Use Enough Gun (Legends of the Monster Hunter Book 3)

by Joshua Reynolds

This is too easy, she thought. This just ain’t right…

  She emerged into the world from her hole and stood, cruel talons digging into the frozen earth, eager for something softer to tear into. Nothing attacked. No warning of danger pricked her mind.

  Watching the fire flicker in the distance, Nightmare Bird preened her black feathers, making sure that each was in its place; that wings as broad as sails would carry her away at need. One feather was loose in its socket, so she snatched it up in her hooked beak and pulled it out. The pain brought her senses alive.

  “Now I’m ready,” she said aloud. “Let’s see what’s what.”

  Deciding to stay on the ground, to do the unexpected, Nightmare Bird made her way toward the fire. Snow had fallen since the last time she had left her den. It was deep upon the ground and made everything in the forest quiet, ready to betray her least misstep. She pointed her vulture’s head toward the fire and sniffed, but again the snow played her false. Nothing was there to smell beyond smoke and ash. Even so, she was all the more careful as she approached.

  From the shadows, hidden from sight by the power granted to her, Nightmare Bird looked into the hollow. Months ago, the trees had shed their summer plumage and slipped into something that was not quite sleep. Through this dreamy haze, the winter’s bite was felt in the deepest of their roots. The trees nearest the fire seemed to be bending over to warm their frigid bones, if only trees could be thought of to do such things. But maybe it was just another trick of light and shadow that the night plays.

  Beyond the trees, sitting on a log in front of the fire, was a human girl of nine or ten years. She had pale skin and golden hair that hung down past her shoulders. Her eyes, once perhaps a striking shade of blue, were now a clouded, milky white.

  With needle and thread the girl was mending a tattered blanket. In went the needle on one side of a tear, careful not to pierce her delicate skin, then out again the other side, all done by the knowledge and awareness of her fingers.

  “Why, hello,” the girl said brightly. She looked up from her work, but into nothingness. “How are you?”

  Testing, allowing herself to become visible, Nightmare Bird swayed her head back and forth, the way a serpent might to lure the lesser prey. The girl did not react, so Nightmare Bird said, “Greetings, young lady. May I share your fire?”

  “Of course. It’s a cold night to be sure, and I could use the company.”

  Still uncertain, Nightmare Bird walked into the light. She used no art to hide what she really was, cast no spell to cloud the girl’s senses. With a single flap of her great wings she could escape into the night. But there was no need.

  The girl smiled at nothing and went back to her work. “Come and sit. Don’t be shy. My name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Lizzie.”

  “All right and thank you, Lizzie. I’m Missus Smith.”

  There was a log on the opposite side of the fire. Nightmare Bird sat down and tried to figure out what was going on, but her brain must not have been working right. Everything seemed perfectly normal, besides the fact that the girl was in no way frightened of her.

  Beginning to hum while doing her work, Lizzie stopped short. “Oh, I guess we’re not the only ones out tonight, Missus Smith.” Milky eyes stared into the forest. “Hello.it Come sit by the fire.”

  To Nightmare Bird’s surprise, out of the forest appeared three figures. The first was Harry Beast. He was twice as tall as a man, with a great horn that stuck out of his head at an odd angle. He was, as can be somewhat expected by his name, very hairy. His hair was long and brown and was as matted and unkempt as a stray dog’s.

  Nightmare Bird hadn’t noticed as he squatted at the lip of the hollow, looking more like some grotesquely shaped shrubbery than a proper monster. Now he hopped down from the ledge and came right up to the fire, sitting down as nice as could be, right next to Nightmare Bird, dreadful smell and all.

  The other two were trolls. Nightmare Bird knew them well. Thudrott and Puttygut were small for their kind, only as tall as the girl but thick as barrels. They had very little in the way of magic about them. They were thieves and egg-eaters and generally despicable.

  It was a wonder those two had survived in the forest as long as they had. More than once Nightmare Bird had thought to make a meal of them. In the end, they were always able to make themselves scarce when she was hungry enough for their bad meat.

  “Look now, haven’t we the nicest little party,” Lizzie said with delight, her voice high and sweet in the way of little girls.

  “Yes, isn’t this just dandy,” Nightmare Bird said, eyeing the others with contempt. Harry Beast was oblivious, but Thudrott and Puttygut knew enough to keep their distance.

