The Cheshire Murders Novels & Stories

"Grand theft auto, robbery, assault and battery, and first degree murder amongst other charges." August's jaw sank. "What the hell?" "He was picked up drunk behind the wheel of a car that wasn't his, with blood on his clothes and a handbag filled up with cash and jewelry. When the police investigated further, they found the car belonged to a Ms Linda Henderson, who was discovered dead in her home." Keisha explained. Marisol erupted immediately, a torrent of Spanish flying out of her that I was only half following, something about Peter being the son of the devil himself and a disgrace to the human race.

Why was there no evidence at all at the crime scene? “So, the killer made a copy of the key, snuck into the house, and killed three people without leaving a single trace? Plus, he accurately foresaw the time you would arrive and finish everything before you did. He made sure you wouldn’t bump into each other, either.” Jay’s tone held an almost imperceptible hint of mockery. “The data from the autopsy report doesn’t lie. Cynthia clearly died later than the other two, and you had more than enough time to commit the crime. How do you explain that?” Jay was not loud, but his words were like a hammer as they struck me.

Both their hearts skipped a beat. "I died?" Molly asked. "Yes." "Did that thing get me?" "Yes it did." "What is that thing?" Det. Brighton asked. "Why is it after Molly?" "It's called a chasen." "A chasen?" Molly repeated. "The creature that is after you and has taken your life mutliple times. It's called a chasen." "What is it?" "It is a vicious hunter killer that is after you and will stop at nothing to get you," Vera said.

We’re still under our Sire’s roof, so we don’t dare to speak of tonight’s plans, but Scintilla does wish me well on my current mission—the Knightsbridge murders. ‘Do you think it’s the work of hunters?’ she asks. ‘Actually, I’m starting to think it’s the work of a Desecrant.’ She blinks. ‘Really?’ She does a bad job of sounding surprised. ‘You know how the victims were all dismembered and burnt? Well, we realised last night that none of the victims had their hearts.’ I fake a shudder.

MALACHI By dawn, the grim reality of the night’s events began to surface. Reports of multiple murders trickled in, each more gruesome than the last. The police had already cordoned off the crime scenes, but the details leaked out: the killings were the work of a single, methodical individual. Each victim had been mutilated, their hearts surgically removed and their bodies mangled, with several key bones missing from the skeletal remains. The motive was a void, and the selection of homes seemed entirely random, scattered across the territory with no discernible pattern.

“Check this out. He documented three nearly identical murders in that same area. 1914, 1951, and 1968. All with the same pattern—slit throats, no signs of entry, houses locked tight. There’s just enough time between them that nobody made the connection—except Anthony. He noted that he was keeping an eye out for a fourth.” She turned the journal toward us. The entries were detailed and clear—maps, names, dates, and disturbing consistencies. “And now here we are,” William said, nodding slowly. “No way one person could’ve pulled off murders that far apart in age,” I noted. “Exactly,” Alexandra agreed. “Alright. I’m in. But we’re not hitting the road tonight, right?” Alexandra gave a small shrug

The group that was laughing suddenly went silent, and everyone turned around in shock. On the mountain trail not far away, a group of people appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Leading them was a middle-aged man in a tailored suit. It was Dad! Behind him followed over a dozen highly trained security personnel, and the pressure in the woods shifted instantly, turning heavy and dangerous. Suddenly, the thunderous roar of helicopter blades echoed across the sky. A medical evacuation helicopter marked with "The Tanner Group" hovered above the clearing.

“I had intended to stay in Silver Town for only a few days and report back to my mayor. But I made the decision to stay put longer when I witnessed you shot to death. You could need me. In the interim, perhaps you might persuade Darien to reconsider. In any case, you remain— Trevor stormed by them before giving Chester the evil eye and moving on. Chester arched his brows and followed the deputy outside the pub with his eyes. He gave Lelandi’s hand a squeeze. Bring me a beer, please. As an outsider talking to you, I have a sense I’ll be kicked out of here soon. And I’m sure any of the guys here who tried to talk to you would be thrown out. She believed Chester McKinley might be able to solve

You know more than I do of the extent of your powers. In the Whitechapel area in the city of London, several women have been murdered, and the perpetrator's modus operandi consists of cutting the throat, mutilations in the genital and abdominal areas, organ removal and disfigurement of the face of women who were dedicated to prostitution.This seems meticulously planned and the murders have been carried out with a level of viciousness and malice that is unprecedented. You know as well as I do, that the energies that govern the domain of natural forces, the origin of your abilities and those of maman unleash in your sex a strange need and attraction for the most impure carnal pleasures.

Seeing me with the file in my hand, he lied over the table, staring at me. What do we have here? Do you mind? Of course, that's what I came for. Long story short, the one I am after started with kidnapping and ended up with serial murders. Wow Johnatan, I see you're not kidding. Who's the suspect? A very dangerous woman named Sarah Johnson. The story begins fifteen years ago in the village of Bibury when Sarah killed the mother of my friend, who called on me for help, Mr. Miron Hauser. Miron Hauser? The Miron Hauser?