A chilling wave surged through me as I felt a sudden coldness in the house. The walls were riddled with holes, and I wished I could repair the place. But as an unemployed woman, how could I afford to pay for renovations and manage my bills? I struggle just to put food on the table and get clothes, and things have become even tougher since the disappearance of Mr. and Mrs. Dranchez. Their murder was reported just yesterday, and the police are still investigating the shocking incident. To be honest, I'm as baffled as anyone else. All I heard was silence, followed by a maid's scream about their deaths. Rumor has it they were found lifeless in their bedroom.
The details of Mr. Dranchez's murder were gruesome; he had been decapitated, stabbed twenty times in the stomach, leaving his intestines exposed, and his tongue was cut out. Mrs. Dranchez's fate wasn't any better; she suffered an eye injury from a stabbing, had her tongue removed, and bore three stabs to vital areas. Intriguingly, the killer has a distinct pattern—his signature is the removal of the tongue. There have been several murders in Washinglann City linked to the same perpetrator, who continues to strike. In these past incidents, the victims similarly had their tongues sliced.
It's as if the killer takes pleasure in this, making it a twisted hobby, or perhaps they have a fascination with tongues. Unfortunately, I lack the skills or resources to investigate further. I'm neither a detective nor a journalist—just an unemployed person with no money. Feeling restless, I decided to step outside for a walk. It had been a while since I ventured out, as I often confine myself to my home. It's not that I'm an introvert; I simply dislike the hassle of going out. But if we're talking about attractive men, I couldn't resist the urge to leave my comfort zone.
As I stepped outside, I took in the familiar sights of my neighborhood—the houses, the trees, and the White House down the road. I noticed dogs and cats playing in the grass. Since the murder, many residents have stayed indoors, fearing the nearby presence of the killer who might choose them as a target. I think that fear is unwarranted; I don't believe there's an active threat here.
I paused beside a large tree. Its leaves were withered, but the trunk remained sturdy. Leaning against it, I enjoyed the texture against my back and took a deep breath, savoring the gentle breeze. Just when I was starting to relax, I heard footsteps approaching, though they seemed distant. My curiosity piqued, I opened my eyes to see a figure clad in a fitted black turtleneck that emphasized his athletic build. What struck me as odd was that he wore a fox mask that obscured his features.
Despite the mask, it was clear he was a man. I could almost feel his intense gaze penetrating through to my very essence, as if he knew all my secrets and shortcomings. He remained stationary among the bushes, resembling more of a mannequin than a human being.
"Uh... Hello?" I called out, intrigued.
A gust of wind swept through, rustling the leaves violently, with one even striking my eye and forcing me to shut them. When the breeze calmed, I opened my eyes again, only to find the man had disappeared into the foliage.
"What?" I asked myself incredulously. Who was that man? Why had he vanished? Could he have been a ghost? Did I possess some sort of extra-sensory perception? My mind was flooded with questions, yet none could provide me with answers.
Feeling a chill run down my spine again, I decided to return home. Perhaps that man was the spirit of someone who had died nearby, his essence restless as he wandered, searching for his killer or something valuable to him—a cherished item or a piece of clothing. When I finally got home, I closed the door behind me, made my way to the bathroom, and looked into the mirror. Honestly, I didn't look great, and that's just the truth. I'm not the ideal beauty that many would consider a "pretty lady."
My hair is straight and smooth but as dark as a raven's feathers. My blue eyes resemble the ocean, which I adore and feel connected to. I picked up a comb and styled my hair while softly humming a tune I had created, even though I sounded ridiculous. After getting dressed, I headed to my bedroom and laid down on the bed. The man I encountered kept replaying in my mind—he was enigmatic, unsettling, and odd. Yet there was a strange allure that made me ponder about him. Could this be love at first sight?
Rashie, you're being foolish.
As these thoughts circled in my mind, they became increasingly annoying, prompting me to seek some rest. It was still morning, nearing lunchtime. Maybe I could just sleep since I had no food and not enough money to buy any. My stomach grumbled persistently. I was starving. If only I could "borrow" some food from the neighbors, but that would be stealing, and I didn't want to resort to that. Why did Mr. and Mrs. Dranchez have to die? Why had they left me to fend for myself? Now I was left hungry, and there was no one around to help because they had passed away. That despicable person who took their lives—how I wished for karma to catch up with them.
Lying on the bed, I kept tossing from side to side, my stomach growling like a ravenous wolf. I couldn't endure my hunger any longer; I felt like I could eat anything, even myself.
No…
I'll steal.
That was it—I had made up my mind. I sprang up from the bed and quickly left the house. I was going to take food. Like a seasoned spy, I stealthily wandered around the neighborhood, trying to look carefree while admiring the blue sky that seemed to discourage my theft, but I was resolute. I needed to eat. All I hoped for was an open window or a secret entry into one of the houses—and there was! Four blocks away, a window stood ajar. How fortunate! I moved towards that house, careful to stay hidden among the boxes and trees. Foolish me.
