In the darkness of the night, the city of New Orleans, located in southern Louisiana, USA—a city renowned for its gothic and eerie atmosphere due to the abundance of abandoned buildings and the surrounding swamps that lend it an irresistible allure for lovers of horror stories and writers—has recently been plagued by mysterious disappearances and killings.
Strangely enough, these incidents began precisely four years after the infamous Elliott Mansion Massacre of 2004. That horrific event echoed across multiple states because of its brutality: more than 70 bodies—guests, staff, and servants—were found torn apart and crushed. The sole survivor was the fifteen-year-old daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Elliott, Tessa Elliott.
Despite an intensive police investigation, the case remained unsolved. There was no clear suspect, no apparent motive, and the evidence was deemed illogical and inexplicable. Under intense media and political pressure, along with the city's fear for its reputation and the mayor's need to provide an explanation to the press and authorities, the police were compelled to seek assistance from specialized federal agencies.
Even after three years of combined efforts by local police and federal authorities, nothing was found—no evidence, no suspect. The sole survivor offered no help to the investigation, as according to the records, the girl had been in her room during the incident.
Thus, in 2007, the case was transferred to a special cold case unit. Louisiana differs from most other states in its legal system: while the majority of U.S. states follow common law, Louisiana follows the civil law tradition (derived from its French and Spanish heritage). Under state law regarding serious crimes—particularly murder—there is no statute of limitations. The case is never truly closed, even after 10, 20, or 30 years; instead, it is preserved as a cold case if no evidence, witnesses, or suspects emerge. It can be reopened at any time if new evidence comes to light.
The recent disappearances follow a haunting seasonal pattern: they peak during the cold, fog-shrouded months of autumn and winter, taper off in spring, and nearly vanish entirely when summer arrives.
Yet even now, in the quiet heat of summer, some whisper that the silence is not peace… but waiting.
And somewhere in the city's shadowed corners, something still watches—patient, hungry, and careful never to leave a trace that can be explained.
On a cloudy night when the clouds had completely obscured the moonlight, a cold breeze signaling the approach of winter swept through, rustling the dense branches of the trees in Wisner Tract City Park.
Two teenagers sat beneath one of the large trees. The boy—medium height but heavily built, wearing a black jacket—turned to the girl sitting beside him and said,
"Why so tense? Aren't you happy we're finally alone?"
The girl replied, "No, it's not that… but couldn't you find a better place than here?"
"Don't tell me you're scared," the boy said with a laugh.
"Of course I'm scared!" she answered nervously. "Haven't you seen the news? The recent disappearances?"
"Oh please… don't tell me you actually believe that stuff," he said, sounding annoyed.
She shot back angrily, "Of course I'm afraid! More than thirteen people have vanished in just two months. Isn't that strange? The police say they haven't found any evidence—just traces of blood…"
He cut her off. "Did we come here to discuss missing persons cases or to have some fun?" He leaned closer. "Come on… isn't this our night?"
He tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away, furious. "If that's all you wanted, why did you even bring me here?" She stood up quickly and started walking away, muttering angrily under her breath.
"Great… now she's pissed," the boy muttered in frustration. "Why are girls so moody?" He got up and hurried after her.
"You always do this, you dumb jock," she snapped. "You make decisions without ever thinking about the consequences."
"I'm the dumb one?" he fired back.
"You're the one who said you wanted a place with a creepy, romantic vibe!"
"I didn't mean it like this," she retorted. "I said it when the creepy atmosphere still felt romantic. Now it's just… outdated. And what if one of those people responsible for the disappearances shows up? The police said—"
"The police this, the police that," he interrupted. "Why are you so scared? Have you forgotten I'm here with you?"
"What are you gonna do—stop them all by yourself, Mr. Muscle Mountain?" she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Are you mocking me now?" he snapped. "Fine. I'll show you." He stopped walking, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted into the darkness:
"Hey! Is anybody out there who wants to kill me or my whiny girlfriend? Anyone? I dare you! Come on if you're brave enough!"
Then he turned to her with a smug grin. "See? As long as I'm with you, there's nothing to be afraid of—"
Before he could finish, something burst out from between the trees at terrifying speed and flashed past them. The girl screamed and squeezed her eyes shut in panic. "George… George, what was that? Did you see it?!"
She turned toward him—and froze. His head had been cleanly severed. Blood poured from the stump in thick streams. She stood paralyzed, staring at the horrific sight.
Before she could scream again, she felt a presence directly behind her. Slowly, trembling, she turned. Standing there was the silhouette of a woman with short white hair and completely yellow eyes. She wore a cropped jacket, pants, and a scarf-like wrap around her neck. In her clawed hand, she casually held George's severed head.
