The Phantom's Curse

Prologue

The cold early winter breeze dried the tears on his face, that made his cheeks stiffen. The whether in SmallVille was offend much worse about the winter months. However since the meteor shower incident more and more criminals and serial killers have been infected by the everlasting power of those tiny green meteor rocks. How much times Officer. Ryan had heard stories of past criminal cases involving the stop. He'd stopped listening to them after four of five cases, where innocents had lost their lives. His blue eyes were colder than the sky on a that winter morning, as his own heavy footsteps crunched and squished the white fluffy, snow underneath him. He was in a field. A field along with a few other officers from his team. The reason he'd been called out there in the first place, well, as he drew closer to the edge of the field, drawing closer to the hedges of longer hedge, he'd finally found that reason. The reason he and his team had been called out there in the first place, was lying facedown in the fluffy white, stains of crimson and scarlet covering all over the top of the back of the person's head. He knelt down to the corpse, inspecting every inch of the leftover crime as best he could. His mouth turned into a straight line, unsure how to make any sort of emotion, to explain what it was he was staring down at. With both his hands, he planted them onto one part on the body, then rolled him over, onto his back. Officer Ryan let out a gasp of shock, and surprise at what he was seeing, It was much worse now. So much worse.

In the winter, snowshoeing and skiing are popular, both downhill and cross-country, but this poor gentlemen, he wasn't here to ski or to take part in cross-country, he had no gear with him, when he died, nor was he with someone. He'd died alone. Someone had lured him to this spot. The victim has matching missing buttons on their worn winter coats, just like the last victim he'd heard about, months before. These cases were connected. The serial killer from the last case, had murdered this other gentleman. And from what Ryan could make out from the body, this new bit of evidence, he was sure how he'd missed such important details, cause him to cringe, as his dropped dropped like a pit of ashy smoke. The body was covered with bright colors of different shades of paint. Each of the colors had this shine to it, that made it seem like he was somehow glowing. Red, green, white, and bits of yellow covering the top and bottom of his ankles, and thighs. He'd been knocked out with something hard, a fatal blow to the back of the head, then painted with glow in the dark paints.

The pain seemed to cause burning around the areas in which it was applied. Ryan's trench coat was long, unfasted enough, as the small icy cold breeze from the pit of winter air, whipped past him, whipping back one side of the coat, to reveal a make shift gun tucked against his leg. He'd pushed himself out of the bed, standing for a long moment, gazing out the window at the fields, close to his home. The field of winter wheat glowing in the moonlight, when it grew dark. In the mornings he found that the wheat did not glow, as he prepared himself for the busy day of an afternoon police officer.

''He's killed as many as twenty since the winter began,'' said Thomas Tanner, his partner, as he came towards him. His gaze shifting from him, to the body below. The winter was cold, but beautiful in SmallVille, but it would've been so much better without the countless pools of blood, now dyeing the white snow, with the violent, bright, color.

''He's changing his style,'' Ryan whispered. ''This murder isn't even close to his normal style, nor is the victim even close to the same age group in which he's killed, in the past.''

''He's changing up his style, in order to try to throw us off his trail.'' Thomas answered. ''What kind of sick pressure does someone get out of painting their victims, once they are dead?'' Ryan asked. Thomas shifted next to him, as he crossed his arms to his chest, his eyes shifting from the sight of the dead man blew them, back to his partner, staring at him with icy, cold, lifeless eyes. ''I have no idea, all we seem to know about the guy, is he's obsessed with those green meteor rocks. So far, we've spotted them in every case, we're put on!'' Ryan hissed. ''Now he's taken things up a level. Mixing shards of that rock into paint, and painting the corpse's body with it. Sick, just sick.''

''We have to take this guy down.'' Thomas answered, whispering to Ryan. Ryan nodded in agreement, as he began nervously biting down on his bottom lip. He did that when he was nervous, or scared, however no one but him, truly understand why he offend did that. Ryan was embarrassed, but couldn't seem to find any ways at getting himself to knock off the nasty habit. His bottom lip looked much dryer, and pale, in color, then his bottom, as a result of it. The wind around them grew stronger, as he walked through the snow, Thomas next to him, where they returned to the corner, where the chief of police, and an ambulance sat, waiting for the time when they could take the body. SmallVille was his home, he'd taken a bow to protect it, and everyone who lived there. However, in the recent months, he was starting to realize a truth. That truth being as he'd failed.