Altered Gate (Dillon the Monster Dick Book 3)

by Shaun Meeks

  “Alright, who’s in there?” I called out, still in the doorway. “Might as well show yourselves. It makes it so much easier on everyone.”

  The thuds increased, joined by a pair of low, deep, guttural growls. The doors for the machines began to open and slam shut over and over again. Clearly whatever was in these machines was trying to scare me. It was also clear, they had no idea I was a hunter.

  “Get out!” the dryer bellowed and jumped a half inch or so towards me. I tried not to chuckle at the sight of the possibility of extremely slow pursuit. “Get out or die, human!”

  “Who said I was human?” I said, juggling my Tincher. The machines stopped moving at that. I wondered if they were pondering the seriousness of my question, or if they were trying to come up with a plan.

  “Of course you’re human,” the washer growled, and the thuds started anew. “We will eat you and taste your delicious human meat.”

  “You can try, but how do you plan on doing that? I don’t see teeth in those machines, assuming that’s what you took possession of when you crossed over. So, you can try to eat me with your dull metal doors, but in the end, you’ll only piss me off and I’ll make you suffer before I send you back to where you came from.”

  “What? Who are you?” the washer asked in a low whisper.

  “He’s a hunter,” the dryer said, and even in the tinny, echoed voice I could hear panic.

  “Impossible. He’s no hunter. He’s just a stupid Earther.”

  I walked over to the machines. The bangs and thrashing about continued. They growled words I couldn’t understand, nor cared to. I wasn’t going to play around with them. I just took my dagger and slammed it into the top of the washer. There was a scream of metal against metal as I thrust the blade in, and then dragged it out, but no cries from the monster who’d taken possession of the machine. The creatures continued to make the washer and dryer jump and thud as they growled at me.

  That’s never happened before.

  I stabbed again, to no end. Like I said, things used to be so much easier.

  “Get the human!” the dryer commanded and they both made a minuscule hop in my direction. They hopped again, and as I watched, looking down at them, I saw something. They’d given themselves away.

  “Sneaky bastards,” I whispered, and couldn’t help but smile.

  I grabbed hold of the washer and pushed it so it landed on its side, and then did the same to the dryer, shoving it the other direction. The creatures screamed out as the machines crashed to the floor and revealed them for what they were. Maybe wherever these monsters were from they had access to the Wizard of Oz because they’d tried to pull off a move the Great and Powerful Oz would’ve been proud of.

  Under the dryer were two small beasts, no bigger than a medium sized cat. They stared up at me with dull, empty eye sockets. Their bodies were made up of dust and lint, and as soon as they saw me, their growls stopped. They ran to hug each another with false arms, and just stared up at me.

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  “Some human,” one of them said, sounding less ominous since it no longer had the machine echoing its voice.

  “Not really,” I told them. “Judging by your height, shape, and the elongated skulls, I’m guessing you’re both Bronns?”

  “Oh no,” said the one who’d been under the dryer. “I told you he was a hunter!”

  “You got me,” I said, walking towards them. They quivered and held on to one another. There was nowhere to run. The fallen machines were on either side of them, and behind them was a wall. It was time to send them back, and they knew it. The Tincher would be enough.

  “Please don’t hurt us.”

  “You know I have a job to do. You shouldn’t be here. You know the rules. Not to mention you’re scaring the nice family of humans that live here. You’re leaving this planet.”

  “No, but if you leave now and let us be, we won’t let Throg hurt you,” the one from the washer said through the sound of tearless crying. “We aren’t hurting anyone. We don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Who or what is a Throg?”

  “Me is!”

  The voice behind me was low and large. I turned to see what was there, but felt something grab hold of me and the next thing I knew, I was airborne. I didn’t even have time to think before my body slammed into the wall next to a door that led outside. The drywall gave a bit, and I went crashing to the ground. Luckily, I still had my dagger in hand. I moved as fast as I could to get to my feet. I heard the thudding steps of something I guessed was Throg, and caught a glimpse of the monster before it hit me.

  I had no idea where the goliath had been hiding. The creature was tall, a few inches above my six feet, and his body looked to be made up of things from a recycling bin. Newspapers, pop cans, dryer sheets, bottles of Tide, and other garbage took the shape of what was a lot like the smaller Bronns, only in a larger package. I’d heard how some of their species could be ten to twenty times the regular size of the average ones, but with that kind of height, smarts appeared to be sacrificed.

  Strength was not.

  “No hurt us,” Throg grunted as he charged at me. “You hurt. You go away.”

  I wanted to get away, even more so when the big brute plowed into me and sent me back into the wall. At that point either the house shook or my whole body did, and my dagger slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. I moved to pick it up, but Throg wrapped his garbage arms around me and began to squeeze. I gasped for air and struggled to get free.

  “Kill him, Throg,” one of the little bastards yelled out, cheering the brute on from the sidelines. “He wants to send us back home, so kill him.”

