American Demon Hunters_An Urban Fantasy Supernatural Thriller

by J. Thorn

  “Whatever,” she said, watching Hank’s eyes move to the weaponry hanging from the walls.

  “What do you know about Lake View Cemetery?” he asked.

  Lori turned from the ghost rider and faced Hank. The air conditioning brought a chill to the back of her neck. “It's where they put dead people. Lots of them.”

  “C’mon.”

  “It's a cemetery. What are you expecting me to say? We’re not having this conversation again. Not the one about you and Corey and the fucking dead people in that place. We’re not.”

  “You know I’ve been an academic my whole life.”

  “Umm, duh? Hi. My name is Lori, nice to meet you. I’ve been your wife’s best friend her entire life and have known you about six months less.”

  “Then you know I always want a rational explanation for everything.”

  “Right,” Lori said. “Yet last time we met, you told me your son was a psychic and now you’re asking me about a cemetery.”

  Hank sighed. No matter what Lori said, he felt uneasiness beneath her words, a reluctance to engage his true concern for fear it might trigger her own anxieties. He decided to change tactics. If he had one last shot at gaining Lori as a confidante, he’d have to tell her everything.

  “What about the abandoned observatory near the Cleveland Heights/East Cleveland border?”

  “Huh?”

  “The Warner and Swasey Observatory.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’ve lived here your entire life and you’ve never heard of it?”

  “So what? What’s your point? I’ve got to get dinner on before Dom gets home.”

  “I think there could be some horrific, supernatural shit going down inside that place.”

  “It always sounded forced when you cursed. Just like if my auto mechanic started quoting me the Pythagorean Theorem,” Lori said.

  “I’m going to dig deeper. I’m going to prove to you something is going on there.”

  “See ya, Hank. Call me when you’re ready to buy me that beer you owe me—once you find the ghosts of the observatory.”

  Hank remained on the padded bench as Lori walked out of the gallery toward the exit. He decided to sit for a bit longer, gazing at the polished steel and chain mail hanging from the wall. Hank wondered just how deep he would have to go.

  Chapter 13

  Martha carried the tray into the living room and set it on the coffee table. The teapot rattled as she arranged the cups. Fred sat back in the chair and waited for his wife to hand him his cup of tea as she had almost every afternoon for the past forty-seven years. He smiled and used his spoon to stir the sugar on the bottom of the cup. She sat on the couch across from her husband. A thin ray of golden August sunshine split the room in half and the dust motes ejected by Martha’s motion fluttered in the light.

  “Hank?”

  “Out,” Martha said.

  “Corey?”

  “He’s taking a nap.”

  Fred nodded and took a sip. The tea scalded his tongue and filled his mouth with a surge of spiced cinnamon.

  “We’re getting too old for this,” Fred said.

  “People say that all the time.”

  “Not about what we do. Not about being a hunter.”

  “It's not about physical stamina,” she said. “It's not about that at all.”

  “I’m not talking about my muscles. I’m tired. I’m old. We need to be thinking about the younger folks in this town who can serve, who can take the responsibility.”

  “They don’t care, hon. The younger people, they only want a piece of plastic in front of their face. They don’t see the threat looming in this town every day. And frankly, people don’t live like they used to. How many of the families on this street when we raised our kids are still here? How many neighbors do we know?”

  Fred shrugged.

  “Right. Not many. We lost our community when people started sitting in front of televisions every evening instead of walking their neighborhoods. So we’re left with this.”

  “But we can’t do this forever,” Fred said. “If we don’t recruit into the Order then—”

  “Don’t. Don’t talk like that. Think of your grandson. Imagine what would happen if the portal was left unguarded, open. Think about this universe and what would happen if the Gakis broke through and consumed the planet. Is that what you want for Corey?”

  “Of course not,” Fred said. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not saying we retire. I think we need to start actively recruiting. Soon.”

  “What did Singleton say?” Martha asked, changing the topic.

  “He has someone keeping an eye on Hank. He also arranged for Lisander to counsel him.”

  “Sonya?”

  “Yes,” Fred said. “Sonya Lisander.”

  Martha smiled, taking another sip of her tea.

  “She’s quite the looker.”

  “I didn’t notice,” Fred said. “Besides. Michelle is gone and Hank could use some female company. Michelle is never coming back.”

  Martha raised her eyebrows.

  “I mean it. Never. Not while I’m alive. That’s an abomination and goes against everything we’ve stood for all these years.”

  “I know,” Martha said, her tone flat and low.

  “Our daughter is gone but her son is not. The energy from the portal is intensifying. Hank’s been to the cemetery several times. Singleton’s staff spotted him doing research at Noble Library. He needs to be distracted and Sonya is a good person.”

  “You mean she’s a beautiful woman.”

  “That too,” Fred said. He smiled at Martha over the top of his cup. “Not that I would notice.”

  “What about Corey?” Martha asked.

  “Singleton is still doing evaluations. Corey has something, no doubt. The doc is trying to figure out exactly what that is.”

  “Is it time to call a gathering?”

  “Probably,” Fred said. “Does it have to be in that wretched place?”

