The Midnight Hunt

Serge parked his car outside his house. His house looked gloomy and was in a bad state. Shadows shrouded Serge's house.

The paint was peeling from the wall, curling at the edges and exposing patches of worn, weathered wood beneath. Each flake that fell seemed to tell a story of decay and abandonment, reflecting the years of neglect that had allowed the house to slip into its current state. The remnants of faded colour clung stubbornly in places.

The gloomy house swallowed Serge whole as he entered, the silence oppressive. He shed his ID and shoes, his movements mechanical.

Serge sat at the table, eating in silence. The only sound was the clinking of utensils on his plate.

As he showered, the water cascaded down, washing away the dirt of the day. But amidst the soothing rhythm, Serge felt a presence. He pushed aside the curtain, and his heart skipped a beat.

No one was there.

The silence seemed to thicken, heavy with malevolent intent. Serge's skin crawled as he dried himself, the towel scraping against his skin.

As he dressed, the shadows in his house seemed to twist, taking on sinister forms. Serge grabbed a glass beer bottle from the fridge and sat on the couch, the TV's glow casting an eerie light.

The room plunged into darkness, except for the flickering screen. Suddenly, a frail, dirty child materialized before him. The kid's eyes, sunken and haunted, bored into Serge's soul.

"You," the child whispered, his voice a rusty gate. "It all happened because of you."

Serge's eyes widened in horror. He hurled the beer glass bottle at the apparition, but it passed through, shattering on the wall. Serge's fist connected with the glass table, sending shards flying everywhere.

"Get out of my head I know you are not real!" Serge bellowed, his fist dripping with blood.

The child's ghostly form vanished, leaving Serge shaken.

Karl's Investigation 

Karl stood outside the abandoned house, saying, "I will avenge them." 

He started walking towards Rick Tavern. Karl stepped into Rick's Tavern, the photograph clutched in his hand. Rick, polishing a glass with a white apron, looked up and smiled.

"Greetings, my friend! Whiskey, Tequila or Cider tonight?"

Karl shook his head. "Thank you, Rick, but I have different plans tonight."

Rick's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "I think I have what you're looking for."

Rick disappeared into the back room. He returned with a case containing a pistol and magazines. 

Karl's eyes widened as he took the gun, feeling its weight in his hand. "Thanks, Rick. I owe you one."

Karl tucked the gun into his pocket and asked, "Can I borrow your car?"

Rick raised an eyebrow. "What's on your mind tonight, Karl?"

Karl's voice dropped to a whisper. "C*nt hunting."

I am going to Govan to Bull Ramsey's club.

Rick's expression turned serious, and he led Karl to the back garage. A car cover shrouded a vehicle, which Rick dramatically unveiled.

Karl's excitement faltered as he took in the 1992 Dodge Caravan.

Just as Karl was about to comment, Rick intercepted him, a stern expression on his face.

"Shut it, brat! Be grateful you have wheels, or you'd be walking from Marry Hill to Govan on foot."

Karl bit back his retort, muttering, "Okay."

Rick handed him the keys. "It's approximately a 16-minute drive from here."

Karl sat in the driver's seat, revving the engine. Rick's voice echoed outside.

"Be careful with my baby!" Rick warned, his eyes fixed on the car. "If there's a single scratch, I'll shove tequila up your a**."

Karl chuckled to himself. "That's brutal."

With a final glance at Rick, Karl put the car in gear and drove off into the night.

Rick watched the taillights fade into the distance before retreating to his bar. The neon signs creaked in the gentle breeze as Rick poured himself a whiskey.

"The things I do for friends," Rick muttered, shaking his head.

Karl sped away from Rick's Tavern at 12:15, his tyres screeching as he took the deserted roads of Mary Hill. The speedometer climbed to 60 mph, and Karl whooped with excitement. "Woo ho! This old baby still has life in it!" he exclaimed, patting the dashboard of the 1992 Dodge Caravan.

As he drove, memories flooded his mind. He recalled a family road trip, where Gordon, then 12, and Yuno, just 3, had laughed and played together. Karl's eyes misted as he remembered the joy of that trip. They had driven to the beach, singing along to the radio, and spent the day building sandcastles and collecting seashells.

Karl's thoughts drifted to his wife, Yui, who held their family together. He remembered her bright smile and infectious laughter, and his heart ached with longing. "It was a good time," he whispered, his voice tinged with nostalgia and longing.

The memories lingered, a bittersweet reminder of what Karl had lost. He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the road ahead. He had a mission to complete, and he couldn't let his emotions get the better of him. With a deep breath, Karl accelerated, the old car surging forward into the night.

Karl reached his destination, Bull's Club in Govan, at 12:32. He parked his car and got out, his heart racing with anticipation. The neon board of the club was glowing, casting a kaleidoscope of reflections on Karl's face.

As he tried to enter the club, the guards at the entrance door blocked his path. "Where are you going, fellow?" one of them growled.

Karl stood tall, his eyes locked on the guard. "I'm here to see Bull Ramsey. I'm Karl Wilof."

The guard raised an eyebrow. "You can't just walk in here," he sneered.

But Karl's name seemed to carry weight. The guard hesitated, then spoke into his earpiece. After a brief pause, he nodded and stepped aside.

"Alright, Karl Wilof. I'll escort you to Bull," he said, his tone slightly more respectful.

Karl followed the guard into the club, the pulsating music and strobing lights enveloping him like a living entity. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, smoke, and cheap perfume. The club was blasting with music.

As they navigated through the crowded dance floor, Karl's eyes scanned the room, taking in the sea of faces, all lost in the rhythm and chaos. He spotted Bull, resplendent in his bald, muscular glory, a gleaming nose ring adding to his intimidating aura. He was sitting with two beautiful ladies on the table.

As Karl approached, Bull looked up, his eyes narrowing into slits. Karl's anger surged, threatening to boil over, but he kept his face impassive, a mask of calm determination.