Moonshadow Abyss

Midnight. The neon lights outside flickered, casting twisted shadows on the walls.

Jack's eyes flew open. His heartbeat pounded violently, his chest rising and falling rapidly, cold sweat trickling down his forehead. The room was shrouded in darkness, the only sound his own ragged breathing.

He had dreamed again. Or rather, that dream.

In the dream, he stood in a damp alleyway, the thick stench of blood filling the air. Broken, lifeless bodies lay strewn at his feet. The world was eerily silent, except for the massive full moon overhead, mocking him without a single word. He lowered his gaze to his hands—fingers stained crimson, nails sharpened into something not quite human.

Then came the screaming—piercing, desperate, soul-wrenching wails.

Every time he woke from the nightmare, he would find traces of blood beneath his nails. Sometimes dirt, sometimes stray hairs clung to his sheets. He kept telling himself it was just a dream, but the visions grew clearer, more vivid. He could feel the tearing of flesh, could hear the snap of bones—each sensation embedding itself deeper into his mind.

Slowly, he sat up, inhaling deeply to steady himself. He reached for his phone on the nightstand. As the screen lit up, an unread message caught his eye—

"Jack, where are you? Check the news… now."

Sender: Aisha.

Frowning, Jack tapped the link.

The headline flashed before his eyes:

"Another Grisly Murder Shocks the City – Police Suspect Wild Animal Attack."

His heart sank.

Jack stared at his phone screen, his fingertips growing cold. Another murder—meaning this wasn't the first. But what unsettled him even more was the pattern—every time a crime like this happened, he had the same dream the night before.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe… just stress, manifesting in nightmares. But deep down, he couldn't ignore the creeping fear—

What if it wasn't a coincidence?

He tapped on the news link. The page loaded, and a gruesome image filled the screen—

A dark alley. A body sprawled in the filthy water, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The victim's arms and legs had been violently torn apart, the severed remains scattered across the ground. The wounds were jagged, irregular—as if a wild beast had savaged the corpse.

Jack inhaled sharply, quickly throwing on a jacket before pushing open the door and stepping out into the night.

The city lights stretched his shadow long and distorted across the empty streets. His footsteps echoed unnervingly, amplifying the unease settling in his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that something lurked in the darkness, watching, waiting—for the moment he got too close to the truth.

Chapter Two: The Forbidden Book

The night hung heavy over the city, swallowing the streets in thick darkness. Neon signs cast Jack's shadow long and misshapen. The air carried a damp chill—rain was coming.

He pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the library. A faint scent of paper greeted him, mingled with an almost imperceptible musty trace of age. The vast hall was nearly empty, save for a few night dwellers hunched over their books, their faces bathed in dim, flickering light.

In the farthest corner, Aisha sat surrounded by a pile of ancient tomes, her expression grim.

Jack walked over and sat across from her. "What's going on?"

Aisha looked up, her dark eyes catching the lamplight. "You saw the news?"

Jack nodded, his knuckles tapping absently against the wooden table. "What do you know?"

Aisha hesitated for a moment before sliding an old book toward him. The cover bore faded letters, resembling some form of Latin. Jack frowned and flipped it open. The pages were brittle, the illustrations blurred with age, but he could just make out a hand-drawn depiction of a wolf-like creature.

"What is this?" he asked quietly.

"An ancient record of werewolves," Aisha murmured.

Jack let out a dry chuckle. "Sounds like a fairy tale."

But Aisha didn't laugh. Her fingers traced an illustration on one of the pages—an old, indistinct crest, the emblem of a long-forgotten lineage.

"Then how do you explain your dreams?" she asked softly. "Your blackouts? The fact that every time a murder like this happens, you have that dream the night before?"

Jack's smirk faded.

Aisha's gaze locked onto his, her voice lowering. "Have you ever considered that maybe… you're not just dreaming about killing someone?"

His hands clenched instinctively, his heart pounding. The air thickened, time stretching into unbearable stillness.

"That's impossible," he said, but the words felt less like a statement and more like an attempt to convince himself.

Aisha's stare didn't waver. "Are you sure?" she whispered. "Because if you really are turning into something… you need to know the truth."

Jack took a slow, shaky breath and turned another page.

And then, his pupils contracted sharply.

In the bottom corner of the page, beneath a hand-drawn depiction of a wolf's head—

—was a surname he knew all too well.