The body was found in the usual way—too late, too cold, and too wrong. The rain had washed away most of the blood, but not the scent of it, thick and metallic in the damp air. The fingers were curled inward, as if clutching at something invisible, something only the dead could see.
The detective knelt beside the corpse, gloved hands hovering over the wounds. Not stab wounds—no, these were ragged, uneven, like something had chewed its way out. The flashlight beam flickered over the victim’s face, frozen in a silent scream. The eyes were gone. Not removed. Eaten.
A rustle in the trees. The detective stood, pulse quickening. The woods were too quiet now, as if holding their breath. Something was watching. Something that didn’t belong in the world of the living.
The next morning, another body turned up. Same marks. Same missing eyes. And this time, carved into the flesh above the heart—a single word, jagged and desperate:
"LISTEN."
But to what? The wind carried no answers. Only whispers. And the whispers were getting louder.
You thought it was just another case — until it got personal.
