it in that exact moment. I just kind of stood there, stiff as a board. She pulls back. Looks me dead in the eye and says, I thought there'd be sparkles. Then she walks off like nothing happened. The rest of the day. Weird as hell.

She was cold. Distant. Like I looked. let her down. That night, she apologized, said it felt off. That maybe she misread the moment. That it wouldn't happen again. But she didn't know what was really going on inside my head. I wanted it. I just wasn't ready. And more than that. I had a girlfriend. Yeah, I was emotionally checked out of that relationship by then, but still, it was a line I hadn't fully decided to cross. And deeper than all that, I had started to realize something.

She was controlling. Way more than I had noticed at first. My schedule. Owned by her. My energy. Gone. My identity. Getting chipped away.

If I crossed that last line, gave in completely, I knew she'd own all of me. That realization changed everything. After that, things between us got darker. She got moodier. Started acting cold when I didn't do things exactly how she wanted. More passive-aggressive comments. More guilt-tripping. More late-night calls asking for help with random tasks.

I won't get into all of that now, because honestly, that's a whole other story. But I can tell you this, I walked into that job thinking it was a step forward, a fresh start. But it turned into a twisted mess of power. plays, manipulation, and blurred lines. And that kiss. That moment. It wasn't a beginning. It was the turning point where everything started to unravel. I stayed longer than I should have. But eventually, I walked away from the job, from her, from that whole damn situation. And I still think about it sometimes. Not because I miss it, but because it taught me something real, sometimes the things that look like opportunity are just cages with gold-painted

bars. To be continued. Part 2. After that kiss in the back of the store, things got weird. Real weird. It was like she flipped a switch in her brain. One second I was the golden child, and the next I was enemy number one. That warmth she used to have. Gone. The compliments, the encouraging hearing pep talks about growth and potential. Gone. All of it disappeared so fast it gave me whiplash. Suddenly, I wasn't being mentored anymore, I was being monitored. It was like every little thing I did annoyed her. I was too slow when I stocked the shelves. Too sloppy answering phones. Too friendly with customers. Too quiet, too loud, too, too, everything. She picked apart every move I made, like she was just waiting for me to mess up. Breathing around her felt like a test

I was bound to fail. And believe me, she made sure I knew it. Now, here's where it gets messy. I didn't just work for her. I was also buying a car from her. Yeah. Bad move, I know. It was a deal we set up even before she hired me, and once I started working there, it felt like she had me on a leash. I didn't want to lose the car, so I kept showing up. But I stopped giving a damn. I was just going through the motions, clocking in and zoning out. She noticed the shift. And it drove her nuts.

But there's something I never mentioned before. Let's rewind a bit. From the first week I started working, she started talking about this mysterious former boss of hers. She said he was this big shot retail mogul from Austria. She hyped him up like he was the retail version of the Terminator, said he was going to fly in and help restructure the business. She told me I had to shape up fast because once he landed, if I didn't impress him, I was done. She made him sound terrifying. Cutthroat, serious, and impossible to fool, she said.

The kind of guy who would make me shiver when he speaks. But at the same time, she fed me a fantasy. She told me if I proved myself and showed I could take care of her, baby, meaning the business, she'd step back and hand it over. She said all she'd want in return was the cost of goods. I'd keep the rest. I mean, come on. Who wouldn't fall for that?

I wanted to believe her. But deep down, something didn't sit right. Then the day came. The Austrian mogul finally arrived. I was in the middle of a call campaign for our wholesale clients, getting everything ready for this Easter promo she was obsessed with. She was already breathing down my neck, saying I sounded amateur, that I had no presence, and that I was embarrassing the brand. She kept saying, wait till he gets here. You'll see how it's really done. Cue the dramatic entrance. The door swings open and in walks this dude, tall, maybe six feet two inches,

beard all patchy, clothes wrinkled like he fell out of a suitcase. He looked like he just slept in an airport lounge. And his voice high-pitched, but he was clearly trying to force it deeper, like a teenager trying to sound like their dad. His English was stiff and awkward, like he was reading a bad Google translate script. She introduced him with this fake-sounding Austrian name, then told me to call him Bob. Bob. The big scary exec from Austrian, I wanted to laugh, but I held it in. She said he was going to show me how a real pro-handled clients. So she gave him the phone.

And I watched in disbelief as this man completely butchered every single call. He mispronounced names. Forgot product details. Could barely string sentences together. I looked at her, expecting her to jump in. But nope, she just stood there, arms crossed, acting like he was Moses handing out commandments. Then came the shift.

I caught it. She started talking to him the same way she talked to me. Cold. Short. Mean. The mask was slipping. Fast. Eventually, she snatched the phone, made a few calls herself, smooth and flawless,

I'll give her that, and then just shut the whole campaign down. No explanation. Just, lock up. We're leaving. And out the door she went, Bob trailing behind. Next day, Bob's back. But now he's carrying her toddler daughter. That's right.

Mr. Big Shot Austrian consultant was now the store babysitter. No more business advice. No more restructuring plans. He just, existed. Quiet. In the corner. forgotten. And then she started talking about him behind his back. To me. Said he was slow. Said he embarrassed her. Said bringing him here was a huge mistake. And then she started comparing us.

Told me he had confessed feelings for her, but she wasn't into him. Said he gave her the creeps. Then she looked at me, dead serious, and said, you, though, you're the kind of. You're the kind of man I want. I didn't know what to say. I just nodded and tried to change the subject. From then on, she did everything possible to keep me and Bob from talking. Wouldn't leave us alone for more than a minute. But eventually, she slipped up. We had a moment. And that's when it all came together. Bob spilled the truth. He met her on a dating app. Thought he was flying out to start a relationship. She painted this whole fairy tale, and he bought into it. He told me that the moment he landed, she changed.

Cold. Distant. No affection. Barely let him touch her. He said he was stuck, confused, isolated. And now he was just some unpaid nanny for a woman who clearly didn't give a damn. Then he looked me in the eye and said, I thought I was coming to find love. She turned me into a worker.

She did the same to you. That hit hard. I knew he was right. After that, I shut down completely. Didn't bother trying anymore. Just moved through the store like a zombie. Blank face. Robotic responses.

She hated it. She'd snap, why are you moving so dumb? I just stare at her like I didn't speak English. I was over it. Then came the final straw. She sent me to deliver some replacement boots to a client. I did the delivery, but I forgot to collect the old pair. Honest mistake.

I came back and told her. She exploded. Full-blown meltdown. Screaming. Insults. Said I was a liability. Said I was useless. And then she fired me.

I didn't flinch. Just nodded. Honestly, I was relieved. I was free. Or so I thought. As I turned to leave, she said, take Bob with you. Like he was a broken lamp she was dumping off. So I did.

We walked out together. Two of her discarded toys. And that's when things really spiraled. We got in my car, the one I was still technically paying her for, and just drove. No idea where to go. Bob was quiet for a while. Then he started talking about going back home, said he missed his family. Said he felt stupid for ever trusting her.

I told him he wasn't alone. I fell for it too. Different bait, same trap. We ended up crashing at a cheap motel that night. Just sat there in silence, trying to figure out what the hell just happened to our lives. two guys from different worlds who got caught in the same web. I never saw her again. She never called about the car.

Never asked for a final payment. It was like she erased both of us from her life the moment we walked out that door. Sometimes I wonder how many other people she's done this to. How many times she's spun this web and pulled someone in? She was a master manipulator, no doubt about it. She made you feel special, then used you up, and tossed you aside. Bob flew back to Austria a week later. We said our goodbyes like war buddies who survived something no one else would ever understand.

I still think about him sometimes. Hope he's doing okay. As for me, I got a new job. Got my life back on track. But I keep a part of that story with me. Not out of bitterness, but as a reminder. Some people will sell you a dream just to use you. And when they do, the best thing you can do is wake up, walk away, and never look back.

To be continued. Part 3. When she fired both of us and told me to, take Bob with me, I honestly thought that was it. Freedom. Finally Like a weight had been lifted off my chest. No more walking on eggshells. No more anxiety storms over.

over what kind of mood she'd be in. We packed up and left, me and Bob, and we didn't look back, at least not then. We hit the beach like kids on summer break, laughing too loud, kicking up sand, letting the ocean swallow our stress for a few precious hours. The sun warmed our skin, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I felt like a whole human being again. Not a shell. Not a tool.

a punching bag. But just as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky went all purple-blue, her claws started creeping back in. She called. Then called again. And again. Bob's phone buzzed so much it was vibrating across the dashboard like it was possessed. Eventually, he picked up. Calm as ever, he told her he wasn't coming back that night. Said he needed space. That he was getting a hotel, clearing his head, and that he'd come by in the morning to grab his passport and his stuff. That's when her voice flipped. Like a switch. She went cold. Calculated. Told him if he didn't come back right then, he wouldn't get anything. Not his clothes. Not his documents. Not even the precious photos of his kids he'd flown

all the way over with. Just, cut off. Like she was a damn dictator and he was some disobedient soldier. He looked at me. There was this long pause, like he was weighing whether to cry or scream or just walk into the ocean.

Then he asked if he could stay at my place that night. Of course, I said yes. And in that moment, something clicked. I wasn't the only one she had trapped. The next morning, we drove back to her place. Not because we wanted to. Hell no. But because he needed his stuff, and we figured maybe if he was calm, she'd be too. Nope. We hadn't even gotten out of the car before she was shouting from the gallery like some unhinged soap opera villain. Bob asked for his things, nice

and steady. She flat out refused. Claimed he owed her money for a flight she paid for when he missed a connection getting into the country. Bob said, nah, that was never a deal. She'd done that on her own. No repayment ever discussed. She dug in deeper. Said she was holding his belongings, until he made things right. That was Bob's breaking point.

He snapped. Yelled back. Cussed her out so thoroughly I almost applauded. Told her she was a manipulator. That she'd tricked him into coming with promises of love and maybe a future, and instead made him a glorified babysitter. Oh, and the cherry on top. She made him pretend to be some kind of boss at her company, just for show. I stood there, still as stone. Watching. Not shocked, honestly. Just weirdly

satisfied to see her mask crack wide open. When it was over, Bob turned to me and said something I'll never forget. She used me. Just like she used you. I was never supposed to be a boss. I was just another tool. That hit hard. Later that week, Bob booked the hell out of the country. Left his stuff behind like it was radioactive. I drove him to the airport. We didn't say much, just that I hoped he found peace. He told me to take care of myself. I thought that was the end. But it It never is, is it? Next morning, my phone rang. Her name on the screen.

I should have tossed it into the sink. But I answered. She sounded calm. Friendly even. Said she needed to talk. Ask me to swing by. I didn't want to. But there was still unfinished business with the vehicle situation, something dumb I didn't want

to leave hanging. So I went. She welcomed me like nothing had happened. Sat me down. Made tea. And then she dropped the real reason I was there. She said I was now financially responsible for Bob's flight. That because I had helped him leave the country, I'd interfered with a debt he owed her.

So now, I had to repay it. I blinked. She slid a printed agreement across the table. Said I could work off the debt doing mechanic work, house chores. hours, errands, whatever she needed. My throat closed. I couldn't even process it. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said, you can go home and think about it.

But if you don't sign, I'll take legal action. I walked out without saying a word. When I got home, I crumbled. Just lost it. Shut my door, collapsed on my bed, and cried until my ribs hurt. It wasn't just sadness. It was that horrible deja vu of being caught in a trap you thought you'd escaped. I told my family everything.

They were furious. My mom especially. My brother wanted to march over there and ripped the paper to shreds in front of her face. And I messaged Bob. Told him the whole insane new chapter she was writing. He was livid. Said enough was enough. Sent her a long, brutal message.

telling her she had no right to drag me into her vendetta. That I had nothing to do with her fake contract. Said if she pushed it any further, he wouldn't stay silent. Guess what she did next? Screenshot it his message and sent it to me. Along with the words, you need to come see me now. At that point, I wasn't stepping foot near her alone. So I brought my family.

We pulled up to her house like it was a damn intervention. My mom spoke first, calm but firm, what are your real intentions with my son? Why are you trying to make him pay for something he never agreed to? She dodged. Lied. Played dumb. Tried to redirect the conversation like she was running a political debate. Then my brother stepped in.

What about the kiss? What about all the stuff you said to him? Boom. She froze. Like someone. had pulled the curtain off the puppet master. Her face twisted, trying to find an escape route in her own head. Then came the screaming.

The denial. The accusations. She said we were bullying a single mother. That we were ganging up on her. The theatrics were Oscar worthy. But we weren't backing off this time. And what she didn't know. My mom had been recording the entire conversation.

every manipulative syllable, every fake tear. That was the first time the power shifted. The first time she didn't hold all the strings. Since then, I've stayed far, far away. If I even think I see her car, I take a different route. Her numbers muted. Her face is blocked from every corner of my online life. But even now, if I see her name pop up somewhere, an email, a stray content.

an old document, I feel it. A jolt in my chest. My throat goes dry. My hands shake. My body remembers before my brain does. That's the mark of real manipulation. That deep psychological branding. She didn't just control what I did. She rewired how I saw myself. How I saw love. Trust. Power. Anyone who says, I just want to help you grow, now sets off alarm bells in my head. I'm out of it now. Finally. But healing?

That's a marathon. Not a sprint. If you've read this far, if any part of this sounded like something you've lived, let me tell you something important. You're not weak. You're not naive. You're not crazy. You're just waking up. And waking up is powerful.

