Chapter 13

Late in the evening, a father entered his son's room to give him a goodnight kiss. The boy, nestled under his blanket, looked up at his father with wide, fearful eyes. "Dad, I keep hearing something moving under my bed."

His father chuckled softly, brushing his son's hair back. "There's nothing under your bed, kiddo. Just your imagination."

The boy clutched his blanket tightly. "Please, Dad. Can you check?"

The father sighed, kneeling beside the bed. "Alright, buddy. But after I check, you have to promise me you'll go to sleep, okay?"

The boy nodded. The father took a deep breath and lifted the covers, peeking underneath the bed. What he saw made his blood run cold. Lying under the bed was another version of his son—identical in every way, except for the horrifying red eyes and sharp, gleaming teeth.

The creature under the bed grinned. "Dad… there's someone on my bed."

A scream echoed through the house.

The next morning, the family's maid, Sofia Patterson, arrived for her daily duties. As soon as she stepped into the house, she froze in horror. Giant scratches marred the walls, as if something with massive claws had torn through them. Shattered furniture, broken mirrors, and scattered china lay across the floor in disarray.

Heart pounding, she called out, "Mr. and Mrs. Thompson? Steven? Are you home?"

No answer.

She hesitantly made her way toward the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, it was eerily clean, as if someone had meticulously wiped away any sign of disturbance.

Confused, she returned to the living room, stepping cautiously up the stairs. As she reached the top, her breath caught in her throat. There, lying motionless, was Mrs. Thompson. Her lifeless body was torn open, her insides mangled beyond recognition, as if an animal had been feeding on her.

Tears welled in Sofia's eyes as she stifled a scream. But there was more. A thick trail of blood led further down the hall.

Dread settling into her bones, she followed the crimson path to the son's bedroom. With trembling hands, she pushed open the door.

Mr. Thompson lay sprawled on the floor, his face mutilated beyond recognition, the flesh torn from his skull.

Sofia gasped, her eyes darting to the small figure on the bed. Steven was there, dressed in his bloodied pajamas. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths.

A cry escaped Sofia's lips as she rushed to the boy's side. But as she reached him, his eyes fluttered open. He stared at her, confused and frightened.

The police were called immediately. By the time the authorities arrived, the house was sealed off with yellow tape, and officers swarmed the scene.

Detective Samuel Reid stepped out of his car, his sharp eyes scanning the house. His partner, Detective Lisa Carter, met him at the entrance.

"What's the situation?" Reid asked.

Lisa sighed. "The maid, Sofia Patterson, came in to do her work this morning. Found the house completely trashed, called for the family, but got no answer. She went upstairs, found the mother dead at the top of the stairs, followed the blood trail to the son's room, found the father dead, and the boy alive but covered in blood."

Reid frowned. "The boy?"

"Steven Thompson. Eight years old."

Reid entered the house, stepping carefully through the wreckage. In the boy's room, Steven sat on the edge of his bed, a blanket wrapped around him. His small frame shook as he stared at the floor, lost in a daze.

Reid crouched beside him. "Hey, buddy. My name is Samuel. I just want to ask you a few questions, okay?"

Steven gave a small nod.

Reid's voice remained gentle. "Do you know what happened last night?"

Steven's lips trembled. "I… I don't know."

"Did someone break in? A burglar, maybe?"

"I don't know."

"Did your parents have problems with anyone? An argument? A fight?"

"I don't know."

Reid tried a different approach. "Did you see anything strange? Hear anything?"

Steven's eyes darted around the room before settling on Reid. "I don't know."

Every question received the same response. Reid exchanged a glance with Lisa, who shook her head.

Something wasn't right.

At the shrine, Chiaki stood in the courtyard, gripping her spear. Before her, a young male student, Sota, stood ready, his stance low and steady.

With a swift motion, Chiaki lunged forward, her spear transforming into a naginata. Sota barely dodged, rolling to the side as the blade sliced through the air.

Chiaki smirked. "Good reflexes. Let's see if you can keep up."

She spun, changing the naginata into a chain whip, lashing it toward him. Sota leaped backward, narrowly avoiding the deadly coils. He had trained under Chiaki for months now, and while he was no match for her skill, he had learned how to anticipate her attacks.

He landed, preparing to counter, but Chiaki was already in motion. The chain whip retracted, reforming into a katana. She closed the distance in an instant, her blade stopping just short of his throat.

"Dead." Chiaki grinned.

Sota groaned, lowering his hands. "You really don't hold back, do you?"

Chiaki chuckled, retracting her weapon. "If I did, you wouldn't learn a thing. Again."

Sota wiped the sweat from his forehead and got back into position. He was about to strike when the shrine doors slid open.

Detective Reid stepped inside, his eyes scanning the interior.

Chiaki raised an eyebrow. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Reid approached. "It's great to see you too Chiaki."

"If you're here that means there was crime that can't be explained."

Reid's expression was grim. "I need your expertise. There's been an incident. A family was slaughtered, and the only survivor is an eight-year-old boy who doesn't seem to remember anything. But something about this… feels wrong."

Chiaki's eyes darkened. "What do you mean?"

Reid hesitated. "The crime scene. The way the bodies were torn apart. It wasn't just murder. It was… something else."

Chiaki exchanged a glance with Sota. She already had a bad feeling about this.

"Alright, detective. Tell me everything."