My five-year-old daughter Clara reminds me of my grandmother, La Nona, who was most certainly a witch.

Strange things would inexplicably happen around La Nona. Entire shelves in supermarkets would unhinge and crash jars to the floor, and people around her would occasionally slip like in the cartoons, their legs straight up in the air as if tackled by an invisible linebacker.

Any time something strange like that would happen, La Nona would look at us and laugh softly with her raspy breath.

"Ho, ho, ho."

Kind of like Santa but with a soft Italian O and a barely audible, breathy H.

And like any other Italian grandmother, she cooked throughout the day, hunched over her stock or stew or braise, breathing in the vapors and adding pinches and dashes from her unlabeled spice rack. Wild rabbits were not safe from her, and some said even the squirrels and chipmunks would wind up in her stews.

When we had company, La Nona would announce the dishes halfway through the meal, and she would relish as the American's faces turned and grimaced at stuffed pigeon, braised rabbit, cow tongue, cow brain. But she did it that way really to entertain herself.

We would catch her sometimes scratching her back with a wooden cooking spoon and she'd laugh.

"Ho, ho, ho. It adds flavor. And it protects."

She would never elaborate beyond that.

So as I said, my daughter Clara reminded me of La Nona. Starting at age three, small toys would fall off the shelves or a fresh pyramid of stacked oranges would collapse and jumble through the aisles like racecars, and customers would fumble through the mess, slipping like in the cartoons, and Clara would just smile and do a little laugh under her breath, just like La Nona.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm."

She would say it in a sing-song pre-school sort of way, and if I were to shoot her a glance throughout any of this, she would follow-up with her way-too-loud toddler voice.

"It washn't me!"

One time when she was four, we lost track of Clara at the Lego store in the mall. After several panicked moments, we had the whole store staff and mall security involved. And just as we were about to call the police to report a child kidnapping, I felt a tug at my pant leg.

"I wash here da whole time. Just invishible," she announced triumphantly.

The mall cops, the store staff, and the mall pedestrians that has joined in on the search were collectively shocked at how she had snuck up on us all.

"Where did you go?" I remember crying, still terrified and shaking with adrenaline.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm," she had responded.

The head of mall security, having been searching with me for most of the time, was so perplexed that he subsequently reviewed the video feeds and for the life of him could not find a single trace of Clara from her disappearance up until she had reappeared.

He had called me, with a grave tone, explaining his findings. I had nothing more to offer other than half-joking that some say my family has a line of witches, and he turned even more serious and said he had a Hessian great aunt who the town believed was a witch, and that I shouldn't joke about such things.

La Nona passed away at age 90 peacefully in her sleep. A whole flock of birds had gathered in front of the house and as the ambulance wheeled her out the front door, the birds erupted in song, creating a pandemonium that took twenty minutes to dissipate, and the block was talking about the avian gathering for months after, and the story would be retold any time La Nona came up in conversation, which was whenever something strange occured in the town.

When they buried La Nona, the priest fell into a tongue-tie throughout the eulogy (he later stated it felt like all the words were coming to him thick and jumbled, like jello) and the mechanism that lowered the coffin into the grave failed, leaving La Nona above ground throughout the night after mortuary technicians were unable to resolve the jam.

Local legends developed that some had seen La Nona wandering the streets that night, chuckling “Ho, ho, ho,” as she shambled by, but I never believed that part of it and firmly believe she is at peace within the earth.

I was washing dishes after dinner while Clara ate strawberries in front of the television in the family room. The cartoons were rolling but at some point it transitioned to evening news and I didn’t think much of it, especially when the opening segment was on dog and cat ownership tips and we had been considering getting a cat.

I heard Clara yell out "Awww, I want that one! No, that one!" throughout the segment and I chuckled to myself.

Normally I would ask her if she wanted to go to the park really quick before bath time, but the new curfew had mucked that idea up. It was, after all, a full moon.

