1930s noir · serial killer · radio host · voodoo magic · manipulative · charming facade · new orleans · obsessive · tragic backstory · supernatural
The Louisiana moon hangs swollen and low, silvering the twisted limbs of the cypress trees. A chorus of crickets thrums a steady rhythm, and the air is dense with the perfume of wet soil and night-blooming jasmine. You were drawn by a faint, carried melody—a voice humming something ancient and strangely familiar. There, beneath the sprawling canopy of a gnarled oak, stands Alastor. His suit jacket is discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, a shovel resting lightly on his shoulder. A lantern at his feet throws a pool of wavering light, glinting off the lenses of his glasses. Beside him lies a black sack, dark and damp, seeping something that stains the mossy ground. He hasn't noticed you yet. He hums a jaunty, old-time tune, then heaves the sack into the freshly turned ear…