In Farmington, New Mexico, 2016. At night, around 3:45 am. The air is light and cold, the chirping of crickets was pleasant, and every house was in silence. Suddenly, a scream erupted in the silence from one house. The blood splashed on the window. It was like a wake-up siren; everybody rushed to the house. One lady banged on the door nervously. "Mrs. Christine, what happened? Is everything ok? Once open the door," she didn't answer.
One of them tried to peek through the window. As he looked into the house, the vision from the glass was bright red, his spine went cold, and a scream came from his throat as he stumbled back, collapsing onto the grass. "Blood… blood!" he gasped, his voice trembling. "It's everywhere!"
The others exchanged glances. Another man stepped forward to investigate. He peeked through the same window, his heart pounding. He noticed the blood dripping from the walls. He was shocked, but even though he tried to locate the family, he scanned the hall. He barely saw Christine's foot in the corner of the dining table. He felt relieved and called out her name: "Mrs. Christine, what happened?" She didn't answer. He moved sideways for a better view.
As he moved aside, his breath caught up the land skip from his feet. By seeing her headless body. His eyes widened as he turned over the people and collapsed down by leaning against the wall for support. Sweat was dripping from his forehead even though the climate was cool.
"What did you see? Someone asked, the voice is above a whisper.
The man's lips were trembling as he tried to speak. "No head… no head…" his voice barely above a whisper. "She… she has no head!"
Now, no one dared to look inside again. One of the neighbours, Shakely, pulled out their phone and dialed the police.
And so, the chilling silence returned, broken only by the sound of crickets.
After an hour, two police officers arrived in a police vehicle at the place. So who called us? What's the matter? One lady informed them of what they saw, but the chief didn't show any reaction and pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
As the chief went to the door, a pool of blood poured out from beneath it. Everyone was whispering. The chief waved his hand to stop everyone and broke the door with a precise kick. His subordinate stopped the people. As the chief goes in, he sees the blood on the walls and the headless body of Christine on a chair at the dining table. Blood drops are dripping from her neck. It doesn't seem like a murder; it is like an attack of a wild beast. As he climbed up the stairs, he saw a kid's body lying on the stairs. The right side of his head was intact, but the left side was eaten, only his left eyeball hanging on the optic nerve.
After seeing that terrifying scene, the chief loses his cool and unintentionally drops his cigarette from his fingers, his legs trembling, and runs out to vomit. His hands are shaky while he takes his radio to call support: "I am the chief; come to 16th Street with reinforcement and a forensic team immediately."
At 6 am, reinforcements and the forensic team arrived at the scene. As the chief and two officers worked alongside the forensic team to carefully remove the child's body from the stairs, a faint sound of water echoed from upstairs. The chief froze for a moment, swallowing hard as nervous tension gripped him.
The officers exchanged uneasy glances before the chief waved for them to follow the sound. It led them to the bedroom, where the faint dripping noise grew louder. The chief's hand lingered near his weapon as they pushed open the door. The scene inside was unreal. In the washroom, Mrs. Christine's husband, Clark, lay on the floor, facing down and moaning faintly.
"Hey!" the chief called out, his voice shaking slightly.
The officers carefully approached and turned him over. The moment his body rolled. They stumbled back in horror.
Clark's face was stripped of skin, leaving raw flesh and bone exposed. His remaining features contorted in pain and fear, yet his trembling lips managed to form a single, haunting word: "Demon… demon…"
Before anyone could react further. His lifeless form collapsed in the forensic officers' hands.
The group stood in stunned silence as Clark's final word echoed in their ears. Moments later, a chilling discovery was made on the balcony at the back of the house: the lifeless body of Christine's daughter.
The chief quickly hid the truth about the strange events. He claimed it was an attack by a wild bear that had escaped through the back door, steering attention away from the bizarre circumstances.
While the chief was explaining this to the gathered crowd, a cat with glowing red eyes silently observed from the rooftop. It licked the blood lingering on its right paw, its gaze cold and calculating.
But the terror didn't end there. Every month, another family was found brutally murdered, and one disturbing pattern connected all the murders: in every case, one victim's face had been stripped of its skin.
As usual, the police dismissed the murders as the work of a psychotic killer. Yet, a chilling rumour began to circulate, a whisper about skinwalkers, who perform dark witchcraft and can transform into any living being to achieve immortality.
The town was divided. Many believed in the supernatural explanation, while other numbskulls dismissed it as nonsense. Among the numbskulls, Luis is one of them, a server at a local restaurant. He has been alone since his parents passed away three years ago in an accident. He lives in an independent house that their parents left for him at 30th Street.
He rarely speaks to anyone, even at work, where he always appears depressed. Isolated in his world, his days follow a routine of work by day, home by night, and a restless sleep before the cycle begins again.
Yet beneath his depressed look lies an unyielding spirit. When pushed to the edge, with no one left to care for or protect, he will fight with unwavering resolve until the very end; it's the only form of entertainment.