The flashback refused to release Matthew, dragging him back into that nightmare again and again.
He remained kneeling on the cold asphalt beside the truck, hands covered in thick, sticky blood. His fingers shook uncontrollably. His pupils trembled violently as the horror sank its teeth deeper into his soul. A soundless scream tore from his throat—mouth wide open, but no sound escaped at first, as if his voice had already died.
In the back of the truck, dozens of small bodies lay stacked like discarded cargo—fresh, still bleeding, the metallic stench of death so thick it coated his tongue.
Matthew collapsed forward onto the ground. He tried to stand, but his foot slipped in the spreading pool of blood, sending him crashing down again. Echoes of children's screams overlapped in his mind, growing louder and louder, even though the night around him was deathly silent.
---
His phone slipped from his blood-slick hands as he fumbled desperately to dial. After several failed attempts, he finally managed an anonymous call to the police.
"Th-there's… there's bodies… children—truck—Route 9—please…" His voice cracked and trembled like brittle glass.
He hung up immediately, terrified that the stranger might somehow trace the call. Then he ran—sprinting blindly through the darkness all the way back to his apartment, lungs burning, heart threatening to burst.
---
Matthew burst through the door, breathing hard, clothes stained crimson. His two daughters rushed toward him, eyes wide with worry.
"Daddy? Why are you crying?" one of them asked softly, reaching for him.
He pulled them both into a crushing hug, holding them far too tightly, as if letting go would make them vanish forever.
"We need to go now," he whispered frantically, already throwing clothes and essentials into bags with shaking hands. "Rachel, Yui—pack your things. Quickly."
He kept glancing at the front door, chest heaving, every shadow in the room making him flinch.
---
Suddenly, the lights in the apartment flickered.
A tall shadow appeared in the hallway.
The Stranger stepped calmly into the living room—silent, composed, and wearing that same faint, chilling smile.
"Good evening."
Matthew grabbed his daughters' hands tightly. "Please… please, we're leaving—just let us go—"
The Stranger tilted his head, almost polite. "You know it's rude to enter someone's house without knocking… please pardon me."
His expression shifted into one of feigned disappointment. "Matthew, Matthew… I believed in you. What a disappointment. There's a saying: disobedience has consequences."
---
Matthew didn't wait.
He turned and tried to run with the girls toward the back door.
But the Stranger moved faster than a blink.
Two clean, razor-sharp slicing motions cut through the air.
Silence fell.
Matthew stopped mid-step.
His daughters slipped from his hands and crumpled to the floor like broken dolls.
Warm blood splashed across his face and clothes, hot and final.
He collapsed over their small bodies, a broken, guttural scream tearing from his throat that seemed to shake the walls themselves.
The Stranger's low, amused laugh echoed softly in the room.
"You made me do this, Matthew. THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS!!!"
Matthew's cries dissolved into helpless, choking sobs.
The scene faded to black.
---
**Five Years Later**
Matthew stood alone in front of a public bulletin board covered in missing-person posters—children, adults, parents. Faces of the lost stared back at him, frozen in time.
He pinned up a photo of the same black card he had once received from the Stranger.
"He's still out there," he thought.
Behind him, in his hidden room, the walls were covered with files, maps, newspaper clippings, and red strings connecting every clue. He had been investigating relentlessly for years, linking the truck incident to the growing wave of disappearances across town.
"I have to find him and kill him with my own hands…" Matthew whispered into the dim light.
His eyes suddenly widened. On one of the newer posters, a faint but unmistakable symbol appeared—the same mark he had once seen on the Stranger's ring.
---
**Back to the Present**
In the dusty abandoned house, Kaiya and the group sat in heavy silence. No one dared speak at first. The horror of Matthew's story clung to them like smoke.
Matthew's voice finally broke through, low and fragile. "You asked if I've seen monsters…" He paused, eyes hollow and distant. "…Yes. I've seen them. Even worse."
He closed his eyes tightly, pressing his hands over his ears as phantom screams of his daughters echoed in his mind once more. The noise slowly faded, leaving only emptiness.
"When you get close to the truth… something always happens," he continued. "But I believe if we find him—the Stranger—we can end this."
Yui leaned forward, eyes sharp and unyielding. "…Did you see his face?"
Matthew nodded slowly. "Yes."
Kaiya's voice was steady, filled with quiet, burning resolve. "That's settled. We find him. We kill him and save everyone who was taken."
The group murmured in agreement, their voices overlapping in a low, determined chorus.
"Yeah."
To be continued…