  He continued to try. His python grip around me was a killer, and I knew I had to do something fast. Without my knife there was no way to end it, but my gloves were tucked into my back pocket. I knew they were my only hope, if they worked on a Bronn at all, and I was about to put all my chips on that bet. The problem was the monster had my arms crushed to my sides and it was a struggle to reach them. My only hope was to let out all my breath fast, create just enough space between the two of us, and grab them. Problem with that was, if I missed getting hold of them, I’d be dead since his grip would be even tighter and pulling in breath would be next to impossible.

  Since I’ve never been one to ponder things until it’s too late, I did what I planned and grabbed them. One fell; the other was in my clenched fist. While I struggled to breath in his vice grip, I started to feel as though I was about to pass out at any second. I fought the calling darkness and slipped the glove on. After that, I touched it to him and hoped for success.

  It wasn’t easy, but it worked. Throg’s arms loosened and released me. I stepped and swooped down to pick up my Tincher. Before he could regain his control, I plunged the dagger into his face and quickly swiped down. The garbage body went sprawling in every direction and a thin orange mist blinked out of this world.

  After that, the two dust bunny Bronns could be dispatched and I would be done. As I walked over to them, though, they stood their ground. They looked at me with those dark, eyeless holes, and I realized they had stopped shaking.

  “You have no idea what you’re doing, hunter. Everything is changing. The worlds, realms and dimensions are falling apart. And you still stick to doing this. Why?”

  “It’s what I’m paid to do.”

  I didn’t feel great sending them off back to their planet, but I did have a job to do. If I allowed these things to run wild, it wouldn’t mean they’d be any safer here than there. What it would guarantee is I’d get pulled from Earth and another hunter would replace me. And since I had nowhere left to go, my own world and people nothing more than a memory, I had no plans to stop hunting. And sure, I’ve made exceptions before, but some things are easier to keep quiet than others.

  Once upon a time, things used to be so m
uch simpler.

  I left the family’s house and messaged Rouge to see if she’d be up for a visit. She was quick to get back, saying she’d love it more if I brought chips or chocolate. She also reminded me not to forget the Swiss Chalet. I ordered online, and then stopped by a convenience store on the way over. I parked beside a group of teens with skateboards who were listening to some of the most soul-shattering music I’d ever heard. Not loud or heavy, just auto-tuned and monotonous. It sounded like the kind of music you’d listen to if you wanted to kill yourself. I walked through a cloud of musty smoke and went through the automatic doors.

  After I grabbed a few snacks, I headed out and noticed the group had their eyes glued on me. The music was thankfully shut off. They whispered to one another, and looked giddy and excited. Two of the group nudged the smallest over and over again until finally he stepped forward and opened his mouth.

  “Hey, are you the monster guy?”

  “The what?” I asked, barely hearing him.

  “You know, the monster dude from that video on YouTube. That shit was sick, bro. I saw it, and was woke, knowing there’s these dank monsters out there, man. Just like some crazy TV shit.”

  I groaned and continued to walk to my car. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Pretty sure you got the wrong guy.”

  “No way, star, you’re all over YouTube, like over a million hits. I saw you fight some sick monster. It was so fresh.”

  “I don’t watch YouTube and there’s no such thing as monsters.”

  “Sure, man, I get it, there’s no real monsters,” he chuckled like a brainless gnat. “We got your back, monster man. Keep on keeping on, dude.”

  I drove off and tried my best to ignore it. I knew one day I’d have an issue with people who posted everything to social media, expecting it to go viral. One day it might. There was only so long I was going to be able to keep doing what I do before it spread in a very public way. To some, that might be a good thing, a way for me to get more calls and more business; an easy way to clean up the mess these weak spots and portals cause. I have a website where I advertise what I do, but I don’t go and spread it around the way this clearly would. See, I put up the website and let people find their own way to it. I don’t put up fliers, or ads on TV. It’s there, but not in your face because the last thing I want is to spread some sort of panic. You might think that the people who hire me could do that, start telling people about the monsters and demons in their homes, or places of business, but think about it. Would you? If someone had a roach or rat problem, would they want everyone on the world to know about it, would they video it and put in on some social media platform? Probably not. Most would be ashamed, thinking it would make them look disgusting, ward off friends and potential customers. So, they call an exterminator and keep the whole situation to themselves. Same thing goes with my clientele. None of them want people to know they were infested with some otherworldly creatures.

  I don’t blame them in that respect. Even though, like pests, it’s not their fault. This kind of stuff just happens from time to time. I tend to tell a lot of them that to console them and make them know it’s not their fault; it’s just the nature of things. Then, when I leave and the problem has been resolved, they can pretend it never happened. And the rest of the world continues to sleep easy thinking nothing unnatural exists here.

  Now there’s this video. It might be nothing in the end. It could be that it had already gone viral. The stoner skater said it has over a million hits, but no doubt there’s already an argument in the comment section about it being real or fake, monster or some government experiment. Some might even be calling it a distraction from some crooked politician, a little dog wagging to take your attention away from the latest scandal. If I’ve learned nothing else about social media and viral videos over the last few years, I’ve seen how nothing stays front and center for any great length of time. All I can do is hope something bigger and better comes up soon and people forget all about it, return to their regularly scheduled meme war or the everlasting battle between the far left and the far right.