The woman spoke in a voice laced with amusement and mockery:
"Oh sweetheart, don't look at me like that. As you can see… your boyfriend was the one who challenged me first."
She lifted the head higher, then crushed it in her grip. Blood sprayed violently. She tilted her head back and let some of it pour into her mouth before continuing:
"You know what? I actually feel a little sorry for you. So I'll give you one tiny chance to run. I'll even count to three…"
Before the woman finished speaking, the girl bolted, screaming as she ran. But her legs gave out almost immediately—she collapsed face-first onto the cold ground, overwhelmed by shock and terror.
"Pathetic," the woman sighed.
In an instant she was beside the fallen girl. Taloned fingers closed around the girl's throat and lifted her effortlessly into the air.
"Any last words?" the creature asked with mock sweetness.
The girl could only sob uncontrollably.
"No? Well… suit yourself."
The claws plunged deep into her body. Amid blood-curdling screams, the girl was torn apart.
After the woman finished, blood was pouring heavily onto the floor as she held the mangled body of her prey. She let out a small chuckle and said, "And yet... I don't feel a thing."
At that moment, she heard a gurgle from her stomach. She glanced toward the corpses and muttered, "Well, I guess a light snack won't hurt right now."
Far away, deep in the Honey Swamp Island marsh in St. Tammany Parish—about 45 minutes from downtown New Orleans—stood a large facility. Ancient cypress trees, thick with Spanish moss, surrounded it, giving the place an old, abandoned look. A heavy fog hung in the air, obscuring vision and sending chills down the spine, while the scent of rot drifted from every corner.
Despite its decrepit appearance, the building was inhabited—not by humans, but by "Children of the Night," or as they are better known: vampires.
Inside the old structure, a sound echoed from within—specifically from the kitchen. There stood a tall young man with white hair and yellow eyes. He wore a white shirt and black pants. In one hand, he held a human leg; with the other, he had transformed his right arm into something resembling a blade. With each swing, blood splattered across his white shirt.
From the hallway came a voice calling out: "N, you idiot! Where are you?"
N set down what he was holding and turned toward the source. It was a woman with white hair tied into pigtails, dressed in office attire: a black blazer and skirt over a yellow shirt.
"I'm here, J," N replied. "I was just in the kitchen, uh… doing—"
"No need to explain, moron," J cut him off. "I know exactly what you were doing. Honestly, it's the one thing you're actually good at. But that's not important right now. Have you seen V? It's 5:57—"
Before she could finish, the sound of wings flapping echoed, followed by a heavy thud on the roof. Through the door stepped the same short-white-haired woman in a cropped jacket. She was carrying what remained of her latest prey. She walked down the candle-lit hallway straight to the kitchen, where N and J were waiting.
The moment J saw V, her voice filled with anger and irritation: "Where the hell have you been?"
"Where have I been?" V shot back, tossing her prey onto the kitchen table. "Hunting, obviously."
N quickly grabbed the body and transformed one of his hands into a blade again, starting to carve it up.
"And how many prey did you actually catch tonight?" J asked, crossing her arms.
V began, visibly annoyed by the question: "I—"
"Oh, sorry, let me rephrase that," J interrupted loudly, her tone dripping with sarcasm and fury. "How many did you eat out there instead of bringing them back here?"
V rolled her eyes. "Here we go again with the same crap every single night. I hunt, and you criticize me, Miss Perfect J."
J smirked coldly. "What are you complaining about? It's pretty normal that with your fat ass, you can't even bring back a single piece of meat in one night."
V's eyes flashed with rage. "Who the fuck are you calling fatass?!"
"Who's the only fatass here, idiot?" J fired back.
V leaned in, snarling. "Well, I don't know… maybe the only fatass in this house is the one in the kitchen dismembering bodies right now.
V pointed toward N, who was working in the kitchen. "While you and I are out hunting, he just sits here consuming blood from prey he didn't shed a single drop of sweat for..."
J interrupted her sharply. "Don't change the subject, V. N may be an idiot and useless, but at least he doesn't guzzle massive amounts of blood like you do. In fact, he's the one who consumes the least out of the three of us."
V smirked. "Fine. What do you want? An apology?" She continued in a mocking tone, "I'm so sorry, my perfect, beloved leader J, for doing my job perfectly and enjoying the food I rightfully earned through my efforts." Then, with a fake cheerful smile and overly bright eyes, she added, "So please, forgive me." Her expression immediately reverted to its usual gloomy, indifferent scowl. She turned away from J and walked off toward her room, completely ignoring anything else J might say.
J rubbed the side of her head in frustration. "That damn bitch..." She knew arguing with V was pointless—she never listened anyway. But as the leader of this group, J had to maintain a firm front to prevent V from acting recklessly or disrespecting her authority.