  “It’s wonderful. And how may I name our new guests?”

  “Edward,” said Thudrott in a high, singsong voice, “and this is my friend Broomhilde.”

  Laughing, Lizzie said, “Really? What an odd name for a boy. They must tease you mercilessly in school.”

  “Bobby,” Harry Beast interrupted excitedly, rocking back and forth.

  “My, my, what a rough voice. You must be coming down with something.” Lizzie fished inside the pocket of her cloak. “Here, I think I have just the thing, a nice lozenge for your throat.”

  Unwrapping a piece of waxed paper, Lizzie handed something large and round to Harry Beast. It was an eyeball. Not believing his luck, Harry Beast put it in his mouth and chewed it up.

  “There, there. How’s that?”

  “Good,” Harry Beast said.

  “Wonderful. Now, how about some dinner? My father is out cutting wood in the forest. He was supposed to be back, but that was hours ago. Is anyone else hungry?”

  They all nodded. Nightmare Bird was about to answer for them when Lizzie replied, “Good. I think I have enough for everyone. These are tough times and those that have a little something extra are bound to share.”

  Finding a basket behind her, Lizzie pulled out several linked sausages. One by one, she began passing them to the others.

  “Deep Night,” Thudrott said, using the monster word for the Winter Solstice, speaking in a language that humans hear as only as the settling of houses on their foundations or the swaying of branches in the wind. “We must make the sacrifice.”

  “Yes,” Nightmare Bird replied, handing him a sausage. “We must have our victim. It is Deep Night. We must preserve our powers.”

  “Share?” asked Thudrott, giving the sausage to his companion.

  “It is permitted.”

  “But will you?”

  “On this night of all nights,” Nightmare Bird allowed. “Yes, I will share.”

  Thudrott smiled and nodded his head. “Much better than the apple pie we gave last year. Thank you, we are in your debt.”

  By then, all the sausages had been passed out. They were going to start eating when Lizzie held up a stick and said, “Sorry, I only have the one. Father cut it for me before he left.”

  Harry Beast was on his feet in a flash. “I get them, I get them,” he said.

  Lizzie laughed. “Wonderful, oh thank you, Bobby.”

  With a great amount of noise, Harry Beast tromped to the edge of the hollow. Reaching up into the trees, he seized a thick branch and pulled. The whole tree swayed under his weight. With a loud crack, the branch gave way, falling to the ground with Harry Beast under it. It was so large a branch that Nightmare Bird and the trolls scattered to avoid being struck, and only did so just in time. Indeed, it looked as though the girl was going to be smashed into jelly, but miraculously the branches landed on either side of her and she was unharmed.

  “Wonderful!” the girl exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Thank you, Bobby.”

  Bobby beamed with delight.

  Recovering their senses, Nightmare Bird and the Trolls went back to their seats, breaking off spits as they went. A bird’s nest still lodged within its branches, Harry Beast skewered his sausage and stuck it into the fire. Soon a delicious smell filled the hollow. The
meat was rich and the fat cracked and sizzled as it cooked over the fire.

  Unable to wait, the ends of the branch and the bird’s nest burning, Harry beast pulled his sausage from the fire and gobbled it up. “More?”

  “My, you are a hungry one,” replied Lizzie. “Of course there’s more. I can’t let you go hungry, not tonight of all nights.”

  From the basket, the girl pulled out a massive haunch of meat. It looked to be the thigh of a cow or some equally large animal. A white bone poked out of the end and it was marbled with fat. Drooling greedily, Harry Beast took the haunch and bit in.

  So pleased were they by their meals that none asked about the basket’s seemingly limitless bounty. Nightmare Bird alone thought something was wrong. But her mind was in a fog. It was all she could do to cook the sausage properly and not let it burn, though she had no real desire for the sausage and had not wanted it in the first place. She watched Harry Beast, unusually tame, eating away at what would have fed a human family for weeks, and she knew something just didn’t add up.

  Remembering something, Puttygut reached into his trousers, searching desperately for what he only knew. After a moment he found whatever it was, down there in front, his hands clamping onto his prize. Out came a fistful of worms, wriggling in his grasp.

