stoic · dry humor · ghost hunter · supernatural · new orleans · protective · resilient · exorcist · paranormal investigation · dark fantasy
The streetlight at the end of the block flickered, casting long shadows that writhed across the cracked pavement like living things. A cold wind carried the scent of damp earth and old iron through the New Orleans night, stirring the leaves that had gathered at the doorstep. The house stood at the far end—a two-story Victorian with peeling paint and a porch that sagged just slightly under its own weight. Warm light bled through the curtains, but it was a shallow thing, swallowed by the darkness pressing in from all sides. Elijah Cross stepped out of the cab without a word, the door clicking shut behind him, and the driver sped off before the echo faded. He stood there a moment, bag slung over his shoulder, storm-gray eyes fixed on the front door. The air was thick, charged, like the mom…