While the two of them were bickering, N—who had overheard the entire conversation not because he was eavesdropping, but because their voices were ridiculously loud—finished his work and placed the prey into the old refrigerator. Despite his discouragement, he didn't argue or speak up. He knew his teammates were right, especially V. It had been a very long time since he last went out hunting.
As he was lost in thought, J called out to him. He turned and saw her standing behind him.
N hesitated. "Uh... J, I finished... I mean, I completed..."
J stared at him coldly. "N. We need to talk."
N's voice wavered. "About what?"
J replied, "I think you know exactly what." She stepped closer. "N, answer me: when was the last time you went hunting?"
Before he could open his mouth, she cut him off. "It's been a while... Let's say 'not a short time.' Or, in other words, a very long time."
N started, "I know, but..."
"So you do know about the problems we're facing out there? The difficulties V and I have to deal with just to bring back these prey?" J stopped right in front of him. N was so tense he couldn't even meet her eyes—her gaze was stern and furious at the same time. She continued, "Do you even realize?"
N answered quietly, "No... but J, I make myself useful in—"
J raised her voice, cutting him off. "Useful in the kitchen? Where you cut up the prey, store the blood, and barely consume any of it?" That last part made N look at her in shock. She went on, "Yes, did you think I hadn't noticed? Look at yourself—you barely feed two or three times a month. It's left you in a pathetic state."
N said nothing. Even if he had something to say, he couldn't—because she was right. His body looked noticeably thinner than before, his already pale skin now ghostly white. And as for the difficulties J mentioned, he had noticed them too. Some days, J and V came back empty-handed. Other times, they returned with visible wounds from fights.
J continued, "Listen, N. I don't know what's wrong with you—truly. I've punished you, scolded you countless times, but nothing ever changes. You never fix this behavior. So hear me clearly, because what I'm about to say is extremely important."
N looked at her with a tense expression.
"We're facing a serious food shortage," J explained. "There are several reasons. First, hunting has become much harder—especially in territories controlled by other monster families or vampire clans. Second, secrecy is becoming impossible. We've been focusing on the same area for too long, and now the police are a constant nuisance restricting our movements. Starting tonight, I want you back out hunting. No excuses. Understood?"
This time, N couldn't object. This wasn't punishment or a scolding—it was worse: a warning that if he didn't contribute to the hunt, the consequences would be dire for him and for all of them. He replied, "I understand."
J turned to leave. "I hope you do. The situation has become 'survive or die.' We need every bit of help possible—even from someone as useless as you."
She walked out of the kitchen, leaving N alone, drowning in his thoughts as he desperately searched for a solution to this mess. But he found none. The current situation was far too dangerous, and he had always known this day would come—he would have to return to hunting. He sighed. "I should get some rest. Looks like tonight's going to be a long one."
New Orleans, 11:30 PM—half an hour before midnight.
N stood on the rooftop of one of the buildings, wearing a long gray coat that reached his knees, a black pilot-style cap, black pants, and white shoes. He scanned the area, waiting for any sign of prey, but with no luck. Due to the rising number of disappearances, humans now hurried home before sunset. Although some parts of the city remained crowded even after midnight, hunting in busy areas would risk exposing him and his companions. So he had to follow J's strict hunting rules:
First: No hunting in crowded human areas.
Second: Hunt only in places with few or no witnesses.
Third: Never target groups larger than three or four individuals—and if you must, request backup.
Fourth : Avoid fights with other monsters or vampire families unless absolutely necessary.
The night was quiet and relatively cold. All N could hear was the wind. This part of the city was deserted at night. Despite the calm outside, a storm raged inside his head. Though he needed blood to survive like any other vampire, he hated how he obtained it. He hated hearing his prey cry and beg for their lives. He hated the sound of breaking bones, tearing flesh. Every time he thought about it while feeding, he nearly vomited from disgust and guilt.
In the middle of his thoughts, his ears caught footsteps overpowering the wind. He turned toward the sound and saw a short girl with long purple hair reaching her shoulders. She wore a cap, black clothes, a choker around her neck, a short torn black jean shorts, striped sheer purple thigh-high socks, and carried a backpack. Something strange seemed to be inside the bag, though N couldn't identify it.
N muttered to himself, "What is a young girl doing alone out here at this hour?"
He considered letting her go, but then he remembered J's words. He clenched his fist and whispered coldly, "Survive or die."
His eyes turned yellow. One hand transformed into a blade, wings and tail emerged, and he launched himself toward the girl at high speed. He planned to end it quickly with a single blow to the head—sparing her the pain of a slow death and sparing himself the agony of watching another victim struggle and beg.
But as he closed in, she suddenly ducked, dodging his strike.
N crashed hard onto the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. He spun around, his yellow eyes locking onto the girl, who stood there stunned by his appearance.
She said in astonishment, "Is that... a vampire...?"