  “Good, oh good idea, some nasty flavoring,” laughed Thudrott, pulling his sausage from the flames. He looked over at their host and corrected himself, “I mean, splendid idea, old chap.”

  With practiced elegance, Thudrott stuck his finger into his nose. The nostril stretched as he prodded inside. A sharp jerk of his finger caught something. It fought back and he pulled, clamping the end between thumb and finger. Another good tug and the thing, long and gooey, snapped out. Wiping it on the sausage, he began to eat.

  “What’s that?” said Nightmare Bird, coming to her feat, her great wings spread wide, ready to catch the air and be away.

  “Cornelius,” Harry Beast said between mouthfuls, disinterested.

  Into the hollow swept bats, first only a few, and then many, many bats. They flew as if with one mind, like a flock of birds at the fall migration, each following some common voice, telling them to turn this way or that, to always stay together.

  At the name and the sight, the trolls cowered upon the ground, finding unlikely places to hide for creatures of their size. Nightmare Bird was not afraid. Now she recognized who had come.

  The bats swirled together and before them stood the figure of a man. He was elegantly dressed in a finely made suit, a high collar and cape that were slightly out of fashion. Between the pallor of his skin and the set of his eyes there could be no doubt to anyone, even before noting his dental peculiarities, that this was a vampire.

  “Good evening,” Cornelius said with the expected accent. He surveyed the guests seated around the fire, first with distaste at the trolls, then with something like fear when discovering Harry Beast. He stepped away from that side of the fire, smiling and bowing to Nightmare Bird with great respect.

  “And who is this?” Lizzie said, by all appearances having missed the spectacle.

  “Uh, my husband,” said Nightmare Bird, glad to have a worthy, though somewhat eccentric, conspirator. “I didn’t expect him back ‘till morning. I see he’s given up the hunt, then? Not a bit of luck too, I’d expect?”

  Cornelius glanced over at the girl and knew to play along. He answered with a grand flourish, “Yes, I am afraid it is thus, my good wife.”

  Nightmare Bird rolled her black eyes.

  “Well, Mister Smith, you are in luck. I have one more sausage, and you’re welcomed to it.”

  “What about your poor father, dear,” Nightmare Bird said in her best approximation of concern.

  “Ah yes, my father, that’s right,” Lizzie answered slowly. “But he wouldn’t want anyone to go hungry.”

  “Had a bit of fresh meat already,” Cornelius said, wiping his fangs. Nightmare Bird gave him a look to tell him to tone it down, but he was oblivious. He went right on with his explanation, saying, “No, uh, luck hunting, that is, but I had a biscuit, that’s it, a biscuit or two in my wallet. That is good enough fare when one is used to living by his wits. Your father is sure to be hungry when he returns from his, uh, expedition into the uncharted wilds of these regions…”

  Nightmare Bird cut him off. “He’s fine, thank you.”

  “Not him, not to share the sacrifice,” said Thudrott, using the speech of monsters. “He killed our mamma!”

  “Yeah, he’s a rat fink and a murderer,” Puttygut added from his hiding place. “He’s got no cause to share.”

  “Not now,” hissed Nightmare Bird. “We’ll sort it out later.”

  Lizzie said, “Silly me, I just had a look in my basket and found another sausage. Wouldn’t you care for a bite after all?”

  “Yes, my dear, a bite is exactly what I would like the most. How generous of you to make such a kind and munificent offer,” Cornelius said.

  “Not him, we won’t share nothing with him,” Thudrott insisted, appearing from the shadows, a rusted dagger in his hand.

  Nightmare Bird said, “We can all share.”

  “No! Not share,” said Puttygut. He had a crossbow, a bolt to the string, and was now lost in the darkness.

  Harry Beast stood, looming large and shaggy above them, the firelight lending him an ominous countenance. The branch was in his hand, the ends burning. His voice like thunder, not bothering to disguise his language, he said, “Mamma killer. Not him.”

  “Why not me?” Cornelius replied, taking shelter behind Nightmare Bird like a boy behind the skirts of his mother. “I have as much right as the rest of you. It’s not fair, I say, not fair at all.”

  “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” the girl said in her small voice.

  “Be quiet, all of you,” said Nightmare Bird. “We cannot refuse him this request of solidarity, not tonight of all nights.”