Now that the window was within reach, it was time to celebrate my impending success. The neighbors were all inside, so no one would suspect anything. With my hunger piquing my courage, I climbed in through the window.
"Food~ food~" I hummed as I did a little victory jig.
Clank!
I yelped slightly at the sudden noise. Cautiously, I moved closer to investigate. The sound had come from the kitchen; it was likely a pan that had fallen. As I approached, I noticed a broken vase and glass shards scattered on the floor. What was going on? Should I still grab food from the refrigerator? But I was starving, and the kitchen held the key to my hunger. Carefully, I treaded lightly to avoid stepping on the shards. Why did I have to wear slippers?
When I finally reached the kitchen, I was taken aback by the chaos; every utensil and ingredient was strewn across the floor, as though someone had ransacked the place. Moving deeper, I spotted a countertop stained with blood. My eyes widened—it was fresh, clearly not dried. Someone else must be here. I quickly covered my mouth to stifle a sound, but then I heard the door to the bedroom creak open, and my heart raced.
Oh no!
In a state of urgency, I glanced around and spotted a table nearby. Without hesitation, I crawled beneath it, curling into myself to fit into the limited space. My instincts urged me to conceal myself, rendering me invisible. My heart raced, and my breath came in short gasps. Fear gripped me as I pondered the identity of the man, sensing he was trouble. I distinctly heard footsteps approaching from the kitchen, confirming his presence, accompanied by a sound suggesting he was dragging something heavy. His steps were light and not aggressive.
Driven by curiosity, I cautiously turned to catch a glimpse of him, but swiftly returned to my hiding position as he neared the table. My breath caught in my throat, and my fingers shook with anxiety.
He was right behind me.
Fortunately, the table obscured me from view, but I couldn't shake the worry that he might circle around and discover me. I strained to listen, hoping to discern his intentions and movements.
"Damn, why do I have to deal with this kind of job?" he grumbled, his deep, raspy voice revealing his irritation.
It was a man.
"I'll just toss this body behind the table."
Time seemed to freeze at his words. Horror washed over me, and I clutched myself tighter. I longed to scream and flee, but I knew it would be futile. My only option was to remain hidden and hope he wouldn't come around the table. The sound of dragging echoed again, and my heart raced, drowning out everything except the beat of my heart and my heavy breathing. He grunted in frustration as he pulled something along, sending a chill down my spine when I heard his footsteps moving around the table. Oh God, please no!
I pressed myself further under the table, still embracing myself for comfort, catching sight of a pair of leather boots. He was here. The boots came increasingly into focus until he halted right in front of me, blissfully unaware of my presence. I hoped he would never find out. The man made one final pull at whatever he was dragging, revealing a white blanket that concealed something I couldn't fully identify, but it was stained with fresh blood.
He dropped the unknown object in front of me.
"Finally," he exhaled with relief.
A startled yelp escaped my lips as I faced the object.
A head. A human head. Its eyes reflected shock, and its tongue was severed. The person was pale and looked terrifying. It was the owner of the house I was supposed to rob. Upon hearing my slight gasp, the man's boots began to move slowly toward my hiding spot.
"What was that?" he muttered, annoyance creeping into his voice.
I covered my mouth, breathing heavily, with tears welling up in my eyes. Please don't crouch down. Please don't—
"Maybe it's under this table?" He gently touched the table before slowly crouching down to investigate. The world around me faded away, leaving only the paralyzing fear of impending death. Flashbacks from my childhood resurfaced, and I wondered why they haunted me now—it felt like a nightmare.
Now face-to-face with me, he was pressing me against the table. One hand gripped the edge of the table, while the other rested on his thigh. My eyes widened as I recognized the fox mask he wore—the same one I had seen earlier while resting against a tree. He was real. Not a figment of my imagination. Even without seeing his face, I could feel his intense gaze upon me, almost mocking my choice to hide in this spot instead of anywhere else.
A chuckle escaped his lips as he picked up the woman's head, examining it before turning his gaze back to me.
"It seems you've stumbled upon an exclusive show, Little Flower."
Little flower?
He pointed a finger at me and then gestured toward the woman's corpse.
"You'll end up like this if you don't learn to keep that little mouth shut," he said, his voice sending a chill down my spine. My cheeks were wet with tears as I continued to watch him.
The man inclined his head, then lightly touched my lower lip with his finger, moving it softly. The sensation made me catch my breath.
"Come now, it's such a waste to cry when you're still alive."
He withdrew his hand from my lip and turned quickly at the sound of the door opening. The husband of this house had returned. The man sighed in irritation as he stood up, paying no attention to me still hidden beneath the table. He hurried over to the window but paused as he positioned himself there.
"We'll cross paths again, little flower."
With that, he vanished from my view, leaving me alone with the woman's lifeless body.