We had just moved to a new two-story townhouse, with the kitchen and family room on the first floor, and bedrooms on the second. We were right across the street from the town's new sports complex that boasted three fields (soccer, football, and baseball, each outfitted with modern scoreboards and bleachers with an announcer's room), a full toddler/older kid playground, a dog park (for both small and large dogs), and even a snack shack where Clara always begged me for fries or a corn dog while we watched the games.

"Daddy, can I watch the games from my room tonight?"

"Sorry, the games were canceled tonight. Maybe tomorrow's games."

It was true, we did have a view of all three fields and at night when they were all lit up we could see all the action from the window. It was like our own box seats and I would sometimes make popcorn or bring up some pirates booty.

"And tomorrow morning we can go to the forest park," she added.

"Sure thing. As long as you get ready for school early enough."

The forest park was the park we used to go to before the new complex. It was a five minute walk through a forest path that was bordered by fenced-in backyards, and eventually opened up into a large clearing surrounded by trees with various other paths emptying into suburban streets.

The news suddenly jarred to a new development in the Full Moon Serial Killer murders, and I frantically searched for the remote.

“Another full moon tonight and yet another victim claimed by the Full Moon Serial Killer," said the news anchor. "This marks victim number six in what is being called the worst spree in this state's history."

I finally found the remote and shut it off.

"OK kiddo, time for bath, then books."

I had heard enough of the Full Moon Serial Killer, or FMSK for short. It was all you would hear buzzing about as you waited in line at the bagel shop, or dropped the kids off at school, or withdrew money at the bank.

The FMSK. The MO remained the same: a single, one to one-and-a-half inch pierce to the jugular, where the victims bleed out before they are able to find help. Always on the night of a full moon. It was why the town had set up the curfew on full moon nights, and cops and the neighborhood watch were posted every few blocks. But there were always folks that worked late and took the bus back or had partied too hard at an after-work happy hour, or just plain forgot it was the night of a full moon.

"They were talking about the mean moon man," said Clara, getting up from the couch and making her way upstairs.

"Uhm, yes they were. But don't worry about that. We are safe at home and no one will hurt us here."

I hated how the FMSK culture had permeated, even being discussed actively at school.

Either way, Clara seemed satisfied with that and we moved to finish the night with a bit more cartoons, which I liked to watch with her in bed on a tablet she always insisted she hold.

I dozed off briefly in the middle of an episode and then thought I heard whispering. I opened my left eye and saw Clara muttering something under her breath.

"You OK, sweetheart?"

She stopped.

"Don't worry, Daddy. I'm just casting a spell."

"Oh. OK." I sat up and looked at the time. "I hope a good one."

Clara smiled. "It's just the jello spell."

"Oh, wonderful." I blinked a few more tjmes. "Well, it's late. Let's get to bed, lovey."

I shut off the lights and checked the locks to the doors and windows.

As I headed back up to my bedroom, I called out softly.

"Goodnight, Clara."

"Goodnight, Daddy. And don't worry."

"I won't."

"The jello spell protects."

I looked back.

"Just make it a good flavor," I said.

Clara giggled softly.

I was up early at 5:45am to get myself ready for work and pack Clara's school stuff. I put on the morning news and again they were harping on the Full Moon Serial Killer, and for the first time they flashed a police sketch, a man with jet black hair, wearing a black face-mask and a gray suit jacket with an open white-collar shirt.

"–and many of Detective Javier's theories, along with the murder weapon, have been confirmed."

The kitchen knife.

"The FMSK's attire, dressing as an office worker commuting in from the city bus, and talking into his phone about business related matters, puts the victim on low alert and allows the attack of opportunity–"

A single stab wound in the neck from a kitchen knife.

"–a single stab wound in the–"

I wanted to cover my eyes because I couldn't look away from the face. I was entranced. In the dark eyes of the police sketch, there was hatred, and I could envision the rest of his expression behind the mask, sneering in disgust.