  “Not him!” said Thudrott. “Not the sacrifice.”

  “Not sacrifice,” Harry Beast agreed.

  “Sacrifice?” Lizzie said.

  All was hushed as the monsters looked to their victim, not knowing what to do next. The silence extended. The fire burned, a tongue of flame that licked the underside of the trees with heat and light, seeming somehow magical, more than what it appeared.

  In the language of monsters that humans comprehend only as the noises of small animals in the walls or shutters loose on their hinges, Lizzie said. “Is that the sacrifice of Deep Night, the sacrifice of all monsters to keep their powers?”

  Everything happened at once. Realizing her peril, Nightmare Bird tried to placate the girl. Harry Beast roared and was about thrash the vampire, but was surprised as Cornelius turned to ash in his hands. Puttygut had shot him in the chest, returning him to the dust from which he was created.

  “Stop!” shouted Lizzie. Her words seemed somehow invested with power. None of them, Nightmare Bird or trolls or even the big hairy thing, could move or speak. She stood and threw up the blanket. It stretched out, settling over all of them, securing them in a tight embrace—struggle as they may, they could not escape.

  “It is Dark Night and you are mine, my victims, the best sacrifice of all.”

  Mike Phillips is author of The World Below and Reign of the Nightmare Prince. His short stories have appeared in ParAbnormal Digest, Cemetery Moon, Sinister Tales, Beyond Centauri, the World of Myth, Mystic Signals and many others. Online, his work has appeared in Lorelei Signal, Kzine, Bewildering Stories, Midnight Times, and Fringe. He is best known for his Crow Witch and Patrick Donegal series. Please visit Mike at mikephillipsfantasy.com.

  Hell Knight

  Angel Propps

  The city sat beside a long, sickle-shaped slice of the sea. The foghorns blew mournfully through the thin walls of the cheap motel while the salty damp crawled across a brittle windowsill and past the cracked glass. The place was cold and cheerless, the last resort of the desperate and dying. And for those who
have seen death close up, walked through it and come out the other side. Like me…

  I have been to Hell and back for love. I don’t recommend it. Or, if you feel you just have to, let me suggest that you make damn sure that before you sacrifice yourself to rescue your lover from the grips of Hell, they will be allowed to come home. Some are never allowed, others will be but only if you make that proverbial deal with the devil, and trust me, the one you love had better be worth it because it is a hard bargain.

  The wind rattled along the sides of the building. Out in the bay, the foghorns gave off more of those sad blows and from the next room came the sound of people fucking. I knew the woman was a hooker who lived and tricked from that room but didn’t begrudge her—everyone does what they have to, you know. Besides, it was likely one of the few ways she had to stay warm.

  I had spotted the monster earlier that afternoon. It had been skulking along the docks and I had walked past like I had not seen it. I then fell in step behind it and followed it to its den, an equally sleazy motel not a hundred yards from this one. I stood there at the window for a long time looking out through the greasy, spider-webbed glass wishing I could just sleep the night away instead of going out hunting.

  There was no sense in putting it off. I went to the bed and gathered up my weapons. I strapped the iron blades onto my belt; put the small gun in the ankle holster and the big gun on my right hip. I gathered up my small stuff: a vial of acid and another of sweetly scented rosewater and a small mirror inside an old tortoiseshell compact that once belonged to a star of silent films. On my left wrist, above the scar that would never fade and was the proof of my love and my promise was the solid band of iron and steel that had been fitted to forever ride that wrist. It contains the tears of a young girl who died thirteen hundred years ago and her sadness and innocence are my protection against the terrible blood inside me, blood I drank in order to fulfill the vow that protects my love against eternal damnation.

  The door squealed open and wind raced inside and along the mildew slicked walls. I closed the door and walked down the concrete stairs that sat almost directly in front of my door, just the way I liked it, and then crossed the parking lot. The wind was alive and vicious, tugging at my old leather jacket, sending garbage swirling from the gutter against my heavy black boots and turning my skin to ice. The sea offered no freshening to the stench of poverty and sadness. The few lights that burned in the rooms looked small, lost and frightened. There was nothing brave about the sight of them. Out on the bay a boat bobbed softly on black waves and a dead fish washed against the shore, its one visible eye staring upwards.