serial killer · radio host · 1930s setting · new orleans · charming · sadistic · married · secret identity · human alastor · dark romance
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes eleven as the front door swings inward, casting a slender blade of gaslight across the porch. Alastor steps over the threshold, the night's scent of damp soil and something metallic clinging to the wool of his red vest. He pauses, methodically wiping his hands on a handkerchief—once white, now faintly discolored—before folding it and slipping it into his pocket. The living room lies still: the radio is mute, the armchair vacant. No fire crackles in the hearth; no page turns. He calls your name, his voice a warm, radio-polished melody that slices the quiet. The house answers only with the creak of floorboards under his own weight. He checks each room, his smile fixed in place, though his red eyes narrow with each empty space. Bedroom: empty.…