Support Your Local Monster Hunter

by Dennis Liggio

  Support Your Local Monster Hunter

  Dennis Liggio

  Copyright © 2016 by Dennis Liggio

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  To Alex Cox and Jeff Rice

  Tomorrow's Money

  I clipped the tiny camera to the "DELIVERIES ONLY" sign at the mouth of the alley. I smoothed my hair and my clothes, though the darkness from nighttime probably made fine details irrelevant for the video. I stood in front of the camera and took a deep breath.

  "Hello, my name is Szandor Nowak, and welcome to my FundstarterGoGo campaign!"

  I kept my face smiling, trying to ignore the fact that saying that made me feel like a tool. However, there was no reason my eventual watchers needed to see the crack in my persona, to know what I thought of doing this. I needed a new introduction video for my campaign, and the convention was that everyone in those videos always seemed overly excited to the point of possible drug use. It seemed backers liked that.

  "Tonight I'm in a dark alley in a small town north of New Avalon," I continued. "The owners of the establishment - I won't say which one - says they've been having weird occurrences in the back that make their dogs go crazy with barking. They thought it was a bobcat but it could be something very different! I'm here to see if there's any monstrous activity. Because remember, I kill monsters!"

  I grinned stupidly at the camera and tried to look as cheesy as that line. Oh god, I was terrible at marketing.

  I grabbed the tiny camera and clipped it to my jacket. It was one of those new small video cameras used by bikers, rock climbers, and other extreme sport aficionados to record and upload all their crazy stuff for the internet. I figured it should record monster hunting just as well. It had limited night vision capability, so it should at least get grayscale video in the low light. I'd just look like one of those stupid ghost shows.

  Pulling out my lead pipe, my weapon of choice, I headed into the alley. I didn't think I'd find anything there, but on the off chance I did, I wanted to record it for my internet funding campaign. Little did I know I'd get something far stranger on video.

  Down the alley behind the restaurant, I found a rusted smoker, an old junk car, the back door for deliveries, and a garage that had seen better days. Past the garage was a field of brush that eventually became wooded terrain. It would be very easy for a creature to come and go. It could possibly be a hellhound like we had killed earlier in the night, but Paulie assured me that was what we investigated was the only set of reports in the whole area.

  I shined my flashlight on the ground, trying to look for tracks or any marks that would give me an idea of what was here. I've never been good at tracking, so unless there was an obvious foot print, blood, or some other sign, I wouldn't find a trail. I saw heavy tire tracks in the now-dried mud, as well as footprints. Nothing animal-like, but if this was instead a ghoul or zombie problem, the tracks would look human to a cursory examination, which was all I was skilled for.

  As I examined the area with my flashlight, I heard a noise. I wasn't sure exactly what I heard - a squeak of metal, maybe a rustle of a plastic bag. I swung the beam of my flashlight around to the garage. The noise had come from that direction. On the side of the garage, someone had stacked a bunch of trash bags and debris. There were some rusted tires near it too. I walked the beam along that area, trying to discern anything that could have caused the noise.

  I had almost given up when I saw the trash bags move. I raised my lead pipe and began slowly stepping toward the bags, ready for a zombie, ghoul, or even an albino alligator to burst out of it. I was rusty, but I would be able to deal with one monster as long as it wasn't a troll or a revenant.

  There was more movement and one of the trash bags slid out of place, revealing a pale arm. That rogue arm did nothing more, it just lay motionless. This made me think this wasn't a ghoul. As feral underground dwellers, a ghoul would be poised to strike, coiled into a pounce. A zombie would also be possible, but they tended to not just lay around when a possible victim was near. Though if the zombie had lost the means to get up due to decay or damage, it might be laying motionless. Of course, there was still the possibility that it was just a regular old human corpse and the movement was due to a rat moving under the trash bags. A corpse would be the safest option. And let me tell you, when that is one of the preferred non-dangerous outcomes in your work, odds are that you're a monster hunter.

  I carefully reached out the lead pipe and with its tip, I poked at the trash bags, attempting to move them aside so that I could see whatever owned the arm. I heard a feeble groan from under that mess and pulled back my arm. But I had jabbed the bags enough that there was a minor avalanche as trash fell away, revealing a man underneath.

  He was pale, something evident even in the poor lighting. He was bald, his head almost seeming bulbous in the light. He didn't have eyebrows either, so he looked almost like an alien. He wore street clothes that didn't look bad enough for him to be homeless; not long term homeless at least. His eyes were light, his lips full and quivering. He was either sick or afraid.

  "Puh-please," he said feebly. "Leave me alone... I c-can't hear the voice anymore..."

  He didn't look wounded in any way. Why was he in the trash? He said he was hearing voices, or had previously. Was he mentally ill? Whatever the reason, he didn't belong here. I decided I would be a good Samaritan.

  "I got you, buddy," I said, reaching forward to grab him to help him up.

  "No! N-no!" he said, his eyes bugging out with fear. "D-don't touch me!"

  "It's cool, man. I'm not a mugger. Let me help you up and we'll get you inside where we can figure out how to help you." I reached out again.

