One fateful day, a group of strangers arrived in Farmington. They wore vibrant cloaks with intricate patterns, silver bangles on their wrists, and necklaces with blue stone pendants. Their striking appearance set them apart. They moved with purpose, their eyes scanning the town as if searching for something or someone.
As chief was losing himself to the weight of the massacres. Each month brought a fresh horror, each scene more horrifying than the last. He emptied cigarette packs daily, seeking relief in the clouds of smoke. The stress hitting down on him continually, his mind consumed by the haunting image of Clark's stripped face and the dying word: "Demon."
Whenever he closed his eyes, the murders replayed in vivid detail. Blood-soaked walls, lifeless bodies, and the strange silence of death torture him in his dreams. Night after night, he awoke drenched in sweat, gasping for air.
The chief's once-calm demeanor was now a shattered mask, barely hiding the storm within. He smoked constantly, extending his office hours to late at night as he studied the reports of murders that offered no answers. The town's terror had become his obsession.
A week had passed since the unsettling events in Farmington. Luis was walking home after another long shift at the restaurant, his body heavy with exhaustion. The cool night air offered little comfort as he walked along the quiet streets.
"Man, I'm so tired. I just need to sleep," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.
The streets were silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant symphony of crickets. As Luis turned onto a dimly lit alley, a faint sound caught his attention: a low, muffled whimper.
He stopped in his tracks, his ears straining. The sound came again, weak and pitiful, like a cry for help.
Curiosity and concern pulled him back a few steps until he spotted the source. In the shadows of the alley, a dog lay on its side, its chest rising and falling unevenly.
Luis approached cautiously. "Hey… What happened to you?"
The dog didn't move, but as Luis got closer, he saw the extent of its injuries. Its fur was covered with blood, and deep scratches ran along its body. One of its legs lay at an awkward angle.
Luis crouched beside it, his face softening with concern. "Oh no… It looks like you've been in a fight," he said gently. "Probably some stray dogs got to you."
The dog opened its eyes briefly, its gaze dull and unfocused. Its tail gave the faintest twitch before it closed its eyes again, letting out a weak look.
"You're in bad shape, buddy." Luis hesitated, glancing around the alley. It was empty, and no other dogs were in sight. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't just leave you here."
Luis's eyes scanned the dim alley, searching for something to help him carry the injured dog. Nearby, a stack of discarded newspapers sat beneath a flickering streetlight. He grabbed several sheets, wrapping them carefully around the dog to avoid pressing on its wounds.
With a deep breath, Luis lifted the dog onto his shoulder. Its body felt heavier than it looked, the weight pressing into him as he adjusted his grip.
"Hang in there, buddy," he murmured, his voice soft but steady.
The house felt unusually warm as Luis stepped inside, the faint smell of antiseptic from his first-aid kit. He laid the dog gently on an old towel spread across the floor, its limp form barely stirring.
Luis pulled a clean cloth from the bathroom and wet it with warm water. Sitting beside the dog, he began to clean the blood from its tangled fur, being as gentle as possible.
"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" he said softly, his voice filling the silence. The dog's shallow breaths seemed to steady under his touch.
As Luis worked, the dog's eyes flickered open for a brief moment. Its gaze locked onto his, the faintest blink of awareness in its expression.
Luis paused, meeting its eyes. "Hey there," he said softly, offering a small smile.
The dog let out a faint whimper, then closed its eyes again, its body sinking deeper into the towel.
Luis leaned back, his hands resting on his knees as he studied the injured animal. Deep scratches on its side and the wound on its leg looked as though it had been torn by sharp teeth.
He frowned, running a hand through his hair. "What happened to you? How could they attack one of their own like this?" he muttered, shaking his head.
His thoughts wandered as he stared at the dog's fragile form. He couldn't shake the image of the alley—the shadows, the strange quiet, and the unnatural precision of the wounds.
Luis's thinking was interrupted by a soft moan from the dog. Its legs twitched slightly, and its body shuddered.
Luis reached out instinctively, placing a hand gently on its side. The warmth of his palm seemed to calm the dog, its movements slowing as it settled back into a restless sleep.
"Dreaming, huh?" Luis murmured. He kept his hand there, as though assuring the dog of its safety. "What kind of dream are you in?"
A young girl named Lola was playing with her pet hamsters, Fluffy and Max, an 8th birthday gift from her father just last week. She giggled as she held Fluffy gently in her hands. "Fluffy, I'll come home as soon as school's over, okay?" she said with a wide smile.
From the other room, her father's voice called out, "Lola, we're going to be late for school!"
"Coming, Papa!" Lola replied cheerfully, her excitement still brimming as she carefully placed her pets back in their cage.
That evening, as night fell, Lola sat in the drawing room, happily playing with Fluffy and Max. The little hamsters bustle about, their tiny paws tickling her fingers. Meanwhile, her parents relaxed in the living room, watching television together, their laughter occasionally echoing through the house.
While Lola was happily playing with Fluffy, she noticed something strange. From below, Max began acting oddly. His small body started trembling, and strange bumps appeared on his skin, growing larger with each passing second. Lola froze, her heart pounding as fear crept in.