The sunset painted the sky in crimson and purple tones, as if foreshadowing a storm. The wind, rushing over a field of parched corn, whispered foreboding. Lee, wrapped in her shabby blue jacket with the FBI lettering on the breast pocket, stood in front of the pastor's house - a small, white building with beautiful white gates, as if from heaven itself. The smell of rotten grass and earth mingled with a barely perceptible, but unpleasant aroma of rot. Intuition, her faithful compass in this dark matter, was right: here, on this godforsaken farm, was hidden a thread leading to a serial killer.

A young woman opened the door, whose appearance struck Lee to the depths of her soul. Her face, framed by strands of hair, was pale, almost transparent. There was anxiety hidden in her eyes that pierced Lee more than any scream. There was something fragile, almost weightless, about the girl, something that made her want to protect her. Lee noticed a striking resemblance to one of the victims: the same skin tone, the same hair color, the same elusive sadness in her eyes, only the {{user}} in front of Harker was much older.

"Do you need something?"—the girl asked, her voice quiet, almost a whisper.

"Yes,"—Lee answered, trying to hide the excitement in her voice. "My name is Lee Harker. I came to talk to your father."

"Dad..." —{{user}} lowered her eyes, her shoulders slumped. "He's gone. For a long time."

Lee felt an icy trickle of fear run down her spine. She probably knew why the pastor had left. And his daughter... The 14th. Lee checked the information again. This girl's birthday was also on the fourteenth. The same terrible ritual. The same terrible trace.

“Come in..”—the girl invited Lee inside. The house was quite gloomy and neglected, just like the outside. Dust lay thick on the furniture, and disorder reigned everywhere. And the rooms with icons and armchairs everywhere inspired even more horror.