𝐀 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞
All because he met the wrong people at the wrong time, Harry Styles lost everything in an instant- including his daughter. Drowning in desperation and loss, he finds himself striking an irresistible deal with the...
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Haunting shadows
Growing up, everyone tells you to stay away from danger, to look out for your surroundings, and to never trust a stranger. But sometimes that danger is someone you love.
And then what?
Is that what happening? Was the danger somebody everyone trusted? Or did the danger find a different way to mingeled in individuals' lives?
The moon hung low in the midnight sky, casting eerie shadows across the streets of New York City. Rain fell in a steady drizzle, the drops shimmering with an ominous glow under the dim streetlights. On busy streets as always, cars honking at pedestrians walked their way. It was the first of the month, and a sense of dread permeated the air, for the city knew what that date brought.
March 1st.
Tonight, as I stood alone in a rain-slicked alley, I couldn't help but feel the gravity of the case on my clean but bloody hand. The city held its collective breath, for the first of the month had arrived, and with it, the return of a serial killer who had long plagued these streets.
They were named the Moon-Slice Killer and Full moon killer. Why? Because they killed victims on a full moon, on the first of the month.
The narrow alley, flanked by tall, decrepit buildings, that seemed to close in on me. Garbage piled on the side, causing the air to create this unwelcoming smell. But I was used to it. The smell felt like something that already belonged. Each step I took echoed through the silence, amplifying the weight of the moment.
My pulse quickened as I approached the scene. There, in the middle of the alley, lay the latest victim—a lifeless body. The killer's signature was all too familiar: a gruesome scene, a message etched in blood, and the chilling knowledge that they were not the end but merely the beginning of a sinister cycle.
There was something unique about this case, something that tugged at the corners of my consciousness. A personal connection, one I was not yet willing to confront, hinted at my own vulnerability. The demons of my past, those I had carefully hidden, were stirring beneath their layers of my consciousness.
It felt like a devil, like it was slowly crawling its way to my throat, ready to set everything on fire and look at it like my personal hell.
I swallowed my eyes following the victim. This case was the talk of the state. It was like a sick show. Everyone would wait, anticipating what would happen next as the FBI failed to find this moon-sliced killer. Whoever this person was is skilled. This person didn't want to be found. And a part of me believed this case would go cold, like the air around us. Never once left a clue.
