Mystic Full Moon The Poisonous Curse

The city never truly slept, but on full moon nights, it felt different-like something old and wild moved underneath, a dark presence hiding nearby. Detective Evelyn Cross had learned to trust her instincts, and right now, they were screaming at her, a loud mix of warning bells rang in her mind.

She stood outside the police station, drinking a cup of coffee that had long been cold, the bitter taste a reminder of the urgency that gnawed at her insides. The streetlights buzzed overhead, casting long, distorted shadows on the pavement, as if the very ground was alive with secrets. Inside, the station was a lot of activity-phones ringing, officers moving back and forth, the air thick with tension-but none of it reached her. Not after what her boss had just told her.

Another body. Another night. Another brutal crime scene.

The killer struck only on full moons, leaving behind the victims so deformed that even the most seasoned officers had to turn away, their faces pale and drawn. Five bodies in six months, all torn apart like they had been mauled by a wild animal. No fingerprints. No murder weapon. No witnesses.

And now, the case was hers.

Evelyn exhaled sharply, steeling herself before walking back inside. The precinct smelled of stale coffee and sweat, the air thick with frustration and fear. She could feel it in her bones-the weight of the city's dread pressing down on her.

"Detective Cross!"

The voice cut through her thoughts like a knife. She turned to see Captain Harris standing by his office, his grizzled face set in a grim expression that sent a chill down her spine. He gestured for her to come in, and she obeyed, closing the door behind her with a sense of foreboding.

"Sir?" she asked her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Harris sighed, he rubbed the sides of his head, trying to ease his stress. "The mayor is breathing down my neck. The press is calling this a serial killer, the public is terrified, and we still have nothing." He leaned back, his gaze piercing. "I need results, Cross. You've got a sharp mind. Figure this out before another body drops."

Evelyn nodded, determination hardening her resolve. "I won't let this one slip, sir."

"You'd better not," Harris muttered, his voice low and dangerous. "Because the last time someone took this case, they ended up dead."

She stiffened, her heart racing. "What?"

Harris slid a file across the desk, the sound sharp and final. "Open it."

Evelyn hesitated, a sense of dread pooling in her stomach. She flipped the folder open, her breath catching in her throat. The crime scene photos were old and yellowed with age, but the wounds on the victims were identical to the ones in her case-gaping, jagged lacerations that spoke of unspeakable violence.

She scanned the report, her pulse hammering in her ears.

Lead investigator: Detective Michael Cross.

Her father.

The world tilted on its axis. "My dad worked this case?"

Harris nodded, his expression grave. "Thirty years ago. Same pattern, same full moons, same damn claw marks. He never solved it. And then, one night... he vanished."

Evelyn's grip tightened on the file, her knuckles white. She barely remembered the details of her father's disappearance. She had been just a child when he never came home. The official report said he was killed in the line of duty. But now? Now she wasn't so sure.

"Do you think these cases are connected?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harris met her gaze, his eyes dark with unspoken fears. "I don't believe in coincidences."

Neither did she.

An hour later, Evelyn stood at the newest crime scene; the alley was a scary and shocking sight. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and damp concrete, a sickening reminder of the violence that had unfolded here. The yellow crime scene tape flapped in the breeze, a warning that felt all too fragile as she stepped past the forensics team.

"Cross," her partner, Detective Cole Ramirez, called out, crouching near the body. "You're gonna want to see this."

Evelyn moved closer, her stomach churning as she looked at the victim. The man's chest was torn open, deep gashes running from his ribs down to his stomach, the flesh shredded as if by a beast. Blood soaked the pavement, pooling beneath him like a dark, ominous omen.

But it wasn't just the violence of the crime that unsettled her. It was the precision.

"This wasn't done with a knife," Evelyn muttered, her voice thick with disbelief.

Ramirez nodded grimly, his brow furrowed. "Looks like an animal attack. But we're in the middle of the city, and no one saw anything."

Evelyn frowned, her instincts flaring. "Check the cameras?"

"Already did. Nothing. It's like whatever did this just... disappeared."

A cold shiver ran down her spine, a primal fear that whispered of something lurking just beyond the edges of her understanding.

"Who is he?" she asked, forcing herself to focus.

"Daniel Greaves," Ramirez said, his voice low. "Investment banker. No criminal record. Just a regular guy in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Evelyn studied the body, then glanced at the walls of the alley. Deep claw marks gouged into the brick as if something had climbed or leaped away, leaving behind a trail of terror.