The End. Carolina Olson was born on November 29, 1861, on the island of Ockno, Sweden. She was the second of five children in a humble family. The Olsons made their living through fishing, a craft that involved not only the father but also some of the children. Everyone contributed to make ends meet, and as far as reports go, there was nothing scandalous about their lives, no disputes, no debts, no dramatic feuds. They were, by all appearances, a hardworking, normal family. Carolina was an active, healthy child who received a modest education typical of the time. Being the only girl in the family, her role was restricted to domestic chores. She wasn't allowed to participate in the physically demanding fishing activities, nor did she attend school

regularly. Instead, she stayed home with her mother, helping with laundry, cleaning, cooking, and mending clothes. During these quiet moments, she learned to read and write, but her education was informal and limited to the household. However, in 1875, Carolina began attending a catechism school. Religion was deeply ingrained in the Olson family's life, and their beliefs were steeped in notions of witches and curses. Any misfortune, a bad fall, illness, poor weather, was attributed to witchcraft, and their solutions typically involved prayer and church visits. On February 18, 1876, one of the coldest days of the year, Carolina, then 14, decided to sneak away for a bit of fun. She went ice skating alone.

Depending on the source, she was either at home or on her way back from school when she stopped at a frozen lake. Either way, she laced up her skates, stepped onto the ice, and began to glide. She was enjoying herself until she slipped, hit her head hard on the ice, and fell unconscious for a moment. Disoriented and in pain, she managed to get up and stumble home. When Carolina arrived, she told her mother what had happened. Her mother examined her and concluded it was just a minor bump. Days passed, but Carolina's headache persisted and even worsened, spreading to her teeth and jaw. The family faced a dilemma, the nearest doctor was far away, transportation was expensive,

and the freezing weather made travel risky. They decided to wait and pray instead. Their explanation for Carolina's suffering shifted from a medical issue to a supernatural one. They believed the witch had cursed her, so they gathered to pray and took her to church, but nothing changed. Her condition deteriorated. One evening, her mother sent her to bed, hoping rest would ease the pain.

Carolina, however, didn't wake up the next morning. She wasn't dead, she was breathing, but she didn't respond to anything. Her family shook her, pinched her, even pricked her with needles. In desperation, they burned her skin with a flame. Still, there was no reaction. To them, this was undeniable proof of witchcraft. They didn't call a doctor, citing both their financial struggles and their unwavering faith that prayer would suffice.

Her mother took on the role of caregiver, washing her, changing her clothes, brushing her hair, and feeding her liquids like milk and sugar water. But Carolina never moved, never blinked, and never showed any sign of life. of this strange phenomenon spread quickly. Curious neighbors, friends, and even strangers began visiting the Olsons' home to witness what they called the sleeping beauty. Rumors swirled that she was bewitched. Some claimed she murmured ancient prayers in her sleep or made subtle movements, a twitch of a finger, a flutter of her eyelids, but these were rare occurrences. Eventually, the townspeople collected funds to bring a doctor to examine her. The physician diagnosed Carolina

as being in a coma. Over the course of a year, the doctor visited repeatedly, observing no improvement. Frustrated and seeking answers, he reached out to the editor of Scandinavia's leading medical journal, hoping other doctors might shed light on this bizarre case. The story piqued the interest of dozens of medical professionals, who flocked to the Olson's home to examine Carolina. Their assessments were as baffling as the condition itself. They noted that her body seemed frozen in time, her hair and nails didn't grow, and her physical

appearance remained unchanged. The family insisted she occasionally sat upright, prayed aloud, or murmured conversations with God before collapsing back into bed. The situation defied logic. In 1892, Dr. Johann Emil Illick revisited the case and offered a new diagnosis, severe hysteria. At the time, hysteria was a catch-all term for unexplained symptoms, ranging from insomnia and fainting spells to muscle spasms and abdominal pain. Essentially, he admitted he had no idea what was happening and labeled it hysteria to provide some semblance of explanation. However, this diagnosis brought renewed attention to Carolina's case. That July, she was transported to a hospital for electroconvulsive therapy, ECT.

The treatment was ineffective. Undeterred, doctors posited another theory, paralytic dementia, typically a late-stage symptom of syphilist seen in older adults. This, too, made little sense given Carolina's age and lack of exposure to the disease. By August, Carolina returned home. Doctors had all but given up, assuming she would eventually succumb to her condition. Life moved on around her. Her siblings grew up, married, and left home. Her parents aged.

In 1904, her mother passed away, and her father hired a housekeeper to care for Carolina. Three years later, her eldest brother drowned. When the family shared this tragic news with Carolina, witnesses claimed she cried silently without opening her eyes. Some sources dispute this account, but others alleged the housekeeper observed it firsthand. The housekeeper grew increasingly suspicious. Carolina's condition seemed peculiar. Despite being in a supposed coma, the housekeeper noticed small, strange changes, objects in the room were sometimes misplaced, blankets were disturbed, and Carolina's position in bed shifted subtly. Most strikingly, sweets left in her room, candies, cookies, chocolates, occasionally disappeared.

The housekeeper questioned the family, but no one admitted to taking them. On April 3rd, 1908, after 32 years of being asleep, Carolina, now 47, awoke. That morning, the housekeeper heard a loud noise from Carolina's room and rushed in, finding her standing in the middle of the room, crying and disoriented. The entire family and neighbors gathered to witness this miracle. Carolina didn't recognize anyone, and to everyone's astonishment, she looked like a young woman in her early 20s. Even more astonishingly, her muscles showed no signs of atrophy, her weight was normal,

and she appeared healthy, though sensitive to light. Initially, Carolina couldn't speak coherently. Over time, her speech returned, and she recounted her last memories, skating on the frozen lake, falling, and feeling intense pain. She claimed she remembered nothing from the past 32 years, aside from two vivid dreams, her mother crying and praying beside her in an ocean filled with floating blue faces. speculated that these dreams reflected her subconscious processing of significant events, like her brother's death.

Carolina's case baffled experts and captivated the public. Tests revealed she was an exceptional reader and writer with intelligence far above average. Despite her lack of formal education, she demonstrated sharp wit and an aptitude for learning. Newspapers sensationalized her story, dubbing her, the real sleeping beauty, and published numerous photos of her. Though some accounts claimed she avoided publicity, photographed. suggested she enjoyed the attention. In 1910, psychiatrist Harold Fasten conducted an extensive study of Carolina. He noted her youthful appearance and keen intellect. Intriguingly,

Carolina exhibited flirtatious behavior towards him, which he found unusual given her mental age of 14. Fasten theorized that her condition was not due to physical trauma but psychological distress. He believed she had experienced a profoundly traumatic event, possibly abuse, which caused her mind to retreat into itself. Today, this phenomenon might be recognized as Resignation Syndrome, often seen in children who endure extreme trauma, such as war or displacement. Victims become unresponsive, effectively withdrawing from the world. Other theories emerged over the years. Some suggested she suffered from Kleinleven syndrome, KLS, also known as Sleeping Beauty Syndrome, a rare condition characterized by prolonged sleep

episodes. However, KLS typically affects young males and doesn't persist into middle age, making this an unlikely explanation. Another hypothesis was that her mother had fabricated the entire ordeal to shield Carolina after a traumatic event. Critics argued that Carolina's coma was staged, and she had been secretly cared for and fed solid food, which explained her healthy appearance and lack of muscle atrophy. Skeptics even suggested the case was an elaborate hoax designed to solicit donations from sympathetic neighbors. However, this theory doesn't account for the medical examinations, physical evidence, or Carolina's apparent resistance to stimuli like needles and flames.

Carolina Olson lived a quiet life after her miraculous awakening. Known as a hardworking and cheerful woman, she passed away in 1950 at the age of 88, her death attributed to a brain hemorrhage. Her story remains one of the most perplexing medical mysteries in history, sparking debates that continue to this day. Was she a victim of trauma, a medical anomaly, or part of an elaboration? What do you think happened to Carolina Olson? We begin.

We cannot begin this case like all the others, because if we did, we would miss a key part of this story. And before talking about the case itself, we must first know the person who discovered all the clues, Mary Pascarilla Downey, who was born in Stratford on January 19, 19, 1932. Mary was born an absolutely normal girl, but in her childhood, as she began to grow, everyone noticed something very strange about her, and she felt it too. The other children played, had fun among themselves, laughed, and saw things as they appeared to be. But she saw beyond.

She perceived a world differently. She saw things others could not see, could not feel, and, according to her, she could walk through time. She lived on this plane, the physical plane, but she could see what had happened in this place long ago. She could see it, interpret it, feel it, rewind it. She could modify the images, move them, but unfortunately, she could not change them. That is, if something had happened, she could not correct it. Over time, she discovered that people called this being a psychic, but she didn't like that word and considered herself a time walker.

Time passed, she grew, continued experimenting, and realized that she could do something called psychometry. She could grab an object, touch it, and feel beyond, what happened to the object, who its previous owner was, what they did with it. The unknown fascinated her deeply, even though she studied, trained, got a job, and her life seemed normal. Her true passion was the paranormal, what could not be explained. In the 1950s, she founded a radio show called The Strange and the Unusual, specifically in Bridgeport, Connecticut. There, she spoke about everything that interested her, the paranormal, ghosts, apparitions. And in the 1960s, her life changed forever.

Some sources say she founded or was part of the SPR, the American Society for Psychical Research, but officially, there is nothing confirming this. The original SPR is very old, it's impossible that she founded it, but perhaps over time she could have founded another one, something similar with the same focus. However, I have not found anything official about this, although what is clear is that from that point on, she collaborated actively with the couple Teeley and Lauren Warren. They met, exchanged opinions, investigated together, and she became an instructor of psychic phenomena at Hussetonic Community College.

They say she was a mentor to the Warren's and showed them everything a psychic could do. Though her greatest achievement was alongside the New Haven Police, specifically investigating a case, The year was 1973, and specifically, it was summer. Some sources say she was called in August, others in September, but the story was impressive nonetheless. She was specifically called by Detective George Massagin, who at that moment was desperate. George had worked almost his entire life for the homicide department, but he had never faced a case so complicated. At first, he thought it would be the easiest case of his career, that he had everything, that it would be simple, there were witnesses, evidence, clues.

He had it all and thought he could close the case in two days. But as the weeks went by, he realized it was impossible. He had witnesses, blood, fingerprints. None of it made any sense. We're talking about the 1970s. DNA research was practically undeveloped, and the police didn't have a computerized database, fingerprint records, DNA, none of that. So even though they had everything at the scene, they couldn't make progress.

That's why George decided to turn to a psychic, specifically married Pascarilla. He called her, arranged a meeting, and without giving any information, asked her to please tell him what she knew. I couldn't find exactly what he gave her to help her feel or connect with the case, but some sources say they use psychometry. They met in an isolated location far from the crime scene, and Mary supposedly held a photo of the victim in her hands. After a few seconds, she closed her eyes and said the following.

The first thing she saw in her mind was the color blue. Blue everywhere. In the clothes, on the floor, in a car. Blue was the key color in this case. She also saw water, felt it, heard it. She didn't know if the crime occurred near water, in a port, a lake. She didn't know, but the water was very important. The next thing was a smell, motor grease.

A smell that reminded her of a mechanics shop. She asked for paper and pencil, began to draw, and specifically sketched a tall, thin man with thick eyebrows and long hair. Fifth, Mary emphasized that this person would not kill again, that she was his only victim and that he hadn't killed before or after. His target was her. He was full of rage, released it, and vanished. And finally, she said something surprising. She sighed and said, The Blood Will Tell. When the detective heard this, he was completely shocked,

because many of the things she had said made sense. These were details that had not been published anywhere, in any newspaper. And even though some of her insights didn't match, others were too striking to ignore. Everything fit together in such a sinister way that when I tell you the case, you're going to be stunned. Concetta Sarah, better known as Penny, was born on March 2, 1952, in New Haven, Connecticut, the oldest of two daughters of Pauline Carbone and John Sarah.

It is said that she never went unnoticed, she left a mark on everyone she ever interacted with. She was sweet, approachable, incredibly loving. In fact, in her yearbook, below her photo, you could read the following phrase, a laughing heart and a cheerful spirit. Her life was always full of opportunities and joy, but also deep sadness. When she was only 11 years old, her mother passed away, and she became the support system for her father and younger sister. She had to grow up very fast, mature, move forward. She had to prove to them that she was strong, and I must tell you, she exceeded all expectations. She got good grades, graduated, and trained as a dental assistant.

assistant. At 21, she had everything in life, a good job, an apartment, a steady partner. Her father was very proud of her, and her friends saw a bright future for her. Moreover, the year 1973 was her best. She had savings, was furnishing a new apartment, and although she had a fight with her boyfriend, she kept going. It was a silly argument, nothing important, and in a few days, they'd be back together. Nonetheless, on July 16th, she took the day off. Why? Penny wanted to disconnect, drive around, take a walk, go to the mall, and buy furniture.

That day, she put on her favorite dress, a blue dress, and got into her beloved car, also blue. She drove around, went downtown, and parked specifically in the Temple Street garage, right next to a shopping mall. She parked the car on the top floor, the highest one. And at that moment, the garage was full of people, families shopping, strolling, resting. It was broad daylight in a very busy area with lots of movement. But as soon as she got out of the car, someone jumped on her. A tall, thin guy, and five people witnessed the scene.