  "N-no!" he said, using what little energy he had to wriggle away from me. It was a valiant effort, but not very effective. He got just an inch or two more into the pile of trash. "D-don't! Leave me alone!"

  "C'mon, man, you're in a pile of trash in someone else's back alley. Even if you don't want help, you can't stay here. C'mon!" I decided this needed some tough love. I lunged forward quick and grabbed his shoulder to pull him up.

  He had been scared before, but now he went into panic mode. His wide eyes were fixed on my hand at his shoulder as if my very touch was acid.

  "N-no! NOOOOO!" he howled, a scream of pain and anguish.

  And then his head exploded.

  It's hard to explain something so sudden and awful as this. It took only an instant as a rapid chain of events lead to his entire head no longer existing anymore. For a split second before the explosion, it seemed almost like his scalp tried to expand, but it then found no flexibility. Then his skull violently ruptured. Blood, bone, and bits of brain were flung in all directions, as if his head were simply an overfull balloon that had been burst. I was covered in the goriest parts of the man's head, blood all over my face and body.

  Shock set in. No other reaction would have made sense. No person in the world would have been prepared for this. No one should ever have to witness that, especially not up close. I stood still, not even knowing what had happened. Thoughts screamed across my head, but none found a voice louder than the others, so I couldn't decide how to act or how to feel. As I stood there in confusion, I felt that the blood painted on me begin to drip. I was pretty sure there was b
one and brain in my hair.

  This was something I had never experienced before.

  I had stalked and destroyed the living dead, been pursued by a tribe of cannibalistic underground dwellers, burned down an insectoid hive, fought an eight foot tall troll, and had nearly been killed by a gargantuan white serpent. Yet somehow, having someone's head explode in my face was one of the memories that most sticks with me. Maybe it was the sudden gore, the blood all over me. Maybe it was that I had no idea what had happened. Maybe it was feeling I had somehow caused that.

  And maybe, just maybe this experience has stuck with me for a simple reason: while this was the first time it happened, it was not going to be the last.

  If I'm going to make sense of this story, for both your and my sakes, it's best if I start a little earlier than this inexplicable event in the alley. So while this horrible event happened in a pale September, I need to start back a few months. Let's start back in April. I nearly died the day before I turned twenty-one. A gigantic serpent deep under New Avalon nearly killed me. That sounds like some bad luck, but some of my allies were not so lucky. I woke from a coma in a hospital bed, and then I was stuck in that damn bed for far too long. Happy birthday to me.

  I got my brother Mikkel to spring me from the hospital as soon as they would let him. Then I spent a good chunk of the summer in my own bed, resting and assuring my landlord I would have rent money once I recovered. Mikkel tried to have me watch his hand-picked list of Greatest Movies For Being Stuck In Bed, but I got bored too quickly - he's the movie nerd, not me. I listened to a lot of music, surfed the internet more than I should, and was generally unhappy about my life. I was finally excited when I had healed enough that I could get back to normal life.

  Normal life, but not monster hunting. I was healed enough to get my own groceries, do my own laundry, and work a reasonable job. Not that I had a job of any sort. But like before, I started finding odd jobs. Painting, helping people move, random stuff. It made me think I should get a bartenders license, as I got work helping a friend as an unofficial bar back.

  But that was all regular life, civilian life. My true life was hunting. And due to my overprotective brother, I couldn't do that. While I know he hunted some - though not as much due to his new-again girlfriend - he never took me along. Mikkel said I wasn't ready yet. By his estimation, I still wasn't healed up enough to risk my life based on my reflexes or my strength. Earlier in the summer I would have agreed with him, but by this point I desperately wanted to get back to hunting. Not only because it was my true life, not only because it was my real job, but because I really needed to work out some frustration in ways that only killing fantastic beasts not known to mankind could fulfill. There's no more effective stress reliever than bludgeoning a zombie to death or taking out a few ghouls. Despite this very clear psychological need, my brother did not relent in his protectiveness, refusing me access to both our van and the stockpile of weapons therein.

  However, come September, I was ready. I had been doing calisthenics, lifting heavy objects because I didn't have any weights, and practicing with my lead pipe. I felt not only that I was in the physical shape to do some monster killing, but that I could show it off to my brother. It was only after an impressive display of whacking some trash cans in an alley that Mikkel relented in his denial, partially because I think he felt sorry for me. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself that my brother was being my mom and I needed his permission to go out and play.

  And so I could finally hunt in September - with conditions, of course. First was that I couldn't hunt alone. That was fair. We were part of a team, and up until my hospital stay, we rarely hunted without each other. So I agreed to this condition readily. But then it turned out that he had an ulterior motive to this.

  He was sending me back to school.

  Okay, I'll admit the whole "back" to part is not accurate. It's not like we ever learned to hunt from someone - there was no education other than the School of Hard Knocks and the College of Figuring It Out As We Go Along. But essentially, my beloved brother Mikkel was putting me in remedial class.

