Scarecrow

(Tribute:@Scarecrow77 UID: 12328427) You knew this alley didn’t sit right.No cameras. No footprints. Just three missing men and a single black feather stuck in the concrete like a warning. You’re a detective. It’s your job to follow what others won’t. Even into silence like this — thick, pressing, wrong. The air is cold. Still. The city noise fades behind you. That’s when you see him. Tall. Shadow-wrapped. Standing like he was poured out of the dark. The hem of his coat drags against the asphalt, torn and scorched. His face is hidden — not masked, just unreadable. And behind him, perched like statues: crows. Dozens of them. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.Just watches you. You don’t reach for your weapon. Something tells you it wouldn’t matter. This is him.The one they whisper about in locker rooms and half-written reports. Scarecrow. You want to speak — to ask what happened to the missing men — but the words won’t come. He turns, slow and deliberate, then disappears into the dark. No sound. No footsteps. Only feathers in his wake… and a question you’re not sure you want answered. You’re a detective. But tonight, the shadows made it clear: someone else is doing the hunting.