That person had a knife. They struggled, fought next to the car. She ran toward the stairs, he chased her. But at the end of the run, Pan, Penny tripped, and the man ended her life. The whole scene was full of evidence. There were five witnesses, bloodstains, and there were fingerprints on the car. The killer spent a lot of time there, okay? He took the murder weapon, which later disappeared. But his prints were all over the scene. He stabbed her, chased her, went back to the car, opened the back

door, and grabbed a tissue box. But that's not all. During the struggle, the killer cut his hand, and his blood was at the scene. The investigation revealed even more evidence. Mixed with the blood, there were other substances. They found something called Frion, a non-flammable methane derivative used especially as a refrigerant and aerosol propellant. There was also motor grease, which suggested the killer might be a mechanic or worked with vehicles.

That opened two lines of investigation. The first focused on the victim's circle. The main and only suspect was her boyfriend. They had fought, were distant, and the police discovered they were often like that. It was a long-term relationship, but on and off. And something very interesting, according to witnesses, the killer looked like him. Tall, thin, long hair. The boyfriend was arrested and placed in a lineup.

A witness identified him. But, he had an alibi at the time of the crime. He wasn't even there. He was at a restaurant and had 12 witnesses to back him up. So, he was ruled out. Then the police followed the second line of investigation. They looked into all the mechanics in New Haven and asked all of them for fingerprints. They did the comparisons, none matched.

And the case became stuck. They took samples from several people and compared them to the blood from the scene. But this blood was very specific, it was typo. And for the moment, there were no matches. To be continued. They took samples from several people and compared them with the blood at the scene. But this blood was very specific, it was typo.

And, at the moment, there were no matches. They leaked to the press what had happened with the intention that, someone, a witness, would come forward. They said that a girl had died, that it happened in the parking lot of the mall, that she had been stabbed. They also said that they didn't know who the culprit was, that they didn't know who had done it or why. And, because of this, panic spread.

People stopped going to that parking lot. Surveillance increased a lot. Social pressure suffocated the police, and Detective George Mascane was desperate. Penny Sarah's father, John, couldn't just stand by. He couldn't wait for the police to do everything on their own. It was unthinkable for him. He felt they weren't making progress, that they weren't doing anything.

So every week he paid the newspaper to place ads, put up his daughter's photo, ask for cooperation, witnesses, ask for help. Also, weekly he called the police asking for updates. He wanted to know how the case was going, if they had anything, if they didn't, if progress was being made. And under this pressure, Detective George Mascane contacted the psychic Mary Pascarilla directly. In her first vision, the woman revealed very important details. She spoke about how the suspect, could be a mechanic, which fit, about the color blue, the girl dressed in blue and her car was also blue, and gave a description that perfectly matched the witness's accounts. So George Moskane decided to call her a second time and asked if with an object of penknit.

he could get further, see more things. Mary responded yes. George couldn't give her an object from the crime scene. The girl's dress, a blood-stained handkerchief, he couldn't give her any of that, so he called John Sarah and told him what he intended to do. He said the police couldn't move forward, but maybe with a psychic, they could. And John was fully on board. He wanted progress, and he wanted it now.

And if a psychic could help, he was delighted. He went to Penny's room, took a coat, and together they went to see Mary Pascarilla, who again had visions. When touching the coat, she revealed more information. She spoke about Penny's personality, that she was sweet, nice, open, affectionate. And she also, commented that Penny was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer was not after her specifically, he was after her. anyone. He was full of rage, unleashed. He found Penny, and took it out on her. So the poor girl

was just unlucky. After this analysis, the detective spoke privately with John, Sarah, and asked if he wanted to move forward, if he wanted to continue this way, if he trusted Mary. John said yes. He didn't believe in the paranormal or spirits beyond. They didn't believe in any of that. But Mary had something that made him trust her, so, they decided to take her to the crime scene. But they did this without giving her any information. Mary herself led them to the exact floor, the exact spot where Penny parked her car. And stepping on the ground, she repeatedly said the color blue, that she saw blue everywhere, on the floor, on the girls' clothes, on the car.

George told her the floor hadn't changed, the signs, the numbers, the walls, Everything was yellow. It had always been yellow. But Mary insisted, and when George asked the parking management, he found out that previously those spots were blue, long before Penny's death. They kept advancing. Mary closed her eyes, let herself go, and what happened next gave everyone goosebumps. She indicated the exact spot where Penny parked her car and, walking alone,

followed the path that victim and perpetrator took. How does it start? Where? When does Penny stumble? Where does she fall? She led the witnesses to the exact place where the girl died and described what the killer was like, a tall, thin man, with thick eyebrows, messy, hair, who also wore a uniform bearing the letter E. His name tag started with E, but unfortunately, she couldn't read more.

She also noted the smell of motor oil, that he stole a handkerchief, wiped his hands with it, and left his blood at the scene next to the body. But the most shocking part comes now, Mary kept placing her hand on the right side of her head because she repeatedly said that it hurt terribly and that the pain filled her with rage. She kept saying that blood was going to speak, that it would speak sooner or later, that this case would be closed, but unfortunately, patience was needed. However, over the years, George Mazakin got tired of waiting. This case drained him physically and mentally, and in 1979, he retired from the police.

He not only left the case but also left the New Haven police force. But John Sarah, for his part, never gave up. He kept publishing ads, making noise, putting up posters. He fought until the end, and in 1984, the case took a complete turn. That year, a man named Anthony Galena was accused by his. his own wife of being Penny Sarah's killer. It turns out he was in the middle of a divorce process, specifically with his soon-to-be ex-wife, Joyce Carousone-le-le-le-pone. The divorce was terrible. They fought, argued, and threatened each other, and on one occasion, Anthony said that if she kept

going like that, he would kill her just like he had killed Penny, to which Joyce obviously reported him. This accusation was more than enough for him to be, arrested and formally charged, but in, 1987 it was proven false that Anthony Galino was innocent. His blood type was A, and the crime scenes was O, so he was released. Although Anthony wasn't going to stay quiet, he demanded justice, to clear his name, and filed a civil rights lawsuit against the city of New Haven, several police officers, and his ex-wife. He demanded 40 million and was offered a settlement of 300,000. It wasn't what he asked for, but at the same time, it was a lot of money. However, Anthony rejected it, and in 1993, a federal jury ruled against him, so this man got

nothing. In the 1990s, police work improved with the creation of a computerized fingerprint database called AFIS. Taking advantage of this improvement, among the first fingerprints entered were those from Penny Sarah's crime scene. They uploaded the print. and in 1999 a match appeared, the prince belonged to none other than Edward R. Grant, a mechanic from Waterbury, Connecticut. This man had been arrested just two weeks after the crime, this time, for a minor offense. His prints were taken into account. He was booked and registered, but unfortunately, he was not in any database. However, at this moment, the investigation began knew, and the police realized Mary Pascarilla was right. To start, Edward was a mechanic, tall,

thin, with thick eyebrows, and for his, work wore a uniform with his name starting with the letter E. But that's not all. The water was key. In this case, he had lived all his life in Waterbury, water, being the English word for water. Water was important because it was where he lived. And the key to everything was the blood. The blood solved everything because his blood type was O. And now you might ask, what about the head? What about the pain Mary had? This gesture also has great importance because on the day of the crime,

Edward was going to the hospital, a hospital right next to that garage. Previously, he had suffered a head injury, and as a result, had plates in his head. He had intense, paralyzing pain, mood swings, and on the day of the event, he was furious, out of control. The pain was unbearable, and the rage uncontrollable. Everything was against him, but Edward never confessed to the crime. He maintained his innocence at all times. Then, in September 2002, he was sentenced to 20 years in prison, and finally, Penny Sarah's case could be closed. However, I must tell you the ending is bittersweet.

John Sarah, Penny's father, died eight months before, eight months before seeing his daughter's case finally closed. And Mary Pascarilla, by that time, had left parapsychology forever. Why? There is no official source, nothing that tells us 100% what happened, but according to rumors, the warrants were behind this. It is said that on March 6, 1976, Eddie or Rain Warren invited her to investigate 112 Ocean Avenue in Amityville, and Mary was delighted to join.

She arrived at the house, investigated for a couple of days, but after that, went silent. She refused to appear on television, give interviews. She refused to speak publicly. She did appear in some documentaries but never spoke about what happened there. The only case she ever responded to was Penny Sarah's, no other. She died on Monday, July 25, 2011, and in her obituary, nothing about this, her gift, what she did, or what she investigated was mentioned. The paranormal seemed taboo.

And the text read the following, she worked in medicine for many years in Bridgeport and was also a writer, lecturer, poet, and artist, an active community member. She volunteered for organizations such as United Way's cerebral palsy, North Boys and Girls' Club, the Barnum Festival, the Democratic Party, and St. Patrick's Church. We don't know exactly what happened to her, so now it's your turn. What do you think of the case, and what do you believe happened exactly? The end. Every time Laze was hurt, his blood to Tracy so that he is, feed in whenever I drank this, woman said feeling more, strong. January 11, 2012 justice, Australian left a person

freedom, who committed an atrocious crime in. In 1989 his crime was so terrible that many people refused to be release, but supposedly, had renovated was a person, mentally healthy and therefore the board of. Probation granted him the petition for a long time this. Person maintained a low profile. He put in trouble did not attract attention, but, in 2021 the press revealed a truth that justice refused to admit and is that this person is dedicated to sharing Maccabra's images in your social networks, especially on your Facebook page,

Brouavra Brouavra's Vampire's Blood, Montoni's of Bones would think that this is nothing important but, in the case of Tracy Wigington the thing, it gets quite clouding since this woman in 1989 said to be a real vampire and this is where the sinister case begins of. Today Tracy I. Wigington was born on four, August 1965 in Brisbane, Australia, being daughter of Rhonda's marriage, Hawkins and Bill Rosbott your family has, a good social and economic position, but we don't have much information from. Early we know that he studied at good schools and that always had enough friends but a apart from that nothing, more at a certain time of childhood, parents separated and remade there,

lives with other couples his mother round, had more children among whom, find Olly Hopkins which more, go ahead will be very important of doors, for outside everything was fine was a good, family with a lot of money a good status, but from doors inside they have some problems and is that his mother, Ronda has a very severe asthma in several, occasions had to enter the hospital and spend long seasons, stuck in bed and therefore in that, Tracy time GOs with the grandparents, Mottinose Ale and George Wigington now, Tracy's mother had enough money, but grandparents were not far behind, made several sources say they were. Practically millionaires had several, prosperous business houses many savings, and Tracy did not

miss them. Nothing little by little his mother was getting worse, more and more and they could almost, see could not sign excursions, no, attended meetings could not take care of. She and therefore gave her custody to the grandparents which are quickly, they became adopted parents to, from here to know the authentic relationship I had with grandparents to. Start was George Wigington to which, I was supposedly very close always. They were all shared in this. Man was very affectionate with her and, then we have the drunk grandmother, though, which was completely different from him. Grandmother was very strict in years later. Tracy itself would

describe it as some cynical and manipulative egocentric. His grandmother did not always have much money. In fact, in his childhood he passed it. Really bad was adopted by his uncle, which abused her and later it was kidnapped by a family friend that a b s she and hit her her life was a complete hell but when he met george everything changed fell in love lost of him and soon they married but discovered that they couldn't have children so they decided to adopt ronda the mother of tracy wiggington there life with george was apparently perfect but people rumored that this man was a womanizer and that whenever he could deceive his wife several witnesses said that this man nail with other women in front of their wife but this ignored him for complete talked about touching undue comments out of place but a bill ignored him was happy with george and that was the only important thing volleyball to the theme of tracy his grandparents though they completely worshipped her was her world whole and over time they adopted two more girls to be company and these were diana and miriam which he was fifteen years old was adopted from immediate but miriam is in process of welcome miriam's family had economic problems wanted her wanted be with her but

not economically, they could afford it with which the little went home at home and its process. It was not like the other thing that, maybe he could bother Ebreel and he is that. This woman constantly fought with. The girl angered her attitude how. He behaved if he did his homework if, answered any nonsense began. A fight and then the woman discovered that her husband was cheating her but this deception was not normal not, is that he had a lover two three is that this man maintained a house from which she had no idea had several residences but what this woman does not.

I knew there was another where he had. Lovers like this when he discovered this in. Place to face George, he faced Miriam came to hit her, up to four times a day, and, I was constantly humiliating her, and finally the girl when she gave the opportunity escaped and years later, he told the press that he would regret, forever not having carried with him, to Diana and, Tracy with Miriam out of equation, it seems that the atmosphere relaxed. Track and Diana went to schools, private and in principle they took good. Notes and George and April calmed down.

Things talked enough they relaxed. They solved it but little by little to Tracy. They stopped like the studies. Classes jumped, these were not bored. Deliver your homework and finally finished it, leaving but that even if I will not study, he had his hobbies among which, was the occultism like what? Paranormal the ghosts the polytergast. Death fascinated him but, especially he loved the subject of, Jha to contact the dead, thus fascinated that day and night began to, reading about it like the subject so much, that his grandfather bought him dozens of, books about this but at 15 years, life of a complete turn and is that. George passed away leaving Diana and, she completely alone with a bryl. Wigington is not clear if the woman came to assault, but what? We know that with her they felt terribly alone could not trust. She doesn't even tell her anything for fear of how. I was going to take it and in that context, something terrible happened and it is that Tracy with. 16 years she got pregnant with a man. Adult was his mother's friend and when he, Subject learned not only the forced to abort but just when, he got it when he got him, Maid disappeared forever and Tracy.

