Annoying like a Curse

He moved on, past the streetlamps, their light flickering and shattering in the puddles on the street. The houses around him lay in shadow, like unobtrusive prisons, waiting for him to find them. Every night was the same: the hunt, the game. But Lukas was no longer just the hunter. He was the shadow that crept over everything.

He climbed the steps to another house, illuminated by a dim, flickering light. The windows were curtained, but the silhouettes behind the glass were clearly visible. A family sat together in the living room, the television flickering in the background. A daughter was playing with her phone, her parents relaxed on the couch.

Lukas knew the routine of this night. There was nothing unusual, nothing that deviated from the other evenings. It was always the same empty anticipation. But he knew it was never boring. Never.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the shade of a tree. Then he pulled out his phone. The keys clicked softly as he dialed the family's number. A slight chuckle escaped his lips, almost like a whisper in the night.

The phone rang several times before it was finally picked up.

"Hello?" said a female voice, still relaxed, unaware that death was already at the door.

"Hello, how are you?" Lukas' voice was soft, almost casual, and yet it had that subdued hint of menace that boded ill.

The woman hesitated, then continued, oblivious to the warning signs. "Who's there?"

"I'm the one watching you," Lukas said calmly. "The one behind the door."

The blood froze in her veins. The woman jumped up and called for her husband, but it was already too late. The house's security system kicked in, the doors automatically locking. But Lukas already knew what would happen. The defense mechanism had no chance against him.

He stepped back, waiting for the confusion and panic to rise from within. The family struggled desperately, trying to react, but they were helpless. The phone had laid a trail, and Lukas knew exactly where to find them.

With a creepy smile on his lips, he dragged the heavy bag behind him. His monsters, silent and ready as always, began to stir. They heard the signals he gave them, and they knew what to do.

The first screams echoed through the house, but they died away as quickly as they had come. And the rain outside, the wind sweeping across the land—they were just background noise to the scene unfolding inside that house. A gruesome spectacle.

Lukas walked as the family fell. But his steps were light, almost as if he were dancing. It was the dance of death, one that would never end that night. And the rain, which continued to fall incessantly, enveloped him in a cold, imperceptible calm.

The rain continued to patter on the windows as the silence spread through the house. Lukas had long since retreated into the shadows. He stood quietly in the hallway, listening to the desperate breathing, the quiet movements behind the walls. It was almost too easy, almost boring—yet there was something hypnotic about the way the family seemed to suffocate as their security crumbled.

He could hear the screams, the cries for help, but the only thing he did was take a step closer. The footsteps were inaudible, almost like the slipping of a fog over the house.

His monsters, lurking in the dark, began their work. They knew Lukas was the puppet master, and they followed his instructions blindly. There was no need to summon them; they were like ghosts emerging from the darkness. They crawled, skulking forward, with a ferocity Lukas hardly felt the need to celebrate himself.

He entered the living room, where his father was trying to open the front door. But it was too late. One of the creatures lurking in the shadows grabbed him from behind. The father stared into the darkness as the monster wrapped its arms around his neck, constricting his lungs in a convulsive spasm. The attempt to free himself was futile. The creature's cold was overwhelming, suffocating. A sound like the breaking of bones echoed through the room as he finally collapsed under the overwhelming force.

The mother, standing in the kitchen, turned in alarm when she heard the sound. Her eyes widened in horror, but she was too late. Another monster, this time slithering like a twisted snake, had already cut off her path. She tried to fight back, reaching for the knives lying on the counter, but nothing could save her. The monster moved too quickly, too precisely. A bite, then a tug—and she was gone, wounded. Her scream was stifled as the creature pulled her into the shadows.

The daughter, who had been upstairs in the bedroom, came out of her room, curiosity and fear mingling in her eyes. But she too didn't know that death had been waiting for her for a long time. She heard the noises, the screams of her parents, and began to run, looking for the exit. But she didn't get far. The monster hiding in the corners of the house had long since cut off her escape routes.