  “The observatory contains the portal. You know that.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the observatory. I meant East Cleveland. Have you seen the potholes on Taylor Road? They go all the way to China.”

  Martha stood and slapped Fred’s knee. She giggled to cover the anxiety she had been feeling since Hank and Corey returned.

  Hank disappeared for hours at a time and it wasn’t that in and of itself that bothered Martha and Fred. What disturbed them was they knew what Hank was doing, getting too close to the fire. Hank’s natural curiosity and academic approach meant Singleton was right. With Michelle’s anniversary approaching, Hank could discover enough to enable her death map. It was possible Hank would attempt a summoning and the thought made Fred shiver.

  “You okay, dear? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I’m still thinking about Hank.”

  “We’re all thinking about him.”

  “No,” Fred said. He tipped the spout of the teapot and a rush of afternoon chai filled his cup again. He inhaled the cardamom, cinnamon and cloves. “I mean, I’m thinking about his odds. Is Sonya enough of a distraction? I feel like he’s spending more and more time at the library and he’ll eventually start putting things together.”

  “I’m more worried about the portal than a summoning,” Martha said. “Do you remember the first few that squeezed through the portal?”

  Fred shivered again. “They were hideous, malformed demons.”

  “I was there,” Martha said. “I know what you’re talking about. We were much younger then. There were more guardians in those days.”

  Fred sipped his tea and nodded. Martha was right, as she almost always was. Fred remembered the early days of Orion’s Order, back when nobody knew what it all meant. After seeing what happened to Mary and realizing the consequences of raising the dead, Singleton took the lead and they somehow kept the world from being invaded by the wretched, lost souls.

  “All the more
reason we have to keep Hank from getting that far. Singleton has the stats. Once a person gets past the first anniversary of the death, they’re seven times less likely to try calling the death map on subsequent anniversaries.”

  “You sound like him,” Martha said.

  “Don’t say that.”

  She smiled and took a sip of her tea. “What about Corey?” she asked.

  The phone rang and Fred picked it up. “Hello? Yes... Yes.”

  He hung up.

  “That was Singleton. His readings show the portal’s energy spiked this morning. He believes we could see a Gaki tonight, slipping through ahead of a possible summoning.”

  “Oh my,” Martha said.

  “Call your sister and see if she can stay with Corey. We need to get to the observatory and deal with any demons that might be coming through.”

  Chapter 14

  Hank drove through the streets of Cleveland’s east side, hearing Lori in his head. She thought he was foolish and his imagination was running wild, but something else was in her face. Hank thought she looked unsure. Lori could have been scared or nervous too, but she seemed anxious about something she did not understand. He slapped his hand on the steering wheel.

  Maybe he was going insane. Maybe Corey’s accident and Michelle’s death were affecting him in ways he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. Hank turned left and pulled the Dodge into a parking space behind the Cleveland Heights Historical Society. He didn’t remember deciding to come here, yet he sat in a parking space staring at the front door.

  “One last inquiry,” he said to himself, stepping out of the truck. “This is it and then I put it to rest.”

  Hank opened the door and the air almost knocked him back. The windows were painted shut and held the August heat inside the tiny building attached to the public library. It felt like walking into a tool shed converted into a one-room office. He smelled old photo albums and rancid body odor. Hank put a hand up to his face when a voice caught him off guard.

  “Hello, son.”

  Hank turned to his left to see an elderly man step out from behind a desk piled with papers and Styrofoam cups. The man shuffled toward Hank and held out a hand. Hank looked into the man’s deep blue eyes and saw the tip of a white beard touching his chest. He chuckled to himself, thinking the old guy reminded him of Gandalf.

  “Good afternoon,” Hank said.

  “Welcome to the Cleveland Heights Historical Society. My name is Joseph. How may I help you?”

  Hank smiled at the rehearsed introduction. He wondered how many hundreds of times Joseph used it over the years.

  “I’m looking for some information on the history of Cleveland Heights and East Cleveland. Some obscure information.”

  Joseph said nothing.

  Hank waited, thinking it took the old man a bit longer to process. But when Joseph didn’t say a word, Hank continued.

  “Lake View Cemetery and the Warner and Swasey Observatory. Those two things in particular.”

  The old man shook and Hank thought he saw a momentary flash of discomfort in his face.

  “Yes, those are two very interesting landmarks in our city.”

  Hank waited, sensing Joseph had more to say.

  “So can you help me find some more information on them?” Hank asked.

  “Would you like a tea?” Joseph asked.

  Hank looked at the wall where an old clock hung askew. The hands pointed at five and six.

  “No thank you,” Hank said. “I have to get home and tend to my son soon. I was hoping to, well...”

  Hank stopped.

  Why am I here?

  “I need to know about those two things.”

  “Please sit down,” Joseph said.

  Hank watched as the old man hobbled back around behind his desk and lowered himself into the chair. Hank heard snaps and pops and could not tell if it was the chair or Joseph’s spine making the noise. Hank looked closer at the man. He wore a blue denim shirt with a handful of disposable pens shoved into a pocket ripped on one side. Joseph’s white hair met his beard at his ears where it all mingled into a white fray. The old man’s fingernails were yellow, as if he smoked three packs a day, yet Hank could not discern any remnants of cigarette smoke.