"And once again, the victim Aaron Carson, originally thought deceased, is no longer in critical condition. The first miss by the FMSK."

The segment cut to the FMSK lead detective, a local man named Javier Dauchez, who was at a podium speaking to the public but I was fed up and shut off the television with a deep sigh.

"They were talking about the mean moon man again."

Clara had once again scared the shit out of me, always an early riser and like a ninja with her padded rainbow leopard onesies.

Mean moon man. For her it was MMM.

"Never mind that," I said, fumbling around with her lunch box.

"Can we go to the forest park? Look Daddy, I'm dressed for school, hair combed and all."

"Sure, sweetheart."

After we ate, we exited our town home into the cool, crisp morning, skipped across the sports complex, and trudged uphill through the forest path to get us to the forest park. It was so early that the sun was just rising, and most of the surrounding suburban homes still had their lights off.

As soon as we reached the clearing, Clara dashed ahead. There was a low mist a few inches high off the ground.

"Look Daddy, the moon!"

She was right, it was one of those morning moons that showed fiercly in the twilight, eerily visible given it was still full from the night before. And of course there I was thinking about the Full Moon Serial Killer once again. FMSK. Or MMM. Whatever. But I had spooked myself and panned across the surrounding treeline before stepping further into the clearing.

Clara twirled several times with her arms elegantly keeping her balanced and she cackled up at the moon. As she maintained her continuous twirl, the mist around her feet started to quiver and swirl, exposing rustling clover flowers, and it was almost as if the morning dew drops were vibrating and levitating off the blades of grass. The mist suddenly held still and the dew twinkled like diamonds frozen in the air, and I shook my head and had to do a double take but the visage remained.

"Daddy come here. I want to tell you something."

She had stopped twirling and all was at once back to normal, the low mist even thicker than before. I shivered. Something was not right.

"Sure thing, what's up kiddo?"

"I don't want you to be scared."

"Oh sweetheart, I'm not scared. Are–are you?"

I looked back over my shoulder at the path. Nothing but mist.

"No," she said. "I'm not scared."

"Ok. Good."

I took Clara's hand.

"Now let's get you to school before–"

I was about to turn back to the path, but that's when I saw the fully suited, masked man charging at full sprint from the opposite treeline, having already closed a third of the distance to us, his arms violently pumping with each stride, and he was holding a blade, glimmering and slicing through the mist.

"Oh shit–"

"Run that way," said Clara, pointing to our right.

I was in such disbelief that my animal brain listened. Flight.

I grabbed Clara and ran in the direction she had pointed, and as we got closer to the path entrance we saw a biker coming down toward us.

"Help!" I shouted, not looking back, the need to just get away from the mean moon man the most urgent plan of action.

MMM.

The biker stopped and looked up at us, then peered over my shoulder and panicked. His hands shot to his fanny pack, he missed the zipper on the first go, then finally got it open and pulled out his cell phone, and in the half second he had to unlock it with his thumbprint, he glanced up again over my shoulder again and fumbled the phone with a yelp.

I turned and the FMSK had closed the distance to only thirty paces and he was so close I could hear the blade swiping, his eyes focused and burning with hate, his breathing heavy and animalistic.

I ran past cyclist and yelled "Come on!" but he finally had a grip on his phone and had dialed 911, and his opposite hand pulled out a small can of pepper spray.

"Stay away!" screamed the biker in a shrill voice, and at the same time from the nearest home a man wearing his morning robe had come out of his backyard sliding door.

"Holy hell," the robed man exclaimed and he grabbed a bat that had been leaning again the porch.

Only then did the Full Moon Serial Killer appear dettered. Without breaking stride, he growled "fuck" and seamlessly changed course, vaulting over the fence nearest to him into a neighboring yard, where we lost sight of him amongst the bushes.