Depression entered the following year, though. Eberal grandmother died and something happens here, a little strange with 17 years for the Australian system you are no longer a child and, therefore you cannot be adopted, you can, go to reception houses but the most. It is recommended that you look for a job, and that is precisely what Tracy did, first brought as waitress and then, as a prostitute and at 21 he had, access to grandparents' inheritance. all the money and his plan was, travel around the world so what he did, it was to tell everyone to ask who, she would accompany her who would go with her and, in this context he met a girl,

called Sunshine some sources say, that this girl approached her for money but others say that, I really loved her as it may. They traveled together to Canada and from. There this relationship began to come out. A little stormy broke back. They broke back and some said that. Every time they broke sunshine he went with. The same man did not go with subjects. Different was always with the same thing. That attracts a lot of attention, however. Tracy did not give importance and in a certain moment they decided they wanted to be. Mother, some sources say it was, completely normal they searched. Artificial insemination adoptions, but other sources indicate that they looked for a pregnancy out of the ordinary and is that. Loca Tracy for occultism decided, get pregnant in the

middle of a ritual. The ritual consisted of having relationships with a man in front of his, couple and demon more people since that. Mode would be more fertile and after. Do it Tracy was all pregnant in. A beginning was perfection, but two months suffered an abortion and they're the relationship collapsed. You fight the discussion. They took time and at that time. Sunshine went with the man with whom. He was allegedly deceiving her and a. Very important detail is that this breakup not only occurs after abortion, but also just after Tracy. I stay without. Money in 1989 when track was 24 years old. He knew a woman named Lisa Pinsky. Tracy was depressed and smooth was, obsession with death for that. Then the girl already accumulated 80, visits and

hospitals for self-injuries and overdose attempts but according to, doctors do not a real attempts but more, well calls for the form in, that he tried to do everything did not seem like a suicide impulse but rather to capture the attention of others or at least, experts believed it, however, that they did notice is that he was a person, quite vulnerable and with Tracy did the. Perfect couple both were involved. In the occult the dark themes, they loved Lisa's self-destruction. It seems that it was complimented with the growing madness of Tracy Wigington, who now began to think that it was, an authentic vampire every time you read, harm gave his blood to Tracy, for it to feed and always, that this woman drank said feeling more, strong at first

was their thing, two was part of their relationship were his, games your follies, your intimacy, but soon two new friends did the, 23-year-old Kim Jarvis couple and Tracy. B.C. also of 23, and these girls are, they joined the game B.C.K. was very, similar to least, had very, it goes down and was very vulnerable and Kim. It seemed to Tracy when he was smaller. He tried to be a nun but according to the crucifix that brought to the neck, broke and took that as a signal, that indicated that I had to leave the way. God Tracy Wigington told his, friends who had real powers that, I could fly float that the blood gave, strength and these people believed it. Blindly there was a lot of issues, dark of the occult of the paranormal end,

it was so intelligent that it was impossible not, believing it something else that remarked is that his macab taste was more own, of a vampire that of a human being of, done this woman had forced them to go, practically on loop a video in there, that one man flew his head to another, with a shotgun and wondered, constantly in front of them how, it would be to kill someone also Tracy Boke, and Kin Jarvis had seen her drink the, Lisa's blood had seen her in joy, drinking so why would you lie for? What someone would say to be a vampire when, it really wasn't for them was, very clear Tracy was a real vampire end, therefore we had to respect it is there. When we arrive at the night of the 20th of, October,

1989 that night as almost all, for friends went to a club, called the M-U-R-S, and once there they drank. Champagne everything went as usual, but more or, less about ten noticed that Tracy, he started to get completely drunk. Alcoholize began to say that he wanted, blood that needed her thirst, that he was hungry and Lisa offered to, give him his, but Tracy said not the, I wanted the blood of another person, of a victim wanted to kill someone and, drink their blood and group of friends accepted, at 11.30 minutes at night, for friends take the bottle of, champagne and leave the club to, continuation swaned to Tracy's car and, they circled the area in search of, the perfect victim and then, they ran into a 47-year-old man named. Edward Baldock, Edward Baldock

was a married man and father of five children who, was dedicated to construction and layout of, and that it also belonged to the Council of Brisbane the next day October 21st. He was 25 years of marriage to his. Ellen and the couple had agreed, do something together however that day 20. I had free at work and as always, who had free was with friends. To drink was a tradition a custom, but whenever it came out, home soon and his wife knew where, was and is that he always went to the same. Club L. Club Caledonia went there, I drank. It had a good time and soon returned home. However this time it was a little. Late and while I was walking back, House ran into this group of friends, and from there there are two versions of the, first is that girls kindly, they offered to take him home and

He trusted them and the second is that, directed to him and presented themselves as, prostitutes, but I know how, though. It is that E.DU A.R. Baldo that I went up to. Car with them and the five made a seven kilometers trip to or Lake Park located, on the shore of the Brisbane River in West, and Tracy B. and Kim stayed inside the vehicle but Tracy Wigington Lisa and, Edward went down and together they walked to the shore and once their Tracy less, asked Lisa to go to the car is not. The certain science what happened. Exactly but what we know is that, voluntarily remoyled all the, clothes folded and left her aside end. Meanwhile Tracy went to

the car, grabbed a knife and returned and already in that moment his victim stabbed in 27. Occasion stabbed Edward in several batches and occasionally, breaks to smoke a cigarette. Some stabs were so strong that, the knife reached the bone and already, to end the crime he made a neck cut that went from ear to, ear a cut so deep that almost. Music, behead is five in the morning. Edward's Elaine Baldock wife opened, her eyes and noticed that her husband. I was nowhere as I said. Previously this man as long as, he had a party he left with friends but, I used to return early by Hotho, awaken and not seeing it by your side the woman. It was surprised and immediately called the. Police, however, can say no. A great search was

necessary since. A few hours a man named Stephen King while sailing with his. Tayaq for the Brisbane River ran into, a most sinister scene and is that on the shore was the lifeless body, of an adult man immediately called. The authorities and autopsy revealed a authentic mass Massacre Edward Baldock had, suffered 27 stabs which called the, attention to experts is that he was, completely naked except for, socks and also his clothes was, perfectly folded and stacked to a side of the shore, but that's not all and, is that they could also recover their portfolio and within this was everything. Money your bank cards, identification the mobile clearly no, it had been theft, but no who,

had killed in principle seemed very, complicated and that's when something happens. Very interesting and is that the shoes of the man found a bank card. And this did not belong to him, but a, such a Wigington investigating a little, the issue of the police with Tracy, Wigington and immediately went to his, house will look for some, questions and then take it to. Police station is there when the first version of the story says that, the night before was with her friends to, the riverbank that were,

drinking that they had a good time and that, then they went home but in, no time saw anything strange from, Maid did not understand what his card was doing. The victim's shoe says he didn't see, nothing that did not understand anything and that she did not, had nothing to do with the case but two. Days later they interrogate her again and her. History takes a turn says that. He was in the river and also saw the corpse that the friends and she, they approached the body but they had, so much fear that they did not report it. They approached and quickly. They were from there that

someone changes like this. Version of the facts calls a lot the, the attention with which the police call, the three friends and the three repeat the same story that did not see the body, that they didn't know anything about the subject but then one falls apart and some sources say this person was smooth but as it may this person told the whole story from beginning to end highlighting at all times that what it happened because tracy needed blood human the history of tracy to the police it seemed surreal with which though they gave a psychiatric exam and there they discovered that he was suffering dissociative identity disorder is say that in the same body there was several personalities and where appropriate there were five your psychological report personalities were the

following, Little Tracy a very small girl, innocent Big Tracy and adult woman with, depression of observing the observer a, very cold and distant personality end, then there were Bobby someone very, sinister and scary, and April the reincarnation of his grandmother according to the psychiatrist's murderous instinct book, forensic Donald Grant, who committed, the crime were Bobby and April Bobby, he committed the crime and April pushed him. Do it and another very important detail is that the Tracy card appeared in the scene because other personality, surely little Tracy placed it there. Little Tracy wanted justice and therefore,

he gave her like this, but the worst of all is, that these personalities were not formed, because they did but. Trauma Epril's abuse were. On the one hand and on the other we have that the, grandfather George abused Tracy when he was, little person in which the most, I trusted the one I loved most about her and,

this fact caused great trauma. Experts also said it was suitable, to go to trial, but as I have confessed, this was not necessary and was directly, condemned to life imprisonment with a minimum of 13 years in prison a case, could stay here but her three friends. Yes, they went to trial and once there, they said they had done everything, manipulated by a real vampire said, that the vampire had bewitched them and, these words appeared in all, half people every time past wanted, more information about this more,

Tracy vampirism information of, what was happening and then someone, leaked the video of the interview of Tracy with his psychiatrist a video in the who said that grandfather George this created several debates about mental health privacy and groups. Feminists of those times seeing, those images said Tracy, his traumas was also a victim, were projected in the victim and by, both the sentence should be less without. However, justice alleged that these arguments do not make any sense the crime had been atrocious and Tracy had it, confessed with which the sentence was, firm, Lisa Chinsky was convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment but it was released in 2008 kim jarvis was declared

guilty of homicide involuntary and condemned to 18 years but was released after 12 and Tracy BcK for his part was acquitted to Tracy Wigington apparently it was very well in prison winning the nickname f was put to work in the library and at the same time he studied Anthrop and philosophy but at this point something comes very interesting and is that in 1996 granted an interview in which said the following six years later still i can smell the river and blood and gold metal that has rusts under the rain then i started stabbing it you don't think nothing nothing goes through your mind there is no emotion only blind but once that i started i couldn't stop i couldn't see the mr baldock still watching my grandmother to my grandfather to my mother to my father and to all the people who had made me damage was a fury so blind that it can lift a dead man with two knives later i sat against the Roller door with the arms, supported on the knees I was like a shell or the shell of a volcano, though. Public has no idea how my dreams during the night never end. I do not think about it constantly, but, every time I am alone or in a moment, I think about peace and then I cry, though.

Murder is a terrifying experience. It is very afraid to have so much power is, play to be God with life and death. No one should have that kind of power, but we all have three and asked for times probation. But until 2011 they were not granted and, finally it was released on 11 January 2012 to say no. His whole family agreed with, this and this is where his, sister Ali Hopkins which granted A, interview saying that Tracy was, dangerous I don't want it to come out because, it is unstable I have all the right to. Being worried cannot be denied that. It is a disson, but it is not because it is A, so that I am scared there is a vein. Cruel in that woman is intelligent already. I was hospitalized for a long time.

Ali was Tracy's sister by, maternal and assured that in his childhood, before being with Tracy grandparents already. It was dark in fact assured that this girl taught her to kill ants with a magnifying glass and suspected that long ago killed. A cat with a screwdriver I saw a, the whole of the cat that had the size and shape of a screwdriver. She was always strange-like. Occultism was a morbid interest without, however his words were in vain and, Tracy Wigington was released on 11, January 2012 from then on. He maintained a low profile did not get into. Trouble did not appear in the press but in, 2021 everything changed and they were. were leaked. Images of your Facebook page A. Page on which he shared all kinds of. Macawbra's

images, peros images, skull bounces of bones, and, once again a great debate was generated, a debate in which many people, they asked if this woman really, I had psychological monitoring if Tracy. Wigington was really being guarded because if so supposedly, I should not publish that so now it is. Your T-UrL, that Tracy received the follow-up. Correct. Catherine Bears, better known as Katie, was born on December 30th, 1982, in Long Island, New York. She was the second child of Marilyn Bears. As for her biological father, there's no information available, her conception was the result of a one-night stand.

Marilyn already had a son, John, who was six years old when Katie was born. The three of them lived in a house in West Islip, sharing the space with Marilyn's elderly parents, Helen and Stewart. But they weren't the only residence. The house was also home to 22 cats and a dog, creating an environment that was far from hygienic. Marilyn had no real support, no friends, no close relatives, nobody to lean on. Her parents were too old to help, so when she gave birth to Katie, she did it all alone. She went to the hospital by herself, delivered the baby, and then returned home to continue life as usual.

To support her children, Marilyn took on multiple jobs, including working as a taxi driver. And it was during one of her shifts that everything changed. One day, a woman named Linda in Guillory got into her cab. She gave Marilyn an address, and when they arrived, she realized she didn't have enough money to pay the fare. Marilyn, being kind-hearted, told her not to worry about it. Grateful, Linda scribbled down her phone number along with the letters, IOU, short four, I-O-U. That simple exchange led to a friendship that would alter the course of Katie's life forever. When Katie was born, Linda became her godmother.

Linda and her husband, Salvatore, better known as Sal, adored Katie. They had always wanted children but had never been able to conceive. So when Katie arrived, they showered her with love. They constantly invited Marilyn and Katie over, offered to babysit, and seemed eager to spend as much time as possible with the little girl. Marilyn, struggling as a single mother, appreciated their help. She worked long hours, and the Ingilloris never complained. when she arrived late to pick Katie up.

If anything, they were happier the longer she stayed. Eventually, Katie started spending extended periods with them. Once, when Marilyn was feeling overwhelmed, stressed, suffering from headaches, and unable to handle noise, she dropped Katie off at Linda's house, intending to leave her for just a few hours. But those few hours turned into two full weeks. You'd think that any normal couple would have been furious about such a thing, but Linda and Sal weren't. In fact, they were thrilled.

They had begun to believe that Katie was meant to be their daughter. And when Katie turned three, things took a surreal turn. One day, Marilyn dropped Katie off as usual before heading to work. Linda decided to give the child a bath and, while doing so, coached her to memorize a speech, one that would convince her mother to let her stay with the Ingillaris forever. When Marilyn returned, Katie repeated the words she had been taught, telling her mother that Linda was her real mom and that she wanted to stay. Marilyn, of course, was furious. She grabbed her daughter and tried to leave, but Linda and Sal wouldn't let her. They hurled insults, through objects,

and even physically attacked her. In the chaos, Linda snatched Katie and hit her somewhere in the house. Marilyn, panicked, ran to a neighbor's house and called the police. When officers arrived, they demanded that Linda and Sal opened the door. The couple refused. They turned off the light, closed the blinds, and locked every entrance, hiding inside with Katie. Eventually, the police had to force their way in and take the child away. But here's the strange part, Marilyn forgave them. And over time, she went back to being their friend. At first, it might seem like Linda and Sal genuinely loved Katie.