  “Thank you,” Hank said. He sat in a wooden folding chair across from Joseph, on the other side of the desk.

  “Time is short. Those who love you are trying to protect you from yourself.”

  Hank pushed back in his chair, his mouth an open oval. “Excuse me?” he asked.

  “You must witness it tonight.”

  “Witness what?”

  “What happens when the portal opens.”

  “Listen,” Hank said. He stood up and extended his hand to Joseph. “I appreciate your time but I’m going to get going.”

  “You’re getting closer.” Joseph continued speaking as if oblivious to Hank and his reaction. “You can feel it coming and if you want to help your son, you will have to accept it completely. You must accept that which you cannot see, yet the threat is real.”

  Hank sat down again, his eyes never leaving Joseph’s. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

  “I would do anything to save my son. I’ve lost my wife forever. I won’t lose Corey too.”

  The old man raised his chin to Hank.

  “Nothing lasts forever. Not even death.”

  Hank felt his pulse quicken. His fingers grew numb and he shifted in the chair.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Joseph held up a bony, crooked finger and began to shuffle through a stack of papers on his desk. He whistled an odd melody, out of time and out of tune.

  Hank bit his bottom lip and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “I’m really not—”

  “Here,” Joseph said, interrupting. “Look at this.”

  Hank took the photograph from Joseph’s hand. It felt as brittle as dry skin. The black and white image was nothing but an ink blot on a semi-gloss Polaroid. He spun it around and stared. His eyes settled and he was beginning to see the scene.

  It was night and the shot framed the front of a red brick building. A single street lamp somewhere outside the border leaked light into the right side of the picture and cast a shadow on the barren sidewalk. Hank could see an open door and a form walking out of it. He leaned in and stared at the old photograph.

  Whatever was coming out of the door was not human. That much Hank could tell. Its limbs were long and thin and they appeared to glow in whatever meager light was available. His eyes moved up and he saw the thing’s head. The photograph was too grainy to see details, but to Hank, it looked like the head of an alien from the classic sci-fi movies of his youth. Joseph coughed and broke the photograph’s hold on Hank.

  “I can’t tell what it is.”

  “But you know what it is, don’t you, Hank? You know where that picture was taken.”

  “The observatory?”

  Joseph nodded.

  “It has been a long time but they’re coming back. The first through are malformed, unshapen and easily defeated but they are the canaries in the coal mine. The real threat follows the minor Gakis. The danger is in the summoning.”

  “Who’s summoning?” Hank asked.

  “Why, you are, son. Unless I can persuade you otherwise. Well, you and your wife’s friend. Damn thing always works better when you bring a close friend or relative. Kind of amps up the emotional power of the portal.”

  Hank thought the walls of the tight space were closing in around him. The air felt heavier and each breath became an effort. Sensing Hank was close to being overwhelmed by the information, Joseph took the old photograph from his hands.

  “Tonight. One hour after sundown, you must be at the observatory. Stay hidden, but be there. That’s all I can tell you. The rest you gotta see for yourself. Don’t come back here.”

  Without giving Hank an opportunity to speak again, Joseph stood and walked around the desk and toward the back door that led somewhere into the
depths of the library. The old man opened a door, stepped through and pulled it shut.

  Hank spent the rest of the afternoon driving mindlessly around Cleveland, his internal navigation system on autopilot. By the time the sun set, a scraping, raw sound came from under the truck.

  I can’t fucking believe this, he thought.

  The smoke coming from beneath the truck’s hood swirled up and over the windshield until the wind grabbed it and tossed it into the sky. The copper glow of street lights made Hank’s truck look orange instead of silver. He slid his phone from his pocket and then remembered the old man never gave him a specific time.

  The guy said an hour after sundown.

  What the fuck time is that?

  Hank leaned back on the door. He glanced at the traffic heading eastbound on Mayfield Road. Hank was about fifty yards from making the right turn on Taylor Road heading to the observatory when the temperature gauge spiked. In a way, he was lucky the Dakota broke down on the side street instead of the main thoroughfare. Corey would be home reading, as he always did in the evening, and Hank told Fred and Martha he’d be home a little later. He thought they both gave him a strange look, but neither said any more about it. Hank stopped for dinner at his favorite Cajun restaurant and was on his way when this happened.

  “I can’t be more than a mile and half from there,” he said.

  Hank looked at the sky and then at Mayfield Road as if he could mark the distance based on the constellations. He shut the door, locked it and began to jog toward Mayfield. The summer air was heavy, forcing Hank to take huge gulps. He hadn’t run since high school and even though Hank rode the exercise bike at the gym, this was different. Within minutes, his knees ached and his shin splints came alive.

  He passed an elderly couple walking a dog as he approached the Cleveland Heights Fire Department. Hank paused at the intersection and looked north on Taylor Road. The observatory was probably another half-mile away, but he would be crossing into East Cleveland, one of the city’s poorest and most dangerous neighborhoods.