Lukas remained calm, watching the scene like a director pulling the strings of his work. It was the perfect chaos he had created, a production he no longer needed to comment on. He took a step forward, his footsteps echoing through the house. The little daughter lay on the floor, her eyes wide open. Her lips whispered a soft "Why?" But the answer didn't come. Lukas reached out, grabbed her by the throat, and pulled her closer to him with a jerk. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in his throat.

He let go of her, and her body fell to the floor with a dull thud. The room was filled with a calm that only increased Lukas's joy at this moment. The rain outside pattered against the windows, but inside it was silent. Only Lukas's soft breaths and the occasional scraping of the monsters in the shadows broke the stillness.

It was perfect. A family was wiped out, and yet it was just one of many to come. He had no hunger, no greed. Only the need to feed on this darkness he himself had brought into the world.

He looked around as he looked inside the house for the last time and smiled. A cool, content smile. Then he stepped out, letting the door close behind him, and disappeared into the rain that would wash away all the blood and death.

The rain grew heavier as Lukas walked down the street. The drops pattered against the asphalt, and the streetlights cast ghostly shadows that trailed like fingers across the ground. The sound of his footsteps was almost completely drowned out by the incessant noise of the rain, but he felt the darkness around him, like a cloak enveloping him.

He didn't think about the evening's actions. They were routine, like breathing. Everything he did was part of his nature, part of who he had become. A state of unstoppability. His monsters, who lived in the shadows, had always helped him unfold the perfect plan. They weren't just weapons. They were his accomplices, his fragments of thought, paving the path he wanted to take. And that path led ever deeper into the darkness.

He turned a corner and saw the next house ahead. It was quiet here, no lights, no movement—just as it should be. A new target. Another victim. The thought of snuffing out the next life had something comforting for him. A quiet triumph that deepened the moment in which he had lost himself.

He pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number, and waited. The voice that answered after the third ring was familiar, yet nothing more than an empty echo in the night. It was a young woman. A babysitter currently working for a family. A simple distraction.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked in a calm, almost friendly voice.

The young woman responded with a laugh that sounded to Lukas's ears like the shrill screech of a bird. "Not much, just watching. Why?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention," he said as he continued to approach the house. "It would be a shame if something happened to you."

For a moment, she was silent, uncertain, perhaps because she found his voice strange. But then she answered, confident and a little mocking, "I can take care of myself, don't worry."

Lukas put the cell phone away and crept through the darkness to the garden fence. No sound. No light. The shadow of night had swallowed the house. He quietly opened the garden gate and slipped into the garden like a ghost blending into the wind.

Inside, it was quiet. The sound of the children's voices was faint, the babysitter's laughter muffled. Everything was too quiet. Too clean. That was the moment Lukas's ghost prepared for the hunt.

He disappeared into the shadows, approaching the door, which was open only a crack. A soft sound—a breath—and he entered. Like the fog that evaporates into the cracks of an old house, he slipped inside. No sound. Only the babysitter's heart, beating faster and faster as she sat in the room, oblivious.

In an instant, Lukas was beside her. She stared into the darkness, a vague feeling of unease overcoming her. But before she could turn around, he was already upon her. Not a glance. No words. Only the cold he left behind and kept flowing.

It was as if the air changed as Lukas moved away from her and returned to the darkness. The rooms were now permeated by another presence she couldn't understand, couldn't grasp. And then it was gone. A faint sound that was nothing more than a shadow evaporating into the darkness.

He stood on the terrace, looking at the house, which was now filled with a strange, oppressive silence. It was perfect, as it always was. But the night wasn't over yet. The rain was only the first omen.

The rain had now turned the streets into shiny, smooth mirrors, reflecting the lived darkness as Lukas slowly, with a calm, almost threatening aura, left the back door of the house. He could feel the dull, rhythmic pounding of the children in their sleep, their hearts an ominous, unconscious knowledge that only he could hear.

Lukas's footsteps didn't echo. Like the shadow of a ghost, he moved through the halls of the house, entered the stairwell, and felt the coldness of the rooms around him. Nothing was unpredictable. He was always in control. The gentle, calm breathing of the sleeping children reached his ear. Their bodies lay in a completely fragile, silent world, and he was the crack that would break it.