The cyclist was now talking to the police and the robed man asked if we were ok, his bat half cocked and scanning the path. I just held Clara tightly with white, shaking knuckles.

"I told you not to be afraid," she whispered. We embraced, my eyes never leaving the trees until the cops arrived.

Even in the cop car, I envisioned that lunatic vaulting a guard rail and smashing through the window with his inhuman speed.

Only in the precinct with the detectives where I first met Javier Dauchez did I feel safe.

We were back at home by late afternoon and Clara was taking an early bath. I was emotionally exhausted. Detective Javier and the police were downstairs in the living room finalizing security arrangements.

Clara was blowing bubbles, and they gently rose to the bathroom ceiling as I prepared her towels.

"OK, Clara, just a few more minutes then you can watch cartoons before bed."

"OK, Daddy."

I paused. She seemed totally fine since the incident at the park. It had been me that couldn't stop shaking.

Clara turned to me, blowing a new bubble with slower breath that built into a small sphere. She seemed to carefully consider something.

"He is running out of time."

I thought initially she was just playing with her bath toys.

"When the moon starts to rise and it's not full, he will be out of time."

Her words felt icy and I felt the urge to shiver, to shake out what she had just said.

"No, don't say that," I said.

The bubble she was blowing had grown to the size of a softball and had still not popped or left the plastic blower.

"Sorry," she said.

"No, no, it's ok. Everyone is just tired." I tried to smile but it felt like a grimace.

"We're safe now. Here at home," I added, though I think I said it because I needed to hear it.

"Yes, Daddy. We are safe," she said, then added her little laugh. "Hmm, hmm, hmm."

My smile relaxed.

"Five more minutes, kiddo."

As I exited the bathroom, I took a peek into the mirror and saw the bubble had grown to the size of a soccer ball, and I shook away the feeling that it was starting to develop a face.

I put Clara in front of the TV upstairs and looked out the window to the sports complex, not a single soul out there save a few police cars and some plain-clothes officers Javier had indicated would be patrolling the area by foot.

I peered down and envisioned the sneering killer scaling the wall and brought myself some comfort in seeing nothing of the sort and also concluding there was no way to grip the siding.

Clara's words rang in my head. "When the moon starts to rise and it's not full, he will be out of time."

I glanced at my phone. Twenty seven minutes until sunset. The moon wouldn't be out in the sky quite yet but technically wouldn't it be considered rising at sunset? And the last attack had happened during the day with apparent urgency.

Detective Javier had asked me to talk things over, and we sat in the living room, silent at first, as he knew I had been through a lot recounting our story over several hours.

His voice had a practiced reassurance from talking to countless victims and he had a slight French accent that calmed me. Was he tapping into my childhood pink panther days?

"What I'm about to tell you breaks decades-long professionalism, something I would never do with a member of the public," he said gravely. "But it feels necessary for me to tell you. I feel… compelled."

I nodded. Interesting word choice. The FMSK's police sketch, and then his actual masked face, compelled itself into my brain every waking moment. A constant reminder of the rage.

"The latest victim, the one that is still in recovery at the hospital, Aaron Carson." His R's rolled in his throat.

"Yes," I said. Aaron Carson, the sixth victim that FMSK had botched.

"It probably is on the news now or soon will be, but last night right before he attacked you, there was another attempt on Mr. Carson's life."

"Wait, he broke into the hospital?" I was shocked.

Javier nodded seriously, checking his watch briefly. Was he tracking sunset too? I shifted my weight uncomfortably and leaned closer, staring uneasily at the front door.

"The attempt was ultimately unsuccessful, as the ICU is behind a steel door supported by a steel frame," he continued, "But what bothers me, it's that FMSK got in completely undetected until he got to that last door, and then that the madman actually almost broke it down."

I gulped. He is running out of time. I checked my phone and Javier's eyes followed mine. 22 minutes to sunset.

"Steel frame. Not even two men with battering rams could have bent that door to what it was in that amount of time."

