When the Monster Comes

Paul stared at the painted letters with a mix of frustration and deep confusion. “I have to admit this is kinda freaky,” he muttered and clenched his fist.

Ian stayed quiet and watched the older detective. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. Paul did have the files, along with the factory. That is the only connection between the victims besides being criminals. He knew Paul dealt with dangerous people — there’s no telling how many he’s pissed off over the years.

The message on the ground read: The world is small and someone is always watching Officer Paul.

Ian brushed his foot over the letters and noted the paint was completely dry and left only a few faint specks of dust on the concrete floor. Paul rubbed his face with his right hand and sighed. “ Mark said he was kidnapped, but, strangely, she did not have any marks, no burns, tape, or bruises at all.”

“That son of a bit—” call went out before a loud clapping cut him off.

“Tsk, tsk tsk. Paul's always the hothead,” a voice said, the words echoing around them with an unnatural resonance.

“Easy to talk big, punk, when you’re hiding and sneaking around this place like a coward! Paul shouted. His head whipped around, a nd his face was flushed red. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at the ground. His index finger rested on the trigger.

An eerie laugh broke the silence — the noise made Ian’s knees buckle. His ears rang, and the sound of the metal shelves vibrated from the sheer pressure. That sound wasn’t normal, but a physical weight pressing down on the room. He shook his head to clear the ringing; a small drop of blood slid from his right ear onto his jacket.

What the fuck has been unleashed on the world… he thought, his heart pounding on his ribs.

“You never cease to amaze me,” the voice said, and the laughter suddenly stopped. “You pretend to want justice, but in reality, you are hiding behind that badge and using it to cover your wrongdoings.”

Ian stared at Paul’s back. “You’re talking about Paul, right? Because I don’t believe in abusing power for my gain.”

“You’re funny, Detective Ian,” the voice replied, amusement heavy in his tone. “No wonder master finds you so… interesting.”

Paul clenched his jaw. “You think this is fun and games? Come out and face me, you crowd!”

A loud snort was the reply.

Ian bit his lip. I wonder what he could be hiding; he seems oddly upset. Sweat pulled at Paul’s head despite the chill of the warehouse. Shaking his head to regain focus, Ian drew his gun and turned to cover the opposite direction.

“Listen, Rook, I know you are probably thinking about what this maniac said,” Paul whispered, desperation in his voice as they stood back to back.

“Honestly, now isn’t a good time for this,” Ian sighed.

“N, I think now is a good time to finish this discussion,” the voice said.

A picture floated down to Ian’s right and landed at his feet.

Paul looked at the photo and his face went pale. “Rook, listen. Whoever is doing this just wants to divide us. Right now we need to focus on getting out of here and finding an escape.”

Ian hesitated but decided to ignore it. Instead, he picked up the photo. The moment he saw the image, his face went blank with shock and disappointment. In the image, Paul was taking money from Jacob Ryder. The man who got arrested for domestic violence.

If the older man had been hiding police records, that would explain why Ian couldn’t find anything on these guys. His hand shook as he held the picture — his mind going through many emotions before settling on disgust.

Paul opened his mouth to speak, but a figure dashed between them and bumped into Ian. The sudden force knocked him to the floor, and the foot dropped out of his hand. He glanced up to see a man towering over him holding Paul up by the jaw with one massive hand.

The man was six foot six with long blond hair reaching the middle of his back. He wore a red and black cloak that reached his knees. Gray skin matched the short gray horns sticking out of the top of his head.

Ignoring Ian, the man leaned forward and dragged his long tongue across Paul’s cheek. The older detective recoiled in disgust and began to struggle against the strong grip. The horned creature turned his head toward him, and Ian saw his bright yellow eyes. People would consider the man very handsome if his evil smirk, which revealed a row of pointed teeth and a patch of skin missing from his right cheek, didn’t ruin his appearance.

Ian’s eyes widened. No way… that person h-he was the one in my nightmare. I-it couldn’t be right?

“I have no issues with you, Detective Ian,” the horned creature said, breaking his thoughts. “Feel free to leave… if you can find the exit that is.”

Ian’s breath caught in his throat, and his body shook violently. Sweat ran down his face, mixing with the dried blood as he stared into yellow eyes. The man’s presence felt suffocating — a powerful energy that made Ian’s instincts scream to scurry away.

The man stared back for a long moment before he turned and walked deeper into the warehouse with Paul’s body.

Ian let out his breath. He got to his feet, staggering slightly before catching himself. The man’s gaze terrified him, but even if Paul did wrong, he deserved due process. Not to be slaughtered like an animal in the factory.

He pushed down the fear and aimed his gun. Quickly, he pulled the trigger and emptied the full magazine into the back of the man’s head. The bullets sparked off the skull and pushed the man’s head forward. To his surprise, none of the bullets left a single scratch on his skin.