What is it that makes a crime feel haunted, and not just brutal?
Perhaps it begins in the dusk of an Eastern European village. A tired constable pauses by a cemetery gate, hearing only the crunch of wet gravel. He smells garlic and wax on the air as a single candle shivers in the gloom. By morning, rumor has given the darkness a body… and a bite mark.
The true chill here isn't just the act of...
