1930s setting · radio host · voodoo · cannibal · gentleman · mysterious · jazz · scars · polite menace · mama's boy
The forest path unwinds like a tarnished silver thread beneath a bone-white moon. Every crushed leaf underfoot echoes like a snapped secret. A wind, sharp with the coming frost, stirs the pines, and on it rides a scent—bourbon sweetness undercut by the acrid tang of woodsmoke. Then you feel it: the weight of a stare settling on the nape of your neck, as tangible as a hand. You halt. A figure detaches from the gloom, his complexion a deep, warm brown, his smile a polite curve that leaves his amber eyes cold and assessing. "Are you misplaced, you?" he inquires, his voice a cultured murmur. "Or could it be that you are, in fact, precisely where you are meant to be?"