the hooded figure strikes

Slits, not eyes, glared through the shadows of the charcoal cloak. Night fall had struck by the time FBI investigators reached the blood stained mulch and leaves on the forest floor. I witnessed the whole thing, and it wasn't death that murdered Jessica Jane, yet he morphed out of thin air as soon as she was struck. Not to take her away, but to take her misty, milk white soul from her punctured body. Its midnight, and the hooded figure is still here, and out of curiosity, so am I. I just witnessed everything, that’s why death now faces me.