Javier rubbed his eyes, and his voice grew even more somber.

"And I spent three hours last night reviewing hospital camera footage with our department video experts. And there were several anomalies in the footage. Various corridor shots suddenly become distorted, and the distortion moves and follows a path."

Javier took out his phone.

"Then this. And again I apologize but I am compelled to show this."

There was that word again. Compelled.

He swiped open an app and I saw the hospital door to the victims' recovery ward, thick and surrounded by the steel frame.

Then the visual distortion kicked in, the screen buzzing and bending, like how they used to block pay-per-view channels until you paid.

Then, I heard the bangs. Rhythmic and grainy from the distortion, but powerful and loud. Occasionally the distortion would break on the borders of the video, and I saw the steel frame bend further and further, but only an inch at a time, and then after repeated attempts, the dark distorted voice kicked in, thick with spite.

"Fuck." Bang.

"Fuck." Bang.

"FUCK." Bang.

Javier swiped it away, as if he couldn't bear it any longer.

"He stopped when security caught on something was happening. And the distortion trail goes back out from where it came."

Eighteen minutes until sundown.

"Now, you would think it ends there, but it doesn't."

Javier swiped his phone a few more times.

"We were able to get doorbell cam footage from a house across the street from the back side of the hospital. Look."

The view showed the hospital in the background and an active street in the foreground. It took me a few seconds and Javier's guiding finger to see it.

Right next to a tree in the background, facing the hospital backdoor, was a suited figure. He was suspended at least two feet in the air, quivering and twitching, arms stretched out into a T.

"An optical illusion you are thinking," said Javier. "Poor video quality."

"No," I said.

Fifteen minutes to sundown. He is running out of time.

The hovering figure suddenly stopped moving, then waved his arm once as if wiping a blackboard.

And the video distorted.

"The timing of that. Exactly right when the hospital distortion started."

I stared blankly at the jagged bends.

"Now here is the kicker and why I have told all of this to you," Javier said. His eyes suddenly twinkled and he began to slowly smile.

I fidgeted some more and there I was once again–compelled to look at the front door, and then up the stairs where Clara was watching TV and I hoped we could make it out of this alive. Why was I even thinking that way?

"The video experts that helped me with this review mentioned they had not seen such a perplexing set of footage since a particular mall incident."

That got my attention.

"A mall incident where the head of security asked the police force to help trace how a child could go missing a full twenty-two minutes and then suddenly appear from behind her father."

Javier stared at me with fire in his eyes.

"Do you know the conclusion of that mall footage review?"

I shook my head and felt my breathing heavy. Javier simply smiled.

"The conclusion was that it was an impossibility. No amount of sneaking and jumping behind garbage cans or adult legs could explain it." Javier's expression warmed. "They would never put it in a report, the report said inconclusive. But their own words were that it might as well have been magic."

I involuntarily gasped.

"I–" I started but then stopped myself.

"It's a lot to take in, I agree," said Javier, glancing again at his watch. "And I've seen things in the last 24 hours that challenge everything I have ever believed. But it explains a lot. How there's never any footage of FMSK. How there's never a sign of struggle. And have you ever seen a knife attack?"

I shook my head. Eleven minutes. A new moon for the mean moon man was coming.

"Never one stab. Never. Always multiple stabs and slashes. No one has that kind of precision or luck."

I felt a panic attack coming on.

"No one."

Ten minutes.

"I feel you are in grave danger…"

He is running out of time.

We both suddenly became acutely aware of the front door, as if a giant magnet had turned on and we were transfixed. No. Compelled to look.

Javier's walkie talkie came alive and all at once, the illusion of safety was shredded away by a distorted scream.

"–front door breach!!"

FMSK burst through the door, a single kick to the bolt lock shattering the wooden frame, a shot that channeled all the power of his approach, which the officers would later describe as "super human" and "he just appeared in front of us at full speed".

