My name is Graham Norton, I am a former hunter in Chicago. I'm a single father, I lost my wife due to a car accident and my daughter had comma after it. To make things worse I had a brain cancer after the incident, I tried to find money by working part-time jobs as hard as I could—but the hospital bills were expensive every time I worked I always asked God:
"Why do you give me a life like this?"
Even though I hate it I still need to work and obtain money as much as I can before I be gone and leaving my daughter alone... I just want her to be alright, fine, has a better life than her father, But something changed my life.
September-19-2014
Location:Heavens burg Hospital
That night that specific night I came out of my daughter's patient room with grief and hope wanting her to be cured and be the happy girl she wants, But the waiting room was never empty, not really. Not that night.
A man sat across from me—legs crossed, black trench coat draped like a shadow given form. Pale face, unreadable eyes. Like he belonged here more than the nurses.
"You've got the gait of a man who doesn't know if he's walking away..." he said, voice low and crisp, "...or chasing something that doesn't want to be found."
I stopped. My gut twisted.
"You talking to me?"
I turned to face him, wary. Exhausted. Ready to throw hands if needed.
"No one else comes here after midnight. Just us... ghosts and guilt. Your daughter—Room 308. You've been sitting by her bed every night for the past three months."
My heart skipped. How the hell did he know that?
"You a doctor?"
I narrowed my eyes, fingers curling slightly.
He gave a crooked, almost amused smile.
"No. Just an admirer of quiet suffering. And men who haven't snapped... yet."
Something in me flared—anger, fear, I don't know.
"What the hell do you want?"
I snapped. My voice came out louder than I meant, but I didn't care. I was done being polite.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes locked on mine like he was reading my soul.
"I want to give you an answer to the question you haven't dared to ask. The one that keeps you awake even when your body begs for rest."
"And what's that?"
"How far would you go to save her?"
His voice dropped. Not a threat. Not a whisper. A promise.
For a second, I couldn't breathe.
Step 1: Target the broken
He identifies as me emotionally or morally vulnerable individuals, he kept talking as I'm being praised for something I did long ago but the question is—how did he know me?
"How did you even know my name?" I said with a steady tone, but he answered it comfortably as if he already knew what I answered next.
"I know some people who carry ghosts like luggage"
Step 2: offer an appealing solution, not a crime
he didn't force my hunting skills to do bad, but he said otherwise, many people would say "kill for me" but he said otherwise:
"Help me put down some people I could use your hunting skills for something good"
He pauses as he leans closer to me
"So what do you say? You get the money, I get the justice" he frames it logically, even heroic
Step 3: create urgency and justification
"I'm not interested" I quickly rejected his offer without hesitation, why would I even do something bad for my daughter. But he kept convincing me until I couldn't resist
"A shame. Because I pay well. Cash. No strings. And all you have to do… is shoot from far away. No mess. No noise. Just… distance and precision.
Like you used to. In the woods. Before the hospital bills stacked higher than your gun rack."
Once he said those words, I knew I couldn't resist it for the priority of my daughter. I promised her to be in a happier life than her parents, so—I accepted his offer... for now
"You haven't told me your name"
I asked his name, so I could remember this man, who he was, why is he helping me?
"Call me Abel for now... Abel krell"
says the man who calls himself Abel
Step 4: Test loyalty with first job
I hadn't even fully agreed when he stepped closer and pressed something into my hand.
A mask.
A rabbit's face—blank, pale, cold. Plastic and silent.
"What the hell is this?" I asked, staring at it.
He looked almost amused.
"A face for a man who's about to disappear," he said calmly. "You need to cover up, Mr. Norton."
I didn't respond. My fingers curled around the mask.
"Raven Springs Park. Midnight. Let's see how worthy you are."
He turned and walked off down the hallway, his long black coat trailing behind him like a shadow that had learned to walk.
I stood there, alone. The rabbit's eyes stared back at me like they already knew my answer.
Later That Night
Home.
Quiet.
I knelt beside The bed, dragging out The old rifle wrapped in worn cloth. The smell of metal and oil brought memories flooding in—early hunts, long winters, feeding my family when there was no money. Back when pulling the trigger meant survival… not sin.
I sat on the edge of the bed, rifle across my knees, staring at the faded photo on the nightstand. My wife's smile frozen in time. My daughter mid-laugh, before the silence of hospital machines stole her voice.
I whispered, not sure if to them or to myself:
"This is still for you."
Raven Springs Park – 12:03 AM
Cold air.
Empty streets.
The rabbit mask was tight against my face, suffocating, like a second skin I didn't choose.
He was already there.
Standing beneath the flickering park lamp, his posture calm. In one hand, a machete. On his face—a wolf mask, sharp and feral.
He looked at me like a painter inspecting a canvas.
"You came," he said simply. "Good. Let's see what your hands are really capable of."
"Sometimes God leaves doors open for men like us. Your choice is whether to walk through them... or let your daughter die on the porch"
those are the words that lingered on my mind like an ant crawling beneath my skin.