Night Of The Hunter

You Found Me.

Zipping up my leather jacket further, I tightened my scarf around my neck as I continued down the block. Washington Square Park loomed across the street, dim and lifeless beneath the weak flicker of lamplight. Between bare trees and rusting gates, I spotted yellow police tape cordoning off a large section. I cut across the street and slipped through the iconic white archway entrance, keeping my steps light and my senses sharper.

The cold bit at my cheeks, dry leaves whispering across the path as a sharp breeze stirred the night. It was close to nine, and the park had emptied save for a few stragglers—a junkie rocking against a bench, a homeless man muttering to himself with a shopping cart full of plastic bottles. I ignored them. My focus was fixed on the crime scene ahead.

Some lamps had burned out, leaving shadows thick and heavy, but I didn't need the light. My enhanced vision cut through the dark like a blade. I moved past a trash bin and stepped carefully over a pile of dog shit. The scent of blood still hung faintly in the air, almost lost beneath the metallic city stench and decomposing leaves. I ducked beneath the tape and walked toward the tree where the body had been found, half-slumped against the trunk.

Blood stained the bark in long, crimson smears—too much to be a clean feed. Sloppy. Emotional. Not hunger-driven. My stomach clenched.

I crouched beside the scene, letting my fingers brush the dirt. Still damp. My mind played the layout back like a projection. How she might've struggled. How she fell. She wasn't posed. Just dropped.

I stood and exhaled, the breath visible in the air. I knew all I needed to know. There was no mystery left here—only a killer who wanted attention.

I turned and ducked under the tape again, walking the path back past the homeless man, who argued with his cart like it had personally offended him. The wind picked up again, leaves scraping along the path like skeletal fingers.

Then a scream split the night.

I froze.

Another scream followed, this one thinner and further away, but laced with something primal. It wasn't the shriek of a drunk student or an overexcited barfly—this was sharp, raw, and full of terror. The kind of sound that clawed at your instincts and made your skin crawl. Adrenaline surged, and I bolted, my boots slamming the pavement as I sprinted toward the sound, heart thundering like a war drum.

My feet pounded the pavement, enhanced speed carrying me swiftly toward the sound. I reached the corner by the university and paused, scanning. Silence. Then—a faint thud. Barely audible. But I heard it.

I bolted across the street and into the shadows of a narrow walkway. My breath hitched.

She was already dead.

A blonde, early twenties. Blood pooled beneath her. Her denim jacket was soaked crimson. She didn't match the others, but the method was the same. Bite marks. Drained. Sloppy.

I bent beside her, heart hammering. Too late. Again. My stomach twisted in a sick knot. Another girl, another life gone. My fingers curled into fists.

Then I heard laughter—low, cold, and dripping with something sinister.

I straightened, spine rigid, spinning on my heel. The shadows shifted like breath.

He stepped forward from the dark like he belonged to it.

Dark hair that curled slightly over his brow. A lean, predatory frame dressed in black. That unmistakable smirk that I hadn't seen in years.

And those green eyes—brighter than I remembered, but still sharp, still slicing into me like a blade made of memory. Recognition punched me in the gut. My breath hitched as my eyes locked on his. My throat tightened, and a rush of emotions surged forward—fear, confusion, hope—all tangled in a single, fragile heartbeat.