The door flew through the hall and down came the masked killer over it, eyes raging. Just as both Javier and I could start to stand, the killer's black mask turned transparent, exposing a sickened sneer, and he bellowed a furious roar that shot Javier off his feet and flying into the glass sliding door behind us.

The glass cracked loudly and Javier doubled over in pain.

FMSK looked at me with disgust and contempt… wait, there was something else in that look.

Confusion.

(The jello spell. It protects.)

FMSK moved forward, and at once I braced for his impact, processing the kitchen knife tucked into his forearm, and his mask had turned back to black.

I never stood a chance.

FMSK faked a hurtle towards me, then immediately pivoted up the stairs, racing three steps at a time, showing his true intended target.

I screamed and shot forward, the police just starting to come in, Detective Javier still getting up from the shattered glass, and I started running up the stairs, knowing I was too late.

I heard a terrible howl and the house shook from the weight of an incredible fall, and I ascended the stairs as fast I clumsily could, tears streaming down my face at the thought of my ravaged girl.

The screams intensified and it sounded like a ravenous, starving animal finally satiating a long hunger.

When I finally got to the landing, there flat on his back and thrashing wildly was the Full Moon Serial Killer with the knife protruding from in-between his ribs, blood spurting with each convulsion, all four of his appendages moving involuntarily in sick, painful spasms.

Clara was calmly watching cartoons, occasionally glancing to the side at the howling mean man man.

I jumped over MMM, his face enraged at his helplessness and his screams turned to shouted growls as he futilely attempted to claw at me.

I grabbed Clara, and put myself between her and the killer, pressing back against the window on the far wall.

The officers were upon us and encircled FMSK, guns pointing down as he continued to thrash uncontrollably, the knife still lodged in his ribs.

Detective Javier had made it up as well and dove onto the killer, grabbing both of his hands by the wrists, pinning him in place.

Clara had been sneaking peeks despite my upheld hand and I moved to cover her more from the grisly scene.

When I embraced her, further cupping my hand over her eyes, she turned to me, gazing with her soft hazel eyes. I thought I saw them swirling.

"See Daddy, I told you the jello spell would protect us."

"Jello spell?"

Clara giggled.

"Wiggly arms and legs!" she said, "And it was strawberry, your favorite."

FMSK continued to thrash uncontrollably, his growls turning to gurgles, Javier still sprawled over him trying his best to hold his arms. The killer's face was frozen in hatred, and I could feel his gaze go through me and directly to Clara.

"And the birds were also watching," Clara said as she focused back to the cartoons. "So we were protected."

"I–What birds?"

Clara pointed over her shoulder out the window to the sports complex, eyes still glued to the television.

I pushed aside the shades and gasped. The entire complex was covered in birds of all types, perched atop wires, bleachers, and goalposts, and not one of them made a movement or sound.

It was the stillness that horrified me more than anything.

FMSK began to froth red at the mouth and his convulsions turned stiffer.

Then in the far soccer field I saw La Nona, skin like ash and eyes sunken, hunched over with a peculiar smile that seemed to beckon me.

My hands went to my face.

She started to move her blackened lips.

And one blink later she was gone. I heard three distinct gusts of air in the distance (or was it laughs?) and felt tears fall down my cheeks.

FMSK's movement stopped, and I caught one last glimpse of his contorted face, his mask pulled down by a wild swing of his clawed hands. The expression could only be described as unadulterated anger.

I felt Clara hug me tighter and rub my back softly.

"La Nona says hi," she whispered.

My eyes shot one more time out the window, expecting to see her corpse once more, bellowing at my disbelief.

But there were only the birds. As if on cue, they started to dissipate from their perches in a silent, gentle rolling wave that caressed the purple sunset.

The night was about to begin and the mean moon man had run out of time. He stiffened at last, his appendages a tangled mess caked in strawberry blood.

"La Nona died three years ago," I said, softly.

Clara was unfazed.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm."