Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The writing on the wall sent a chill down Evelyn's spine. "Witch Killer. The human is still inside him." The message, scrawled in thick, dripping black letters, was fresh, barely dried in the midday sun. She stared at the haunting words, her breath catching in her throat.

She knew exactly who the message was meant for.

The town of Ravensfall had always been a place steeped in mystery and superstition. For generations, stories of witches and their hunters had been passed down, mostly whispered over firesides or muttered in the corner of pubs. But those stories had resurfaced with deadly force in recent months.

The Witch Killer had returned.

No one knew his true name, but everyone had heard the rumors. He was a man, once ordinary, now possessed by a curse that turned him into a relentless hunter of those gifted with magic. Some said he was driven by hatred; others believed he was trying to save himself. The one thing they agreed on was that the Witch Killer showed no mercy.

Women suspected of witchcraft vanished, their bodies later found burned in the woods surrounding the town.

Evelyn had been following the trail of the Witch Killer for weeks now. As a member of the Hidden Circle, a clandestine group of witches sworn to protect their kind, she had been tasked with ending his reign of terror. But there was more to her pursuit than duty. It was personal. Her sister, Fiona, had been the Witch Killer's last victim.

The thought of Fiona—her laughter, her warmth—pierced through Evelyn's resolve. She bit her lip to keep from crying and tore her eyes away from the writing on the wall. The town square was empty, the late afternoon light casting long shadows on the cobbled streets. There was no one to see her vulnerability, yet she felt exposed.

Evelyn knew that the Witch Killer wasn't some mindless beast. He was a man, a person with a soul still buried deep inside, somewhere. That's what the message meant. Someone, perhaps the witch herself, had tried to appeal to that lingering humanity, to reach the part of him that had once been kind, maybe even gentle. But how could a person who had done so much evil still have any humanity left?

Her thoughts spun as she continued walking, her hand unconsciously brushing against the small dagger hidden under her cloak. She'd come prepared to fight, but the writing on the wall forced her to reconsider. Maybe she didn't need to kill him. Maybe there was a way to save him.

As the wind picked up, stirring the dust and whispering through the streets, Evelyn turned down an alleyway. Her footsteps echoed softly, and she could sense his presence—close now. The air thickened with tension as she reached the end of the alley, her heart pounding.

A figure stepped out from the shadows. He looked ordinary, his face drawn with exhaustion, his eyes hollow. The Witch Killer.

Evelyn hesitated, her hand on the hilt of her dagger.

"Do you even remember who you were?" she asked softly.

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The Witch Killer's gaze met hers. There, in the depths of his haunted eyes, she saw it—the flicker of a human soul fighting to break free.

And in that moment, Evelyn knew she had a choice: to end his life or to save it.