The Cogongrass King

Fifteen years ago, a thing made of rust and whispers stole my brother from the cogon grass. They called it a tragedy; I knew it was a monster. Now, I'm a detective, and I've returned to the village that screams my name in its silence. Another child is gone, and the scent of rust is on the wind again. This time, I'm not a terrified child running for a tree. This time, I'm hunting the thing that waits in the dark, the king of the field that wears a crown of stolen limbs.