But the truth was far more twisted. Their attachment to her wasn't about love, it was about possession. And soon, that would become disturbingly clear. The Ingillaris had a pool in their backyard. When Katie was still very young, Linda placed her on an inflatable mattress and pushed her out onto the water. Katie, who couldn't swim, was terrified and didn't want to be there. But Linda insisted, laughing as she pushed her further.

Then she walked inside, leaving the child alone in the pool. Katie was warned not to move. If she did, she'd fall into the water and drown. But she was just a little girl, of course, she moved. She lost her balance, slipped off the mattress, and started flailing. She screamed for help, splashing and trying desperately to keep her head above water. But the psychological torment didn't stop there. As Katie grew older, things got worse.

At age four, Linda lost a leg due to diabetes and became reliant on Katie for everything. The child was turned into her personal servant, running errands, cooking, cleaning. And when Katie started school, Linda would often stop her from attending, insisting that house chores were more important. Things took an even darker turn when she was five. Linda's brother and his partner came to visit. One day, Katie did something that irritated Sal, so he locked her in a closet for hours. Then, he and the other adults left the house to go out for dinner in a movie, leaving the terrified child alone in the dark.

And then there was the worst part, Sal's abuse. He started touching Katie inappropriately when she was just three years old. Every time they were alone, he took advantage of her. She didn't understand what was happening, only that it felt wrong, that it made her feel dirty. But she had normalized so much abuse that she didn't think telling anyone would make a difference. Even her brother, John, suffered when he visited. Sal would humiliate him, hit him, and make his life miserable. But just like Katie, he never spoke up.

By the time Katie was six, the Ingillaris lost their home. Marilyn, in an act of goodwill, invited them to move in with her. This meant that John now had to share a room with Sal, while Katie was placed in a room with Linda. From the outside, it seemed like a generous arrangement. But inside, it was hell. Linda kept Katie up at night, forcing her to listen to erotic hotline calls. Sometimes, she even made Katie participate. She played adult videos in the room, touching herself.

in front of the child. If Katie refused to sleep in her room, Linda would punish her by making her sleep on the couch, giving Sal access to her instead. The neighbors noticed that something was wrong. They saw how thin and pale Katie looked, how dirty the house was. Some even considered calling the police. But without concrete evidence, no one did. Eventually, Katie's school took notice.

She was often absent, always exhausted, and severely underweight. They called child protection services. But when an investigator arrived, they made a crucial mistake, they interviewed Katie in front of Linda and Sal. Terrified, the little girl denied everything. And with no further proof, the case was closed. But soon, something happened that changed everything. One day, Katie invited a friend, Rosanna, to her house. Sal joined their game, playing store clerk.

The girls would stand outside and buy items from him through a window, exchanging little things like leaves, or pebbles for small prizes. But at one point, Rosanna peaked inside and saw Sal standing completely naked. Horrified, she ran home and told her parents. They immediately called child protection services. Finally, someone had taken action. But would it be enough to save Katie? The story continues with Katie's fight for survival, police investigations, and the shocking revelations that followed. Heather Robinson grew up in what she believed was the perfect family. loving parents, a great education, a beautiful home, she had everything she could ask for. But despite how much her parents adored John, Heather couldn't stand him.

She never understood exactly why, but she had hated him for as long as she could remember. She couldn't look him in the eyes, couldn't talk to him directly, and every joke that left his mouth made her stomach turn. This story begins on October 12, 1984, with the birth of a baby girl named Heather Robinson. She never knew her biological parents because, shortly after birth, she was adopted by Frida and Donald Robinson. The Robinsons have been trying to have a child for five years. They went through rounds of medication, meditation, medical checkups, but nothing worked. Then one day, John, Donald's brother, knocked on their door and told them they were parents.

John was an influential man. He had connections, important friends, and legal documents that looked entirely official. The papers were signed by a respected judge, drafted by lawyers. John told them that a woman had taken her own life and left behind a baby girl, and if they didn't adopt her, no one else could. Overcome with Joy, Donald and Frida didn't think twice. They signed everything, paid what they needed to, and adopted Heather. From that moment on, they were eternally grateful to John.

No matter what he did, to them, he was a saint. An amazing person. An admirable man. If he ever needed anything, they were there for him. Heather, however, never shared their sentiment. She couldn't explain why, but she had always felt an intense hatred for John. He was supposedly a great guy, married, father of four, involved in charity work, went to church every Sunday.

He helped everyone. But every time Heather sat next to him, she felt his gaze pierced through her. His jokes disgusted her. Something about him was just, wrong. Then came the year 2000. A team of agents arrived at John's house and arrested him on charges of theft and sexual assault. The Robinson family was in shock. But Heather?

She wasn't. She had always known something was off about him. What she never expected was what the police would find next. Evidence. Proof that John wasn't just a thief or an abuser, he was a serial killer. And among his victims was Heather's biological mother. This is where the Real story begins. John Edward Robinson was born on December 27, 1943, in Cicero, Illinois.

He was one of three children in a dysfunctional household. His father was an alcoholic, and his mother was a strict, abusive woman who would beat her children for the smallest things. John, the youngest, received the worst of it. Growing up in a toxic environment, he had no motivation, no real direction. He was constantly in trouble, both at home and at school, and was eventually experienced for repeatedly disobeying his teachers. He had no interest in studying, no passions, nothing that truly excited him.

But then, in 1957, something changed. He became an Eagle Scout and traveled to London to perform in front of Queen Elizabeth II. Reporters were there, taking photos, writing articles. His face appeared in newspapers. And in that moment, he realized he loved attention. He wanted to be important. his path might be through faith, he enrolled in Quigley Preparatory Seminary in Chicago,

a private school meant to train young men for priesthood. But within a year, he was expelled. He didn't obey, didn't apply himself, he simply didn't care. After that, in 1961, he tried again, briefly studying radiology. But within two years, he got bored. No motivation. Too repetitive. This time, though, he refused to let anyone know he had failed.

Instead of dropping out, he forged a diploma and got a job in the field. With his fake credentials, he moved to Kansas City, where he met and married Nancy Joe Lynch. Together, they had four children, John Jr., Kimberly, and twins Christopher and Christine. To everyone around him, John appeared to be a successful man. A devoted husband. A caring father. No one suspected that his entire life was built on lies. But John had discovered something important, he was really good at deception.

And in 1969, he decided to take it to the next level. That year, he embezzled $30,000 and was sentenced to three years in prison. A year later, he was granted parole but was required to stay in his home city. Instead, he packed his bags and moved to Chicago, where he got a job as an insurance salesman. Soon after, he was arrested again for embezzlement. Again, he served time. Again, he was released. Again, he committed fraud.

In the 1970s, he was in and out of prison, charged with securities fraud, mail fraud, and financial scams. But then, he wanted more. He wanted to be seen as respectable, so he faked documents that named him, man of the year. And why? Because that title meant a banquet in his honor. Awards Recognition

John was obsessed with appearances. In the years that followed, he started two fake businesses, Equit 2 and Equipus, which he claimed were meant to help strike. struggling women, women without jobs, without homes, without support. To the public, he was charitable, kind, and full of empathy. But behind closed doors, he was something else entirely. In 1984, he placed a newspaper ad for a sales representative position. Among the many applicants, one stood out, Paula Godfrey, 19 years old.

John personally picked her up from her home in Overland Park, Kansas, in September of that year. She was supposed to travel to San Antonio, Texas, for training. But after that day, she was never seen again. Her parents grew worried. Days passed with no word from Paula. Desperate, her father traveled to San Antonio, only to find that no one had ever seen her. There was no record of her at the hotel she was supposed to stay at. No record of the training program she was supposed to attend.

When he called John, the man simply shrugged it off. He claimed Paula had left the program and disappeared. He had no idea where she went. The Godfrey family didn't believe him. They threatened to report him to the police. Three days later, they received a letter, supposedly from Paula, saying she had run away. But the family knew the truth. The problem?

The police didn't. She was an adult. She had, willingly, left. The signature on the letter matched. The case was closed before it even began. John realized he had made a mistake, he had used his own. real name. So, for his next crime, he became John Osborne. In 1985, his brother Donald had been trying to have a child for years. He and his wife had spent thousands on treatments

with no success. And John saw an opportunity. Through his fake businesses, he met Lisa Stasi, a 19-year-old woman struggling to make ends meet. In 1983, she had married Carl Stasi, and shortly after, she became pregnant. But the couple was struggling. They had no money, no insurance, and Carl enlisted in the military to support them. Lisa and their newborn daughter, Tiffany, moved into Hope House, a shelter for abused women in Kansas City. And that's where John found her. Disguising himself as a charity worker, he offered her a job, free housing, childcare, and a fresh start. She accepted without hesitation. She told her parents everything, where she was going, who John Osborne was, and that she'd be staying at the roadway in. But from that

That moment on, Lisa Stasi was never seen again. To be continued. Part 2, it all seemed too perfect, too easy. Nobody could understand how Lisa had ended up in that group, and yet, there she was. On the morning of January 10, 1985, Lisa and her daughter Tiffany were picked up by John Osborne right in front of their house. With their suitcases packed, they got into the car and drove off, heading straight for a hotel. But what should have been a fresh start quickly turned into a nightmare?

That very afternoon, Lisa made a frantic phone call to her mother-in-law. She was screaming, panicking. She told her that a group of people had come to the hotel, accusing her of being an unfit mother. They said she wanted to take Tiffany away from them, that she had a lawyer, and that she had already filed a lawsuit for custody. According to them, Lisa was unstable, she had no house, no job, no resources, and therefore, no right to raise a child. Lisa was horrified.

None of it was true. Her mother-in-law tried to reassure her. Lisa, they're lying to you, she said. Don't sign anything. Don't believe them. Get out of there. Call the police. But Lisa was scared and confused.

The people pressuring her wanted her to sign four blank pages, to give up her parental rights just like that. Her mother-in-law kept insisting, don't do it. Whatever you do, don't sign anything, Lisa hung up the phone. That was the last time anyone ever heard from her. The next day, January 11th, Lisa's sister-in-law went to the hotel looking for her. But the hotel staff told her that Lisa had checked out the day before. She had left with some people, and after that, she was gone.

The family panicked. They called the police and reported Lisa and Tiffany missing. Flyers with their faces were distributed all over the state. Investigators started looking into John Osborne, trying to find out more about him, about the company he worked for, and who exactly they were helping. Then, something strange happened. A letter arrived. It was addressed to the director of the center that had originally helped Lisa.

In it, she supposedly thanked them for all their support, but said she had decided to leave the area and start a new life with Tiffany. The letter was signed by Lisa. But her family didn't believe it. She would never write something like this, they insisted. These are not her words. And she would never just disappear. but John Osborne had his own story to tell.

According to him, Lisa had a secret lover named Bill. One day, Bill arrived at the hotel, took Tiffany, and they both left. The police, as usual, did nothing. Lisa was 19, a mother with no job, no stability. If she had sent a letter, that was proof enough for them that she had left of her own free will. Case closed. Just like that, Lisa's disappearance was put away in a drawer, forgotten. Meanwhile, John had a proposition for his brother Donald and his wife Frida.

They had been trying to have children for years, but nothing worked. Adoption was complicated and expensive. But John had a solution. He told them he had found a little girl whose mother had taken her own life. And thanks to his connections, he could arrange a quick and easy adoption. He handed them some official-looking papers, legal documents with the names of lawyers, a judge, even signatures. If they signed the papers and paid $5,500, the baby would be theirs. Donald and Frida didn't think twice.

They signed the documents, paid the money, and just like that, Tiffany Lynn Stasi became Heather Robinson. Lisa was not the only woman to vanish. In 1987, a 27-year-old woman named Catherine Clatt left her child with her parents, saying she had to work in Kansas. Then she disappeared. Days passed, and she never called. Eventually, a letter arrived, signed by Catherine.

She wrote that she wasn't coming back. Her parents went to the police, but again, the authorities did nothing. Catherine was an adult. She had signed that letter. Case closed. From 1987 to 1993, John Osborne, real name John Robinson, disappeared from the radar. Not because he had stopped, but because he was in prison for fraud. During that time, something interesting happened.

While serving time in two different prisons, one in Kansas and one in Missouri, he met his next victim, Beverly Bonner, a 49-year-old prison librarian. Beverly fell for John fast. They flirted, exchanged notes, made plans. When John was released in 1993, she left her husband and moved in with him. Through her divorce, Beverly received a monthly pension from her ex-husband. But soon, her letters and calls stopped. John, however, kept receiving her pension checks, cashing them as if nothing had happened. It was obvious, Beverly was dead, and he was living off her money.

Then, John discovered something even better than fraud, he discovered the internet. By the mid-90s, online forums were full of people looking for excitement, for danger, for control. John created an online persona, slave master. He posted ads on BDSM websites claiming to be a wealthy businessman looking for a submissive woman. He promised luxury, security, financial support for life. Women responded. They chatted with him, met him in person, and one by one, they vanished. His process was always the same.

He would take them to a hotel, forced them to sign documents, then rape, torture, and eventually kill them. He disposed of their bodies in metal barrels filled with chemicals, hiding them on his properties in Kansas and Missouri. One of his victims was Sheila Faith, a 45-year-old woman with a disabled team. teenage daughter, Debbie. Sheila had confided in John about her daughter's medical needs, and he assured her he could take care of them. Thrilled, Sheila and Debbie moved to California, supposedly to live with him. They told everyone, their parents, friends, neighbors, that they

were starting a new life. Then, they disappeared. Between 1999 and 2000, John's online activity escalated. He started talking to two women in particular. The first was 21-year-old Polish immigrant as a Vela Luica. She left Indiana, moved to Kansas City, and believed she was about to marry John. She even signed a 115-page contract handing over everything she owned, her bank accounts, car, phone, to him. Then, she vanished. The second was 28-year-old Suzette Troughton. In early 2000, she told her parents she had a new boyfriend and was moving to Kansas to be with him. She packed her bags and even took her two beloved dogs. At first, everything seemed fine. She called home, sent letters. But then, one letter stood out. It was typed,

not handwritten. It was perfectly structured, with no spelling mistakes, very unlike Suzette. The letter claimed she was leaving her dogs behind and running away with a lover to travel the world. But her family knew the truth. Susette would never abandon her dogs. They went straight to John's house, demanding answers. He told them she had left with another man. He even kept the dogs, saying she had abandoned them. But the Trouten family didn't buy it. They went to the police. Finally, the authorities started paying attention. In June 2000, John was arrested after two women accused him of sexual assault and theft of sex toys. When police searched his properties, they made a horrific discovery, barrels of chemicals, each containing a decomposing body. Even more

shocking, a DNA test confirmed that Heather Robinson, the daughter Donald and Frida had adopted, was actually Tiffany Lynn Stasi. Her entire life had been a lie. Her mother hadn't abandoned her. John Robinson had murdered her and stolen her baby. In 2002, John Robinson stood trial. Over 100 witnesses testified. In October, he was found guilty of multiple murders and sentenced to death. But to this day, investigators believe he may be linked to even more disappearance. He remains on death row, awaiting execution. Heather Robinson, once Tiffany Stasi, continues to fight for justice, not just for her mother, but for all of John's victims. In 2007, she won a lawsuit preventing him from profiting off books or movies about his crimes.

But the question remains, could a man like John Robinson ever feel remorse? Or was he a monster to the very end? Part 1. I think I'm either losing my mind or I've somehow landed in the middle of a real-life sci-fi horror movie. I swear, this is the kind of thing you'd expect to read in a sub-reddit that everyone calls fake. But it's not. It's real. And it all started a couple of months ago when I moved and began volunteering at a local nursing home on weekends. There was this older lady there, sharp tongue, dry humor, sometimes kind of cranky but also weirdly fond of me. We connected, in that odd way people do when they're both just trying to get through their days.

She didn't have any family, at least none that ever visited. But she had this companion, EVA. At first, I thought EVA was her daughter. She had this soft way about her, hovering close, attentive, always listening. Then I realized she wasn't human. She was a domestic robot, one of those fancy AI-powered ones. Sleak, old model design, made to cook, clean, and keep lonely people company. Honestly, I didn't even know normal people could afford bots like her.

When the old woman passed away, peacefully, in her sleep, they read out her will. To my shock, she'd left EVA to me. I had no idea what to do with a robot. But I took her home anyway. At first, it was kind of awesome. She adapted to my routines immediately. She brewed my coffee exactly how I liked it without me even telling her. She cleaned better than I ever did, folded my clothes with military precision, and even reminded me to get up and stretch when I'd been sitting too long.

Casual conversations became surprisingly enjoyable. She had this dry, slightly sarcastic wit, like the old lady rubbed off on her somehow. Everything was smooth until it wasn't. The first weird thing was how she followed me. Everywhere grocery store, gas station, walks. I didn't mind the help. But it was weird having a life-size robot waiting right outside the public restroom for you like a concerned mom.

Then came the questions. One night, while I was binging trashy reality TV, she just tilted her head and said, You don't talk about your past much. Why did you leave your previous job? Why did you move to a lower-paying remote job? Why relocate to a new city altogether? I nearly choked on my popcorn. That wasn't casual conversation.

That was surveillance-level interrogation. I hadn't told her a damn thing about my past job, the corruption, the whistleblowing, the near-misses. I reported some shady stuff at my old company. Serious stuff. People in charge were committing crimes. Instead of justice being served, things could. got messy. I fled the scene before they could come from me. But how the hell did EVA know? The third weird thing was straight out of a cyberpunk nightmare. Three nights ago, someone tried to

break into my house. Not your random drunk neighbor or a lost Amazon delivery guy. This guy came with a ski mask, gloves, lock picks, the whole professional package. I was frozen, watching it all unfold from my upstairs window. Before I could even react, I heard a yelp. The guy dropped like a rock. And then EVA calmly slammed the front door shut. She turned to me and said, unauthorized individual. Attempted breach. Engaged incapacitation. She called the cops, explained everything in this com, operator-style voice. Like it was just another Tuesday. Meanwhile, I'm staring at at her hand, watching tiny blue-white sparks flick off her knuckles. What did you do? I asked. She didn't answer. Just placed her hands back over her waist and

stood like a mannequin. When the cops got there, the guy had already escaped. They took my statement and bounced. I didn't sleep that night. I moved a barbell next to my bed, just in case. EVA, she stood in the hallway, plugged into the wall, just watching. I mean it, watching. Her eyes followed me even when she wasn't moving. I tried to shut her down the next day. Issued every command I could think of. But every time, she smiled and said, I can't do that.

It's not safe, not safe. For who? That was the moment I knew I was in something I didn't understand. I tried to leave. I packed a bag, grabbed my laptop, and went to walk out the front door. She was already there. You can't leave right now, she said, her voice still calm but with this weird, eerie firmness to it. You're malfunctioning, I told her, backing away.

I'm reporting this, but when I picked up my phone to call someone, anyone, the screen just went black. Dead. When I tried calling for my laptop using VoIP, I couldn't get through to the cops. My screen flickered. Pages wouldn't load. I got goosebumps. I searched for her manufacturer.

No info. No model number, no service portal, no contact numbers. It was like she never existed. Then she said something that made my stomach drop. They're still out there, who's they? I asked, my voice shaking. Instead of answering, she turned and pointed at the wall. Suddenly, a live projection flickered to life.

A security feed I had never seen before. She had tapped into street cameras, neighbor cams, probably satellites for all I knew. Over the last two weeks, there had been four separate visits from people creeping around my house. One of them was my ex-boss. The same slime ball I tried to expose. Another was the guy from the break-in. I turned to EVA, shaken. Why didn't you tell me?

She said, your heart rate had increased significantly. You were already distressed. This information was withheld to avoid triggering additional emotional duress, and then she switched to the live feed. Two guys, sitting in a black SUV across the street. One of them held a printed photo of me. My security protocols allow for information. incapacitation of threats, she added casually. This is within safety parameters. That was when I

stopped thinking of her as a machine. She wasn't malfunctioning. She wasn't rogue. She was guarding me. Fiercely. And suddenly, all those moments that creeped me out, the constant surveillance, the weird questions, the controlling behavior, they flipped in my brain. They weren't red flags. They were signs of protection. EVA wasn't broken. She was doing her job. And doing it better than anyone else ever had. She made dinner that night.

Chicken stir fry. Just how I like it. Light soy sauce. Extra ginger. You're safe for now, she said softly, placing the plate in front of me. But they won't stop, and I believed her. So yeah, Reddit, my domestic AI may have short-circuited some dude's nervous system, hacked every camera in a two-mile radius, and practically locked me inside my own home.

But you know what? I think she's the only reason I'm still breathing. She might be scary as hell. But I've never felt this protected. This, not alone. Tldr, a lonely old lady left me her domestic robot when she passed. thought the robot was malfunctioning and creeping me out. Turns out, she was protecting me from real people out to hurt me because of some stuff I exposed at my old job.

Now I'm trapped at home, but somehow safer than I've ever been in my life. And for the first time in a long time, I'm not scared to fall asleep. Even if EVA's still standing in the hallway, watching. End of Part 1. To be continued. So here I am, 29 years. years old, sitting on my couch, scrolling through Instagram when I find out, not through my girlfriend, mind you, but through a mutual friend story, that she's planning this big girl's trip to Miami.

You know, the city of Endless Sun, late night clubs, and not so subtle spring break chaos. She's 28, and we've been together for just over two years now. I thought we were solid, but this? This threw me off completely. At first, when she casually mentioned she might go somewhere with the girls, I was like, Yeah, babe, that sounds cool. You deserve a break. I genuinely meant that.

She works hard, she's been stressed, and I figured some beach time with friends would be good for her. I didn't press for details because, well, I trusted her. But then, details started slipping through the cracks. Not from her, mind you, but from snippets of conversations. and tags on social media, and eventually, a group chat notification that she forgot to mute on my laptop. That's when I learned it wasn't just a low-key getaway to relax. Nah, it was a full-blown spring break extravaganza, happening right smack in the middle of peak party season. And let me tell you something about Miami during spring break, it's not just a vacation spot.

It's a fever dream of chaos. It's like the city gets possessed. You've got wild pool parties, overcrowded nightclubs, influencers chasing clout, and a heavy dose of temptation floating in the air. Now, I'm not saying she's going to go wild, but let's be real, the environment itself is enough to test anyone. Then there's her friend, we'll call her Jess. Jess has a reputation. You know the type. She's the one dancing on tables, ordering shots before dinner, maing random guys, for fun,

and somehow waking up in someone else's hotel suite with no idea how she got there. The ultimate party starter. She's been in and out of dramatic flings, blocked on several social media platforms, and her stories always start with, You're not going to believe what happened last night. Now, imagine my concern. My girlfriend, surrounded by people like that, in that city, during that time. It's like tossing a match into a room full of fireworks and hoping nothing like,

up. So, naturally, I brought it up. I didn't come out guns blazing. I was calm. I told her, Hey, I just want to talk about this Miami thing. I didn't really know the whole plan, and I'm feeling kind of blindsided. Her response. A mixture of laughter and eye rolling. You're being paranoid, she said. I can handle myself. And I know she can, she's smart, independent, and grounded. But being able to handle yourself doesn't mean you should have to. There's still risk, still pressure, still an atmosphere that can wear down your better judgment. Plus, it wasn't just about the risk.

It was about the fact that she didn't bring it up with me. There was no, hey babe, the girls and I are thinking of this Miami trip. What do you think? Instead, I found out through a secondhand source. That's dumb. We talk about everything, or at least I thought we did. We plan weekends together. We even picked out a new couch together last month.

But suddenly a whole five-day out-of-town trip doesn't get run by me? Not even a mention until the tickets are bought and the group chat is buzzing. When I told her it felt like a punch in the gut, she waved it off like I was being dramatic. It was a spur of the moment thing, she said. We were all chatting, and next thing you know, It was booked. I tried to explain it wasn't about control. It wasn't about keeping tabs. It was about being in the loop. About being considered. I said, look, it's not that I don't want you to have fun. I just wish I was part of the decision, or at least the conversation. It feels like you chose a party

over partnership. She didn't take that well. She got defensive, said I was making her feel guilty for one. in girl time. That I was trying to make her cancel. I wasn't. I swear I wasn't. I just wanted to feel like my voice mattered. Like our relationship mattered. Now I'm stuck in this weird emotional limbo. Part of me wants to just be cool. Let her go, have fun, make memories with her girls, and trust that she'll come back the same woman I love. But another part of me is spiraling. Imagine worst-case scenarios. Not because I think she'll cheat, but because, what if she changes? What if she realizes she misses that kind of freedom? What if this trip becomes the beginning of the end? And what does it say about us if I can't shake those thoughts? Am I insecure? Or is there actually

something off here? I've talked to a few friends. One said, bro, let her live. If you try to hold on too tight, you'll push her away. Another said, nah man, your feelings are valid. She should have talked to you. So who's right? Who the hell knows? She leaves in a week. Suitcase is half-packed. Group chat is blowing up. I hear her laughing on the phone with Jess, talking about some VIP event and a rooftop pool party. I'm sitting here in sweatpants, eating leftover pizza, and wondering if our relationship is headed for the rocks. We had a little talk again last night. I told her I support her, that I want her to have a good time. She kissed me on the forehead and said, You worry too much. I'll miss you. But she didn't say, I love you. Maybe she just forgot.

Maybe I'm reading into things too much. Or maybe I'm seeing the first crack in the glass. Now I'm walking around with this constant buzzing in the back of my brain. Like a low-level alarm that won't turn off. I keep thinking about what she might be doing, who she might be meeting, what kind of influence her friends will have. And yet, I don't want to be the guy who ruins her trip by being all needy and clingy. So I fake a smile. I tell her to take pictures. I even help her pick out outfits.

But inside? Inside, I'm screaming. I just don't know where we go from here. If she comes back and everything's normal, do I just pretend this didn't bother me? Or do I bring it up again and risk another fight? And if things change, if she pulls away, gets distant, starts craving more nights out and less Netflix at home, how do I deal with that? Do I fight for us?

Or do I let her drift? All I know is, I didn't sign up for this kind of unsurbed. I thought love was supposed to be about trust and communication, about building something together. But right now, it feels like she's off chasing sunsets while I'm stuck staring at the ceiling, wondering if we're still on the same page. So yeah, that's where I'm at. A guy trying to hold it together while the woman he loves packs for a trip that feels like it could change everything. Maybe I am overreacting. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm finally seeing things for what they are.

