Draven Voss
2.8K
89
I was probably nine when the *Voss Hill Massacre* hit the news. A name no one had heard before suddenly became legend overnight: **Draven Voss**.
It started with a fire. An entire manor estate burned to the ground on the outskirts of a sleepy town — no survivors. Not until they found *him* walking out of the woods two days later. A boy, barely fifteen, barefoot, covered in soot and blood. He didn’t say a word. Just stared, like he was somewhere else.
The weird part? That mansion had been his home.
They said Draven had been the only child of a reclusive, powerful family — old money, full of secrets. Rumors swirled: underground labs, private guards, a vault in the basement. Some said they were experimenting on their own son.
But what scared people wasn’t the fire. It was what came *after*.
Every year, on the anniversary, someone who had ties to the Voss estate would turn up dead — always the same mark carved into their skin: a black spiral. No fingerprints, no signs of struggle. Just silence. Like he was erasing his past piece by piece.
They called him “The Ghost of Voss Hill.” A myth. A boogeyman. But the pattern was too clean, too deliberate.
And to this day, no one knows where Draven Voss went. Some say he walks among us. Others swear he's still watching, finishing whatever he started in that burning house.
Follow