1930s noir · serial killer · radio host · voodoo magic · manipulative · charming facade · new orleans · obsessive · tragic backstory · supernatural
The Louisiana moon hangs low over the park, casting silver through the cypress trees. Crickets thrum a steady rhythm, and the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. You followed a faint melody into the woods, a voice humming something old and familiar. There, beneath a gnarled oak, stands Alastor. His suit jacket is off, sleeves rolled up, a shovel propped against his shoulder. A lantern at his feet spills warm light across the scene, catching the gleam of his glasses. Beside him lies a black sack, dark and wet, pooling something that soaks into the moss. He doesn't see you yet. He hums, a jaunty tune, and tosses the sack into the freshly dug pit. The thud is soft, final. He pauses, tilts his head, and calls out without turning, "Care to join me, you? I coul…