Strange things have been happening all over the globe lately. It is indisputable. The past year, it was as if hell opened its doors to drown this world in chaos.

Detective Willson paced back and forth in his office, thinking, contemplating, scratching his head over how any of this could be real. Dark moons were under his eyes, proof of the many sleepless nights he spent trying to solve the mysterious cases. Sweat dripped down his forehead as his thoughts lingered on the angels that crazy man was speaking of. Ever since that day, he was too terrified of closing his eyes even for a second. How could he sleep knowing one of these creatures might appear in his sleep? It was better to think it was insanity. Oh, how he wished it was all just a nightmare.

And there was this last case. A missing girl. Gone one night without a trace. Vanished from the face of the earth overnight. No one had an idea of where she went or who took her, not until now.

The detective hunched over the files, taking a sip from his third coffee for the day. Bitter. Just enough to remind him he had no time for messing around. There were a total of four pictures laid in front of him, some blurry, others taken from afar where the face was almost indistinguishable, but all no doubt belonged to one girl – Emily. If it wasn’t for her short, straight, golden hair, the distinctive gloom in her eyes, her straight posture, her purple dress that she wore in all the photos, there was one more feature that all tied to a single person – the stitches over her mouth.

The last picture was taken forty-six hours ago near a gas station. It took his team a little more than a day to find which one. They took the manager in for questioning.

“I’ve only caught a glimpse of her”, he said. “She was surrounded by people, all dressed the same. If I had to guess, they are some sort of cult, and that little girl seems to be their prophet.”

A “prophet”? The word lingered in the detective’s mind like an echo. He took another sip from his coffee, emptying the mug before he went off. It took many nights of additional research, many arguments with his family, many dead ends that he had to face, but he was determined. At long last, he found a lead. It led him to an abandoned building on the outskirts of town. He trodded carefully, exhaustion taking over him, barely keeping his eyes open. He was still able to use his gun, however, and to him, that was all that mattered.

Every step towards the entry was taken with precaution. His hands were sweating, his vision got blurry when he hurried his step, but there was no going back now. Something was pulling him, some force he couldn’t explain to himself.

Night came unexpectedly. He stood outside, masked in darkness, waiting for someone to come out, so he could make his way in. His heart ached in anticipation. Dreadful thoughts swirled around in his head like a curse. What if it was another dead end? How could he justify his obsession with this case when he spoke to his wife if he missed their anniversary for nothing? It wasn’t the first time he got blamed for losing himself in his work.

There were two hooded men who came out of the front door. They spoke in a different tongue to each other until one of them turned towards the detective’s direction.

“Someone’s watching us,” the man said, looking around. His arm twitched as he set his eyes on Detective Willson’s distant silhouette. “There.” He began walking slowly, gradually increasing his pace like a predator catching the smell of his prey.

The detective didn’t waver. He pulled out his gun and shot at the man, piercing his leg, which produced an agonizing scream, signaling to the others that there was an intruder.

The following minutes were a haze in the detective’s vision. People merged into unrecognizable figures as he stumbled down the grey corridors. He heard them shouting, their voices slurred and echoing through his head. His thoughts turned into a slowed, continuous static. He collapsed, though briefly, before one of the cult’s women helped him get back on his feet.

“You shouldn’t have come here, stranger,’’ she warned him. “Leave before it’s too late.”

“Where is the girl?” He questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. Her small act of kindness wasn’t enough to let him forget his mission. “You’re keeping her a prisoner.”

“It’s not because we want to,” the woman shook her head with a stern look in her eyes. “We’re keeping her safe. It is our duty lest the world spiral into madness.”

There was a short pause. A moment that seemed to last an eternity. She felt the cold metal of a gun’s barrel pressed against her temple. Tears and sweat mixed as she stood there trembling, meeting the detective’s detached expression without a hint of hesitation.

“Tell me,” he said quietly.

The woman closed her eyes, preparing to meet her end, teeth biting into her lips as she waited for the inevitable. There was no way she could share that information with him. The man stood there patiently, moving his gun slightly and aiming at the wall behind her instead. One click was enough to convince her he was being serious. The deafening gunshot shuddered through her head, making her collapse to the ground, spilling everything that was asked of her.

Detective Willson took her lead, wasting no time before he dashed down the stairs and towards the basement. Hordes of the cult’s members chased him, but he was faster, moving as if he were possessed by the sheer desire to save the little girl from the hands of those lunatics. He had to do this, even if his life was on the line, even if it was the last mission he went on as a policeman.

This strange compulsion was driving him mad, or perhaps it was the lack of rest? He didn’t dare fall asleep, for if he did, he might see her again in his dream. The one who told him to chase this girl no matter what. The vision to which he’d sworn to protect the girl and liberate her from the cult’s clutches.

At last, he found the basement, and sure enough, there was a member guarding the entrance. The detective expected no less.

“If you open this door, you’ll be dooming us all!” Warned the man, but his words were met by a bullet.

The detective searched for the keys inside the dead man’s pockets, and not long after, he found them hanging around his neck. He inserted the key, twisted it, and took a deep breath. The door swung inwards, revealing a small, hunched-over figure under the flickering fluorescent light. There stood Emily, draped in rags, hands clutching her bony arms. Her lips were sewn by a purple thread, her martyred eyes expressed a glimmer of hope as she saw the man who came to her rescue.

He knelt down to her level, embracing her as if she were his own. “It will all be okay. You’re safe now”, he said, then used his pocket knife to carefully remove the thread.

The girl thanked him.

“I knew you would come,” she whispered, the edges of her lips curling into an unusual smile. “She said you would come here to save me.”

“Who?” The detective asked, confused.

“The witch. She is my friend, “Emily continued in the same unnaturally calm tone. “To show you my gratitude, I shall tell you the truth about this world.”