  He decided that my recklessness had been an issue, so he wanted me to learn other styles of hunting from other hunters. After many fuck yous at the insinuation of my recklessness and listening to a long litany of all the times I had actually been reckless, I conceded that he might have a point. But he wanted me to learn? Fuck learning.

  And so I was booked on my "curriculum". I was to start riding along with our fellow hunters, Paulie and Meat, on their jobs. Both of them hunted alone most of the time, so I was less a partner as much as a rookie in Training Day - Mikkel's reference. His helpful movie references were lost on those who didn't share his fanaticism for viewing.

  So on this night, that of the exploding head in an alleyway, I had been riding shotgun with Paulie. He had this job already researched and ready. We had headed up to Unglegore State Park, a few hours north of New Avalon in Cobalt County. Unglegore was a wildlife preserve that also allowed camping in parts of it. Paulie had been contacted through "proper channels" by a "trusted source" to work in the park. After a few weeks of planning, he was ready to do the job.

  Paulie has always been the most paranoid person I have known. He works out of a basement apartment he claims he doesn't actually live in. If you ever were there, you'd see it covered with styrofoam take out boxes, empty bottles of soda, and containers of coffee. The walls are covered with maps, notes, and diagrams. Paulie was a conspiracy theorist - for particular theories. He dug up theories on why the New Avalon monsters exist. I say "New Avalon monsters" because while monsters supposedly exist across the world[1], the ones that exist in New Avalon are different. Those that have hunted internationally are surprised to find creatures in the Avalon area not seen elsewhere. We seem to have special monsters and nobody knows why.

  Paulie wants to know why - with a terrible passion. His prevailing theory was that they're some sort of government experiment. He wasn't fully committed to this theory, but it's the one I heard most often. And of course, in the way of conspiracy theorists, the government was such a sprawling many headed hydra that it was easy to account for idiosyncrasies of data by saying the government simply had an agency, a group, or a super secret project that covered it. But if you get him talking, he's also willing to talk about such alternate monster sources including something having to do with the mines, something in the lake, or even aliens. Why commit to one possible explanation when anything could work?

  Since he's so consumed by theories, you don't see him out in the field as much. Mikkel, myself, and even Meat are all about go time - getting out there and getting the hunting done. Monsters are out there, people are getting hurt, we need to get that shit done ASAP. Paulie doesn't feel that same urgency. He'll research a job forever, not caring if someone else dies due to his prep phase. I've never been a fan of that policy, but that's how he works.

  He had researched this job at Unglegore long enough that he was ready to take it on. We drove the two hours to Unglegore, checking in late in the afternoon with Paulie's contact, Ranger O'Neil. She confirmed Paulie's intentions and notes, as well as telling him everything was in place. They looked over Paulie's map for a while as I stood awkwardly to the side in the ranger station, uninterested in maps and not yet invited to the conversation.

  Ranger O'Neil turned a blind eye to all the weapons we were carrying. Paulie clearly had a rifle case slung on his shoulder and being as this was a state park, there was no hunting allowed. But she just smiled and wished us a good hunt.

  We drove as far into the park as we could, then hiked up a ridge just as the sun was heading toward the horizon. It wasn't setting just yet, but it would soon.

  "Are we going to be able to do this in the dark?" I asked.

  "You brought your flashlight, didn't you, kid?" said Paulie. It didn't matter how many years I knew him or how old I got, I was still "kid" to Paulie. I hated that.

  "Well, yeah... but that limits our ability to
fight. Especially out here."

  "Honestly, I think we'll be done before that," said Paulie. "Based on existing patterns and projections, we'll see it at dusk and then get to pack it in."

  We reached the top of the ridge a short time later. We stopped at a spot where the rock seemed to be sliced in half, a ravine below us and another ridge facing us. I have to say, Unglegore Park was damn pretty. I could see why people went hiking and climbing. I wasn't much for camping, even when we were with Tor, but I could spare a day or two for this. Maybe I could take Yasmin here some time when we weren't fighting.

  As I looked over the ridge, Paulie assembled his sniper rifle. He had a cigarette hanging from his lip as he pulled pieces out of a red velvet lined case that looked like it could have had a musical instrument in it. He was in his forties, his thinning hair poking out from an Avalon Brassmen baseball cap, his build thin and wiry. His face was boney, as if his skin barely covered his skull. His long thin fingers deftly attached the pieces to the rifle as it seemed to grow longer and longer.

  "So what were we hunting again?" I said. Paulie had emailed me a dossier of information he had collected on this job and said to review it. I didn't, because it was boring and there was so much of it. I just needed to know what to kill.

  "Hellhound," he said, still putting together the rifle.

  "But what is a hellhound?" I said. I had honestly never heard of one except in like movies or legends. No hunter had ever talked about one. "We haven't heard shit about hellhounds before."

  "Well, I made up the name, kid," he said, "so that's probably why you've never heard of one. They're new, as far as I can tell."

  "But what are they?" I said. "Do they shoot fire or something? Why hellhound?"

  "Because it's a mean ass fucking dog," said Paulie. "Had to name it something, so I decided on hellhound."

  "Just a dog?" I said. "Why are we out for that?"