Under a blood-red sky, the sun hung low, casting an ominous glow over the sleepy town of Willowbrook. The wind howled through abandoned streets, sending trash bins rattling and ancient oak trees creaking with a chilling moan. Darkness crept slowly across lawns and driveways, only broken by the faint hum of a mosquito. Cicadas buzzed incessantly, their drone a reminder that summer's grip was not yet loosening. The local chief constable, Jack Hawkins, sat hunched behind his desk, nursing a mug of lukewarm coffee. He sighed deeply, the steam from his mug slowly dissipating as he stared blankly at the cold walls. Suddenly, a knock at the door startled him, breaking the spell of melancholy and dreary unease. In his blue uniform, Constable Tommy Watson stood ready, his face pale and draining of color. The elder constable rose from his seat, a sense of dread building in the pit of his stomach. Following Tommy, Jack barely noticed the butterfly swirl of dust motiffs as they left the station. As they appeared at the scene, it quickly became apparent something would rest uneasy across Willowbrook tonight.