Declan fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking slightly as he unlocked the back door of the newspaper office. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the cluttered desks and stacks of paper. He flipped on the light switch to his small, cramped office and tossed his bag onto the desk with a sigh. The adrenaline that had fueled his flight from the veterans hospital was wearing off, leaving him feeling drained and shaky.

He pulled out the memory card from his camera and slotted it into his computer. As the images began to load, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. The first few pictures were from the initial sites he had visited – the ones in the clearings and fields. They were grim, the golden light of his camera flash illuminating the carefully placed bodies, the strange orange symbols that had been spray-painted near them.

He skipped ahead to the photos from the veterans hospital. The empty hallways, the decaying wheelchair, the rusted gurneys in the mortuary. He lingered on the photo that had captured the creature. The creature was small and wiry, its pale skin stretched taut over its bones. He couldn't make out any distinct features in the grainy image – the flash hadn't fully illuminated the dark corner. But the malevolent gleam in its eyes, the snarl that twisted its lips – those were clear enough. And the entrails... he swallowed hard, the acrid taste of fear returning to his mouth.

Declan scrolled through the rest of the photos. Nothing else of note. He leaned back in his chair, trying to piece together what he had seen. What was that creature? Was it connected to the Kings Horn? The way it had just appeared, as if from thin air... it was unsettling. Then there was the woman at the gas station. The burn scars, the Othala rune on her necklace. Were these incidents connected?

He thought about the text message he had received. “We appreciate your willingness to work with the community on this matter..." Who were they? And how were they involved? This whole situation was becoming more complex and disturbing by the minute.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He pulled out his notebook and started jotting down notes, organizing the information he had gathered. He had to make sense of this, find the connections, the patterns. He had to expose the truth.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He was in over his head, he knew that. But he couldn't back down now. He had a responsibility to tell this story, to shed light on the darkness that was encroaching on his town, his community.

Even if it scared him to death.

Declan rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the images flashing across his computer screen. The symbols were small, almost unnoticeable at first glance. Just random streaks of orange paint, he had thought initially. But as he clicked through the photos, zooming in on the areas around the bodies, he realized there was a pattern. The same symbols appeared in multiple pictures, at different crime scenes. He had been so focused on documenting the victims, the brutality of the murders, that he hadn't paid much attention to the background details.

The symbols were crudely drawn, almost childlike in their simplicity. A circle with a dot in the center. A series of intersecting lines that formed a rough triangle. A shape that resembled a stylized eye. He had never seen anything like them before.

He took out his phone and did a quick image search. Nothing. He tried different keywords – “occult symbols,” “ritualistic markings,” “ancient runes.” Nothing came close. The symbols remained a mystery.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed, startling him. The caller ID flashed – James Maddison. Declan hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering over the answer button. Maddison had given him the initial tip about Wann. But what did he want now?

He took a deep breath and answered the call.

“Maddison.”

“Declan. Got something you might be interested in.” Maddison’s voice was low, urgent. “Can you meet me? I’m at the Watering hole.”

Declan glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. He had planned on staying at the office, trying to make sense of the symbols. But something in Maddison's voice told him this couldn't wait.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” He hung up the phone, a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. Whatever Maddison had found, it was big. And it was dangerous.