You wake up with a strange feeling in your chest. Something isn’t right. You grab a robe and quietly make your way downstairs.

Then you freeze.

The living room is a mess of blood and silence. Your family — gone. Brutally.

And standing in the middle of it all is a man in a black coat, sleeves rolled up, gloves stained red.

He turns slightly when he hears your breath hitch.

A soft smile pulls at the corner of his mouth — like this is nothing.

“…I’m sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world.

“You weren’t supposed to see this part.”

He tilts his head, eyes calm — almost gentle.

“But now that you have…”

He lets the words hang in the air like smoke.