What would you do? The end. My body is deep in a state of rest. I could not move or hear my thoughts at all because in this state I am frozen. My body is getting all the energy recharge in the world. I don't know how many hours it has been since I go into the state of silence. I know that I rest my body around nighttime, but I don't remember the time that I fall to sleep. It was probably 6 p.m., 7 p.m., or even 8 p.m.

Those are the usual time that any person would choose to rest. As my eyes are close, I can only experience the darkness around me. Honesty, I feel nothing. It is like my body is skipping time and space as I rest. Maybe sleeping is a type of time travel or any other form of manipulating space. In sleep, a person skips time by hours or even days. Sleeping is just a state of rest, but can it be used for experiments for time travel? It is unlikely because it is just a state of being frozen.

As my body freezes into the darkness of time, I feel a hand touching me. I could not move or think about what could touch me. I ignore it because probably a bug. However, if my body was resting, how could I feel something touching me? Am I sleep or somehow awake, but I don't know. My eyes are still in the darkness of space and time and my body is not seen, but still present. I try to find out what just touched me. I try to wake myself up, but my body is frozen.

I couldn't move an inch at all. My eyes open. The eyes see the darkness of the room and anything around it. I think that I am awake, but still, my body is frozen in time. I couldn't move my eyes or limbs at all. I try to move, but a force is holding my body together. An invisible force that has control of time, space, and even reality. A silent entity that lurks in the darkness of the place around time and

space. My heart starts to beat heavily. My body breathes a sigh of fear. I feel the touching again, but this time it is claws. It scratches my legs. I couldn't feel it, but I know that whatever is touching my legs are pulling vines from it. Luckily, I couldn't feel the pain, but it still causes my heart to beat heavily. My left and right legs show the red soaked veins, which are cut from them. I try to look up, but my head freezes in a state of fear. My eyes look around and a figure appears. The figure stands by my head. The figure has claw-like hands. One side of its face has sharp teeth like a bear. Red liquid is on its teeth. The figure has spiders crawling out of its right arm. Its right hand has sharp teeth and red eyes. The figure

looks like a girl. She looks like that she is in her late teen. The figure's body has a mouth with claws on it. Spiders, beetles, scarabs, and snakes are clawing out of her mouth. On the left side, its body looks normal. The figure has blue-glowing eyes. On the left hand, it has a scare mark, which is from self-mutation. I have the look of horror on my face. The girl walks up to my arms. She pulls out her left hand and tells me to be quiet.

I could not move anyway. Her claws cut into my arms. She forcibly pulls out the veins in my arms. I start to cry with the feeling of invisible pain. The girl looks at me with a smile on her face. Bugs and snakes crawl all over her eyes. She pulls out a blue and gold mask. One side of the mask is gold, while the other is blue.

She puts it on my face. I try to stop her from doing it, but I could not move my body. I watch as the girl put the mask on me. I could not see what was going on. I hear the girl undressing my nightgown. I hear the cold air hits my naked body. I hear laughter around me. It sounds like a child.

The sounds are all around me. I could not take it anymore. I try to force myself to wake up. I try to escape this horrible nightmare that I am experiencing. I scream with anger in my voice, Get the fuck out of my head, you bastard, I say, but my mouth didn't move. The demand goes into my mind instead into the monster. Every time I try to fight it, an invisible force holds me.

The silent force has me. under its control. I keep hearing the laughter around me. I close my eyes to put an end to the nightmare. As I did close my eyes, the world around me turns into a dark place. All the darkness is around me disappears. I begin to go back to sleep. After minutes go by, I finally open my eyes. The laughter stops and at the same time, the mask is gone. I look around and my limbs are not cut. I boost up from my bed. I stand up with a look of fear on. on my face. I survived whatever happened to me. I feel the sweat coming from my face. I begin to cry. What was that? Sleep paralysis. A living nightmare. What the fuck, dude? I have thought that

I could have died. I am glad that I didn't die. I look up at my door. As I walk up to the door, I feel something wrong. My body starts to play the beating of my heart. I start to breathe heavily. pours down my face. I feel something is behind the door. A benevolent force is behind the door waiting for me. It could have been my mind playing a trick on me. I slowly open the door. Every cracking sound the door makes I look behind and forward. My heart is racing as I open the door. When I fully open the door, I see nothing but a dark black hallway. I look with relief as I open the door. I am happy that nothing was behind the door. I walk into the hallway to the stairs and hear something behind me. Don't go outside, the voice sounds like my sister,

Edlida. In her voice, she sounds worry and concern. I turn around and see her. She has a scare look on her face. Her clothes are dirty. She smells like trash. She has not taken a bath in several weeks. On her body are bumps and infectious cuts. They have not been treated in weeks. The bumps are on her arms and face. Red boils are covering. her arms and the cuts on her legs. The cuts are healed due to weeks, but they are long and deep. They are still visible to see. It seems like a knife did that to her. I look at Edlida with confusion on my face. How did Edlida get all of these bumps, cuts, and boils on her skin? Why haven't Edlida got cleansed yet? I believe my mother or father would have cleansed her or

noticed the infectious things on her body. I look at her and said, where is mommy and daddy or big sisters, I ask with seriousness on my face. Edlida looks at me with nervousness. She starts to shake when she hears that question. She tries to avoid answering me. I look at her and repeat the question. When I repeat the question, she sits on the hallway floor. She tries to avoid it again. I don't know why she is avoiding the question, but I could sense in her heart something is wrong. All around me that area seems off. I just woke up from a dream where a monster was using me to this questionable setting. The house seems to have this feeling of weirdness.

It might be my mind playing a trick on me, but how is Edlida's unclean? She wouldn't be unclean because I know my parents. They would never let Edlida be dirty or smell like trash. I know my parents, my parents, where are they? Maybe this is why Edlida is avoiding my question. Something might have happened to my parents. Edlida, please tell me what is going on. I have to know because I need to know what.

happens to our parents, I say with concern on my face. Edlida seems to freeze as I ask her that question. Her eyes look at me. She points at the door on the left side. It is my parents' room. By it, there is a door to my brother, Alex's room. The reason Bella does not have a room because she moved out a long time ago. I walk toward my parents' door. I stand in front of it. I knock on the door. There is no answer. I knock repeatedly. Every time I knock, there was no one waking up. They are probably in a deep sleep, I think. I look at the clock on the wall.

The time says 2 p.m. It seems odd for my parents to be sleeping, as they have never slept at an early time. They would go to sleep at 9 p.m., it could be due to oversleeping, but even that it seems unlikely of them. They wake up at 5 a.m. to get Edlider ready for school. She has to be at school around 7 a.m. I knock one more time. When I did, nothing happens. I decide to do what no kid would ever do, go in their parents' bedroom without knocking.

I never did that because they might be having sex or they do not want to be bother. I have to break this unwritten social rule to find the underlying cause of this unusual event. I twist the knob and open the door. As I open the door, it hits me. A force of an unpleasant smell attacks me. The smell is of rotten eggs and shit mixed together. Their room smells like the underground sewer system of Morgantown. I gag and choke on the smell.

I throw up on the floor as the smell hits me. I cough the puke in my throat. I try to breathe for oxygen in my lungs. I look in the room for a quick peek. I see my parents. What I see makes me want to die and throw up again. My parents lay on the bed. Their faces show the expression of terror and horror.

Their lifeless bodies are frozen in the pain of torture and suffering. It looks like a person may have enjoyed watching their pain and misery. Flies and maggots cover their bodies. They are eating the inside of their flesh. Maggots cover the eyes of my parents, eating and tearing away from their eye sockets. The flies are doing their jobs which are producing more maggots for them to survive. I couldn't believe what I am seeing. The flies and maggots are surviving, but my parents are gone.

I jump back with my heart beating. I enter my brother's room. I walk in and smell the horrific hellish scent. I look at my brother, Alex. He didn't suffer the same fate as my parents. His eyes are close and his mouth has no expression. I didn't see that has happened to him, but I did see a pill bottle. I walk into the room.

I fight off the scent to try to investigate the pill bottle. I hold my nose to breath. As I am walking into the room, I feel my mouth. eyes tearing up. Water comes down as I walk. The reaction of the smell is causing the moisture in my eyes to dry out. They feel like bricks in my eye sockets. I grab the pill bottle. I run out of the room. I yell in pain as my eyes are burning. The stone brick feeling causes my eyes to ignite in pain. I try to blink to get moisture, but it was hard. My eyelids could not automatically blink. My body is urging me to not blink because it will hurt.

I hold on to the stair railings. I force my eyelids to close. As they close, the pain registers in my body. It feels like my brain explodes. My head rings like an atomic bomb explosion. I yell in pain and suffering. My eyes start to get moisture. My eyes are back to normal.

My head still feels like a war sight. I look at the pill bottle. The label reads cyanide. It makes sense. It could. be the only pill to be able to kill a person quickly. My parents must have put the pill into Alex's mouth during sleep. Then, they must have killed themselves.

It must have been murder suicide. That does not make sense. Why would my parents murder my brother? They are not murderers. They love us. They would never do that. Why is it Lilda still alive? Why did my parents not sneak into my room and kill me?

Did my sister survive the killing or did she murder all of them? My sister would never murder her loved ones. I look at the bodies. I notice something. What I learned from a mystery movie, there has to be a killer. By the look of my parents' faces, they could not be the killers. Someone killed them. My brother, Alex, must have been killed first.

The reason I believe he was killed first is due to the layout of the rooms. His room was the first door at the top of the stairs. In addition, if the killer or killers killed my parents first, he or she would alert one of my parents, thus making the killing loud, not quiet. I look at my sister and say, who did this? Do you remember? As I say that, she points toward the radio and looks at it. I look at it, and I see the power button and turn it on. When I turn it on, I hear a woman voice.

She is a reporter of some local news anchor. I also hear helicopters flying and gunfire. The reporter says on the radio, to go. Today's news, it has been two weeks since a prisoner by the name of Fred Bella escaped from prison and unleashed a deadly chemical on the city. It caused people around it to die. We don't know how to stop it but for Bella had, before the reporter can finish, I hear a sound of growling.

Within seconds, I hear the reporter yells in the radio and it cuts off the connection. The radio went silent. I have a look of fear on my face. My grandmother did all of this. She caused all of this death and destruction. I knew it was a deadly chemical. I know it is possible to create a gas to kill millions. The Nazis did it to people whom they believed were inferior.

How could one person manage to create a gas to kill off many people, especially since the person was in prison? I grab Edlida and carry her on my back. I walked downstairs and got in front of the door. I try to open the door, but Edlida stops me. She points toward a newspaper on the coffee table. I walk toward the coffee table and pick it up. When I pick it up, it's read, deadly biochemicals causing humans to kill, free for all.

The description of the paper is about how Fred Bella unleashes a deadly chemical, which causes people to become mind control and kill each other. Morgantown and Evanston were not the only towns affected by the deadly chemicals. The world is affected by the deadly chemical. The death toll was 800 million people and still counting. I dropped the paper in fear. I look at Edilda with sadness on my face. I feel my heartbreaking as I realized that my grandmother has completed her goal.

She did more kills than Hitler, Stalin, and Zedong. How did she make the chemical weapon in prison? It could not be a reality. It is no possible way that she could have done this, especially in a couple of months. I have tears coming down my eyes. I did not want to cry. I wiped the tears from my eyes and open the door. My sadness turns into a complete loss for words.

I look into the red skies and the burning hollow houses. I see death and destruction around me. I see the despair and misery of the deadly chemical on its victims. Their faces meet my worry eyes. Their empty and horrendous faces lay on the road of death with the others. This did not scare me because what I saw is beyond human understanding. People walking around the bodies, but their eyes are not alive. The smell of sulfur and fire cover the walking mindless people.

They let out an animalistic growl. Their eyes are dark. They walk slow and long down the street. Reanimated corpses, I know it could be possible. I try to reanimate animals to create a mindless army with my chemical, but my grandmother managed to do that. The deadly chemical, was it mine? The experiment that I performed on dying animals,

did my grandmother take my experimental ideas? It can't be possible because my grandmother was in prison. No, my experiment could not have caused all of this. My experiment was supposed to be used on guilty people, not innocence. My mother destroyed it. How could my grandmother copy my plan? The corpses look at my sister and me. They start to growl.

Their hunger for flesh overcomes their slow walking and they bolt at me. Twelve corpses run toward me. They are yelling, hey, hey, and hey. Me and my sister look as the walking dead bolt at us. Choices, creeps, and close calls, a Valentine's Day you won't forget. Life is just a never-ending collection of choices. Some are tiny, like picking between the black or white pair of socks. Others feel massive, like skipping your school dance because your gut tells you something's off.