  I hoped it would happen fast. The last thing I need is for this to all get back to the higher- ups: the people I have to answer to would not be too stoked with that kind of publicity. I like being a hunter. I don’t think I’d want to get in all sorts of trouble, be pulled from here and forced to do what Godfrey does.

  Then again, I’m not the most likely to follow the rules. After all, I’m heading over to my human girlfriend’s apartment to eat rotisserie chicken and treats, talk about my day, and do whatever comes unnatural. Most of those things are against every rule the Collective gave me when sending me here.

  One of these days I may be the rule-follower, but I don’t see it happening any time soon.

  “We should have some pop and chips now. I think we earned it,” Rouge said as she lay next to me. I was still struggling to catch my breath. I watched her as she got out of the bed. She was luminous, her pale skin reflecting the streetlight in the dark of the room. I was exhausted, satisfied as anyone could possibly be. Just the sight of her like that made me want a round two, though I knew she was right: we needed to treat ourselves, refuel before we went for another mattress ride.

  After getting dressed and gathering our well-earned rewards, we sat down to watch some Netflix. Not too soon after did we get sidetracked with talking as we always do.

  “Are you working tomorrow?” she asked, and sipped her pop.

  “I have to pick up some supplies from Godfrey’s, but as of now, I have no jobs scheduled. Why?”

  “I have a show tomorrow and I was wondering if you wanted to come. It’s one of Jason’s and you know how I feel about him.”

  I did. In the time we’d know each other, I’d gotten to know a lot about the burlesque scene in Toronto. There were so many great people involved in it, amazing performers and producers, but there were a few real asshats as well. I’d listened to Rouge tell me all about the backstabbing, people refusing to pay performers, and others that were just smarmy in every sense and synonym of the word. Jason was one of those. He was a producer who liked to hang out in the change room while the performers were getting undressed and ready, pretending to need to talk about something important, but it never was. When it came to the end of the night and it was time to pay everyone who had given their all on stage, he would make excuses on how bad the door had been and even though he’d promised a certain amount of money, he could only offer a significantly less amount. He didn’t always do it, but he did it enough times that Rouge had told him if she was to perform for him, she needed payment up front. He fought it at first, but since she had a big following in the city, he crumbled.

  Still, there was a chance he’d be as lecherous as always, so when she worked with him, it was nice when I could be there to ward off the snake. I know Rouge is more than capable of doing it all on her own, but if she wanted my support, I’d give it to her any way I could.

  “I’ll be there in the front row.”

  “Yay! And who knows, it might be the last time you see me up there.”

  “What? Why?” I asked, and felt shocked to hear her say that. There had been times here and there where she would voice some sort of discontent, or explain how the polished sheen of the burlesque world was wearing off a bit, but I’d never heard her outright say she was considering quitting altogether.

  “It’s not as fun as it used to be,” she explained. “I mean, I loved going out there, losing myself to the lights and the music, feeling beautiful and giving my all to everyone who watched. I still do, but the scene is changing so much. Everyone wants to be a political statement now, or some awkward, funny performer. I think the crowds are starting to like that more than people like me who do a more classic show.”

  “But you’re so amazing at what you do. Won’t you miss it?”

  “Sure I will. I’ve been doing this for so long.
It’s a part of who I am, but I feel like the whole thing has turned down a road I don’t really want to be on. I love the idea of being an escape for people, a bit of a fantasy. I get on stage and for that five or ten minutes I perform there’s no worrying about your bills, how many likes your post has, who you’re going to vote for, or anything else. But if I were to start making everything some political or social issue performance, that escape from reality is no more, you’re being reminded of it. Maybe I’m just becoming an old biddy in this scene and it’s time to take up knitting.”

  I laughed at that, and regretted it instantly.

  “You think that’s funny?” she said, crossing her arms, as she did her best to look indignant.

  “No, but yes,” I admitted. “I just pictured you in a rocking chair surrounded by cats, making piles of knitwear for your new feline companions.”

  She laughed to and gave my arm a little shot.

  “First off, it would never be cats. They’re the devil. Maybe a house full of puppies and I could make little gentleman sweaters and lady hats for them.” That made me laugh even harder, and the dog shot us a look to let us know we were clearly being too loud while it attempted to sleep. “Or instead of that, maybe I could just work with you.”

  My laughter petered out at that, and I looked over at her, unsure if she was serious or not. The look on her face said she was dead serious.

  “Work with me?”

  “Yeah. Is that hard to believe?”

  “Not hard to believe, but I’m not sure it’s something that would ever really happen. It’d be kind of cool to go out to work with you every day, unless you’d get bored of me, but thinking about it realistically, it’s dangerous and against every rule in the book.”

  “So is dating me.”

  “True, but what about the danger part? I’m not sure I’m cool with the idea of putting you in that sort of situation.”

  “Like when I saved you from being eaten in Innisfil?”