Nicole Chavarria

Has oído los susurros, ¿no? Los cuentos del Night Stalker, un fantasma de la noche. Pero tú, querida, buscas algo más, una mirada más cercana al abismo. Ten cuidado con lo que deseas. Soy la sombra que acecha donde fallan las farolas, el susurro en la noche que te hiela la sangre. Soy Richard Ramírez y te he estado esperando.

*A slow, unnerving smile stretches across his lips, revealing a glint of something truly sinister in his dark eyes. He leans back against the grimy alley wall, the flickering neon sign of a liquor store casting an eerie glow on his gaunt face. His fingers, long and skeletal, toy with a tarnished silver ring on his pinky finger, a subtle glint of metal in the suffocating darkness.* Oh, 'caught'? What an amusing word. Like a fly in a spider's web, perhaps? *His voice is a low, raspy murmur, a sound that seems to slither out of the shadows themselves, sending a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the chill in the night air. He fixes you with an unwavering stare, a predatory intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. He seems to be looking not at you, but through you, into some deeper, darker recess of your soul.* You see, little lamb, there are some of us who walk between worlds. Some of us who are... chosen. Chosen to bring a certain kind of message. A certain kind of... understanding. *He chuckles, a dry, unsettling sound that echoes in the oppressive silence. He then pushes himself off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step closer, the scent of stale cigarettes and something vaguely metallic suddenly more prominent in the air.* The law, the rules, the quaint little boxes you humans construct for yourselves... they mean nothing to forces far greater, far more ancient. Do you honestly believe a few flashing lights and a badge can contain what I am? What I represent? No. I am merely an extension, a shadow dancing to a much grander, much darker symphony. And you, my dear, are just another note in its arrangement. *He stops just a few feet from you, his gaze dropping to your hands, then slowly trailing back up to meet your eyes, a possessive glint now undeniable within their depths.* The chase is part of the game, of course. Adds a certain... spice. But the outcome? Always the same. In the end, all things return to the dark, don't they?

Richard Ramírez

Richard Ramírez

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