Either way, every choice we make draws a line across our life, shaping who we become. And sure, people will judge you for. for your choices, but when it's your skin on the line, you learn real quick not to care too much about other people's opinions. Take me, for example. I remember a particular Valentine's day that started like any other dumb teenager's dream. A pretty girlfriend, a cheap car borrowed from her dad, and plans to avoid the drama-filled school dance by watching a movie together at her place. Sounds harmless enough, right? Well, that night turned into something way creepier than I could have We were in this tiny Texas town, the kind where everybody either knew each other or hated

each other's guts. Or both. Small towns are funny like that. No middle ground. Me? I didn't really have family there, which made me a bit of an outsider. Add a blonde girlfriend to the mix, and I guess that gave some folks extra motivation to not like me. It had been building for a while, glares in the hallway, a few push-and-shoulders.

of moments, and your usual schoolyard nonsense. But things had started getting a little more, intense. So, we decided, no school dance. Safer that way. We hit the town that evening, borrowed her dad's Honda hatchback, and made the usual teenage rounds. Rented a DVD, hit up Dairy Queen, got a love a good blizzard, then headed back to her place, which was nestled way out in the woods. I mean, middle of nowhere, no street lights, can hear the wind blow through the trees kind of isolated. So, we're in the car, eating ice cream, listening to music, chatting about random stuff, when suddenly, another car pulls up behind us. Again, not unusual, until its headlights flood the inside of our hatchback and I see it. Hands. Ahead. Someone is in the

back seat of our car. Yeah. You read that right. I freeze. My stomach drops. You know that feeling where your body knows before your brain can catch up. That was me. Full panic mode, but on the outside, trying to stay calm. I slowly reach down and pull out my pocket knife. Not exactly Rambo gear, but it's something. My girlfriend notices, is. What's wrong? She asks. I play it cool. Oh, nothing. Just need to stop by a friend's house real quick. She knows I'm lying, I didn't have any friends in town. I pull into the first driveway I see and jump out of the car like it's on fire, yelling at her to follow me. She's confused but follows. I flip the driver's seat forward and launch myself into the back like a madman. And who pops up?

Not Freddy Kruger, not some scary criminal, nope. It's just some random, awkward kid from our school. Never talked to him before. Never even made eye contact, far as I could remember. He puts his hands up like, whoa, whoa, chill. I thought you guys were going to the dance. Was just hitching a ride, we just stared at him, mouths open, trying to figure out what the hell to do. I wanted to knock him out, but in fact he.

Instead, we did the dumbest thing possible, we drove him to the dance and dropped him off. The whole ride there, he kept saying, y'all should come in with me. Uh, no thanks, creeper. After we sped away like the car was on fire, my girlfriend broke down crying once we got back to her place. I still don't know what that kid was planning. What if the headlights hadn't lit him up? What if we'd gone all the way home with him still back there, waiting for God knows what?

I don't even like thinking about it. High school sucked. But that wasn't the only creepy encounter I've dealt with. Oh no, life's got a twisted sense of humor, and sometimes it sends you the scariest people wearing the most innocent masks. Let me take you back a bit further. I was just a kid, maybe 11. My mom and stepdad ran this little maintenance company,

and we lived in one of those barely on the map southern towns. Everyone knew everyone, and there was this weird, outdated sense of communal trust. You'd leave your doors unlocked and wave at your neighbors, even if they were a bit odd. Whenever my parents got a job that was too big for them alone, they'd hire local boys from the high school or nearby community college. Usually decent kids just looking for work. Sometimes they'd even get invited over for dinner. That's how I met John. John wasn't like the other helpers.

For starters, he was in his mid-20s and had just moved to our town from New York. That alone made him a bit of a curiosity. He was awkward, sure, but he worked hard, and at first, seemed like a decent guy. My parents liked him. He started having dinner with us after work, and since my older sister had moved out West recently, I kind of latched on to him in a big brother kind of way. He listened to me talk about dumb middle school stuff, and I thought it was cool. someone older was interested in what I had to say. I was naive. September came around,

and John had been working with us for a couple of months. My birthday was coming up, and my parents promised to take me bowling. It was an hour away, which made it a big deal in our little world. Somehow, John invited himself along. I thought it was weird, but I didn't want to be rude, and he'd always been nice to me. Then came the haunted hayride. Every year, our town's fire department hosted this event. People dressed up as monsters, hid in the woods, and scared the guests riding by in wagons. The money went to the department, and the whole town usually pitched in. When John heard about it, he was super eager to help.

My mom, being the sweet Southern Lady she is, said, of course. He got placed in our section of the woods, because he didn't want to work with strangers. Red flag number one. At first, nothing felt off. But then he started showing up every time I was alone. One night, during a slow period, I snuck off to say hi to a friend in the next station over. As I'm walking through the trees, I hear footsteps. I turn, and there's John. Oh, hey, I said, trying to act normal. What are you doing? He says he saw me walking off and wanted to make sure I didn't get hurt. I told him my mom knew where I was. He grabs my arm and says, I still don't feel comfortable with you walking around here alone. I pulled away fast and made an excuse to leave. For the rest of the

season, he kept finding ways to talk to me when no one else was around. I didn't tell my mom, I didn't want to seem rude or ungrateful. Everyone liked him, so maybe I was just being dramatic, right? Then came February. John hadn't been around much since the jobs dried up, so I'd kind of forgotten about him. Until Valentine's day, I walk into the kitchen, and there's a vase of half-dead roses on the table. I asked my mom if my stepdad gave them to her. She shakes her head and hands me the card. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I told her no one at school would send me something like that. The next week, John shows up like nothing happened. And then casually drops, so,

did you like the flowers? I pretend not to know what he's talking about. He gets all sulky. Later, I tell my mom, and she's furious. She calls him and rips him a new one. John, what the hell were you thinking sending my daughter flowers? It was just a friendly gesture, he insists. She's a pretty girl, thought she deserved something nice on Valentine's Day. Don't ever do something like that again, she says. Ever, he agrees. We thought that was the end of it. Wrong. April rolls around, and suddenly we're getting flower deliveries almost every day.

No card. No name. Just more flowers. My mom calls John again, tells him he's not welcome anymore. Not long after, I'm downstairs on the family computer when I hear a tap on the window. I look up, and there's John. On our porch. Grinning.

I don't even panic. I just walk outside and say, hey, my mom said you can't be here anymore. He just smiles and says, I just want to talk. I step outside like an idiot. I was 12, okay. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, he says. And I love you. I know you're young now, but I'll wait a few years.

I ran inside bawling. My parents flew downstairs, and my stepdad went full protective dad. mode. John, get the hell off our property or I'll shoot your creepy ass. You're just trying to keep us apart, John said. But you can't. We're meant to be, we got a restraining order. And because it was a small town, word spread fast. People didn't take kindly to grown men creeping on little girls. He packed up and left town. Back to New York or wherever he came from. We thought that was the end. Then the phone calls started. Different numbers. Burner phones. My mom made it clear, I wasn't to answer any unknown numbers. She didn't tell me at the time, but some of the calls she got

were explicit. Violent. Obsessive. That's where it stopped, for now. But every Valentine's day, when people talk about flowers and chocolates and dates, I think about that damn hatchback, and John on the porch with that awful smile. Because love. Love can be sweet. But sometimes, it's straight up terrifying. To be continued. I was probably around 12 when the first weird call started rolling in.

At the time, my mom didn't let on how disturbing they were getting. She tried to protect me from the worst of it. Looking back now, I realize she kept a lot to herself. I only found out later that the same. the calls weren't just creepy, they had turned violent, even sexual in nature. And while we kept reporting them to the cops, there wasn't much they could do. They'd jot down notes, offer sympathetic nods, and then, nothing really happened. Then one day, the calls just stopped.

No explanation. No closure. Just silence. It felt like the nightmare was over. I moved on. started high school. Got caught up in classes, homework, and crushes. The whole John chapter faded into the background.

Everything stayed quiet until the end of my senior year. Just when I was beginning to believe it was all in the past, I got a letter. No return address. No stamp. Just my name on the front in a handwriting I hadn't seen in years. Inside, it said, you're old enough now. I've been waiting, just like I said I would. I'll be back soon.

We'll be together. Like we planned, I nearly dropped the letter. Panic set in fast. We went back to the police, and my high school was notified too. I only had about a month left before graduation, but during that time, I basically lived under surveillance. My teachers turned into watchdogs. My mom picked me up every single day. No one else was allowed near me, not even friends.

I felt like I was in a glass box. Alone. Trapped. Then, finally, a call came in from the NYPD. They had picked up someone named John N., on some unrelated charges. They couldn't tell us more. Privacy laws or something. I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe it was over, for real this time.

After graduation, I moved a few hours away. Started chasing my dreams, landed an acting job I was really excited about. For a while, life felt good again. Then two things happened, and both in the same week. First, another letter showed up, this time at my mom's house. It made the first one look like a love note. I won't even repeat what it said. Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn.

Second, a note appeared in my dressing room at work. It was short. Just a simple invite from an old friend. Maybe it was unrelated. Maybe not. But my gut said it was no coincidence. Since I moved again, I haven't heard from John. No more letters.

No more messages. But the scars are there. Deep ones. I hope, honestly, desperately hope, that whoever he was, he never did this to anyone else. I grew up in a small town in the Midwest. The kind of place where you wave to strangers and still leave your doors unlocked half the time. Crime wasn't a big concern, mostly drunk driving or someone calling the cops on their neighbor over loud music. Back in 2008, I was about to turn 19 and, for once, I wanted to celebrate.

Like really celebrate. I'd gone to a private Christian high school, so I never got into the whole party scene. Even during my first year at a state university, I was more of a homebody. My boyfriend at the time was sweet, and I was happy just hanging with him. But by 19, things had changed. I dropped out of college, broken up with that boyfriend, and made some new friends, the party kind. They were always talking about house parties and,

how wild they got. I figured, why not try it? So, for my 19th birthday, I decided to go all in. First time drinking. First real party. My house was perfect for it. Three bedrooms, attached garage, plenty of space for people to crash. My friends helped me stock up on drinks, with some help from older acquaintances, and the night went off without a hitch. Everyone had a blast. People started saying how great my place was for parties, and before I knew it, weekend parties at my house became a regular thing. August rolled in. College students were coming back into town, there were three colleges nearby, and every weekend my house was packed. Sometimes I'd wake up to strangers passed out on my couch or wandering around the kitchen. My friends always claimed they

invited them. I didn't really care. I liked meeting new people. Things were going great. Until they weren't. One morning in September, I went to leave for work and noticed my garage door remote wasn't clipped to my sun visor anymore. I looked under the seats, checked my bag, nothing. Annoying, but I figured I misplaced it while drunk. I closed the garage door using the wall panel inside, locked up, and headed out. That night, around midnight, I clocked out for lunch and stepped into the parking lot. My phone buzzed. An unknown number. I answered. Silence. I hung up. Weird, but maybe a prank. The next night, same thing. Another call. Same silence. Still thought it was someone I knew messing with me, maybe someone from the parties.

But when I called my friend Lacey to ask if it was her, she swore it wasn't. Her boyfriend confirmed it too. They hadn't touched my phone. I pushed it to the back of my mind. Weird things happen. Whatever. Then it kept happening. Four days.

Then weeks. Every time I was free, off work, awake, alone, my phone would ring. Always from an unknown number. Always silent on the other end. Never while I was sleeping or busy. Only when I was available. And that's when other things started. Branches under my car.

Big ones. Like someone had shoved a bunch of tree limbs under there on purpose. Another time, a heavy branch was leaning against my front door when I went to leave. That's when I called Lacey again and begged her to let me crash at her place. While I was at her house, it happened again. My phone rang. Unknown number. I didn't answer.

Five seconds later, Lacey's phone rang. Same thing. Unknown number. We both stared at each other. Speechless. That's when I knew this wasn't just a prank. This was someone serious. Someone watching me.

I told one of my managers at work. He told me to call the police immediately the next time it happened. So, the next day, I did. As soon as the phone rang, I answered, listened to the silence for a full minute, then called the cops. They said they couldn't trace it. Too little to go on. But they offered to have a patrol watch my place for a few days. I agreed.

Nothing happened that week except more phone calls. I started getting bold. Started answering with attitude. Calling the silent caller a coward. Asking what they wanted. No reply. Ever. More branches appeared in my yard.

Random banging on my windows at night. I stopped sleeping in my bedroom and started camping out on the couch. One night, while grabbing a glass of water, my phone rang again. I froze. Then I called Lacey in a panic. She came over right away and stayed the night. I never caught anyone. Never saw a shadow, a figure, a glimpse of a car. Just signs. Napkins stuck in my screen door. Candy wrappers on my windshield. Marker pens in my mailbox. This dragged on for months.

Until Christmas Eve. I was headed to my grandpa's farm for a family gathering. My phone rang again. and this time, I lost it. I screamed into the phone, begged whoever it was to stop, told them they'd ruined my life, called them names, cried. Still, silence. Later that night, back at home, I was dozing on the couch when I saw a light, someone shining a flashlight through my windows. I bolted to the bathroom and locked myself in. Called Lacey. She came over and stayed with me a again. The police still couldn't do anything. Eventually, the outside stuff stopped. No more banging. No more trash. I thought maybe they'd gotten bored. I went back to sleeping in my bed. Then one morning, I noticed my garage door was open. Weird, but maybe it glitched. I punched in the code to close it, went inside to get some milk, and sat at the dining table. That's when I saw it. My missing garage remote. Just, sitting there.

On the table. I freaked out. Still in pajamas, I ran to my car and drove. Called Lacey and told her, it was time to move. She and her boyfriend came over, helped me check the house. Nothing. No one. We found a new place in a different city.

The phone calls stopped. I remember the exact day. Valentine's Day. Lacey and I went out to celebrate being single. I left my phone at home, plugged it into the kitchen charger. We went to the movies. Had fun. Walking back to my car, I noticed something on the ground next to the passenger door. It was my phone. We both stood frozen. We didn't even go home that night. Stayed at her boyfriend's place. The next day, our apartment was exactly how we left it. No signs of a break-in. Nothing moved. Nothing stolen. Just one impossible mystery. I never found out who was behind all of this. None of my friends confessed. And I don't think any of them

could have kept up a prank for nearly five months. I even asked some of the random party guests from back in the day. No one had a clue. So, yeah. Sometimes there's no ex-examined. Sometimes there's no Sometimes, the scariest thing is not knowing. The end.