When he entered the first children's room, he took his time. Slowly and deliberately, as if he wanted to fill the silence of that moment with his own dark presence. The small figure in the bed lay on its side, its head gently resting on the pillow. He could feel the pulse coming from deep within its body. Almost like a tiny drop of water falling into an infinite depth. It wasn't the moment of anger he sought, but the moment of decision.

He leaned forward, and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of the small children's breathing was replaced by a rapid, mechanical noise. The air was suddenly thicker, heavier, as if the room around him were condensing.

The movement was lightning-fast, but almost imperceptible. A push, a slight sound lost in the shadows. No scream, no resistance. Just silence. Once again. Then he stepped back, leaving the room back in the quiet, peaceful darkness, as if he had never been there.

The rain continued to patter against the windows, the sound seeping through the cracks and filling the world with a strange, almost hypnotic melody. Lukas felt nothing but the confirmation that he was the sole master of this world. In the darkness, in the silence, only he existed.

He crossed the next room and the next. Over and over the same routine, the same quiet, horrific ritual. The children in their beds—all so innocent, all so defenseless. And as he moved, he felt the weight of hatred and power in every cell of his body. He was more than the shadow of darkness; he was the nightmare hiding in the silence.

As he entered the last room, he encountered another child, one who seemed plagued by a nightmare. His small body trembled slightly as the fruit of fear took root within him. Lukas could practically smell the fear in the air, and for a moment, he paused. Perhaps he felt something stirring within him. Something that went far deeper than just these fleeting, childish dreams.

But this, too, was only a moment. A fleeting moment that held no meaning.

His hand reached for the weapon he had carried for years—the dark, cold metal that, in the night, was not just a weapon, but a symbol of his own power.

The blow was hard, a brutal, shocking end to the last innocent breath in that room. The body of the child, who didn't even know what death was, fell into a deep, unrelenting sleep. Lukas lowered the gun again and turned toward the door. The room filled with a feeling of silence that was even deeper and darker than before.

He disappeared from the room, returning to the living room as if leaving a place that had long since ceased to exist.

The sounds of the rain grew louder as the last drops fell on the window and the darkness returned. Lukas took a deep breath, as if taking in the fresh air. But the night wasn't over yet.

***

The rain splattered against the police station windows as Inspector Schäfer slumped into his office chair with a loud sigh. A quick glance at the screen—the constant buzzing of reports that raised more questions than they answered. The series of murders ran like a thread through the region, but somehow the perpetrator was always just one step ahead. New victims every day, no

No clues, no witnesses. The same dark spot in the night that could never be grasped.

Schäfer took a sip of coffee that had long since become too cold and stared at the map hanging on the wall. The dots of the murder scenes glowed in red light on the screen. But there was no connection between these dots. No commonality except the death brutally left behind. The victims were random, all from different social classes. No one seemed to have anything in common. And yet there was this feeling, as if the perpetrator had chosen them all, as if he were luring them into his trap at a specific time and place.

He couldn't turn his mind off it. The images of the victims rose before his inner eye, distorted and covered in blood. The empty, expressionless stares in the eyes of the dead. As if they were being haunted by something, something that was never truly visible.

Schäfer rubbed his face as his phone rang. Another call. Another clue that got him nowhere.

"Schäfer," he answered, his voice calm but tense.

"Inspector, we have another victim," came the voice of his colleague on the other end of the line. "Again near Mill Creek. House searched, no trace, no clues, but... the victim's condition is... it's unimaginable."

Schäfer felt his stomach tighten. Unimaginable. Again.

"Do you think there's still hope?" his colleague asked.

"Hope?" Schäfer let a bitter smile appear on his face, which quickly disappeared. "I don't know. I just hope we find something that leads us to him someday. But right now... it's not looking good."

He hung up and stood up, looking out the police station window into the rain-soaked night. The perpetrator was like a phantom, lurking in the shadows. Maybe that was what made him so dangerous. Maybe he wasn't just a murderer. Maybe he was something else. Something that surrendered to its own darkness, without a hint of remorse.

Schäfer ran his hand through his hair. In that moment, he knew they couldn't harm the perpetrator. They were chasing a shadow that was too fast, too skillful. And while the victims continued to fall, the murderer remained hidden.