by C. T. Phipps
Smooth Casanova, the Spirit of the Hunt said. Ted Bundy would be proud.
Who are you, my mother? I asked.
I dunno, could be, the Spirit of the Hunt said. I have a lot of kids.
Nancy looked ready to take my head off with her weapon and that would have probably killed me for real. The ways of executing slashers permanently were few but that was a pretty solid one. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“Who is them?” I asked, confused as all get out. “Also, ow! You’ve killed more people than I have, thank you very much!”
“I’ve only killed one person!” Nancy said, looking down at Charles. “Not that I wouldn’t like to kill the rest of those scumsuckers.”
“Do you just have an aversion to swearing?” I asked, confused. “I mean, I feel harsher language is warranted given what I saw about that man’s crimes. Still, you’ve killed more people than I have. I am a murder virgin. Charles was going to be my first.”
Nancy did a double take. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I took a deep breath, glad my lungs were fully regenerated and free from blood. Standing up, I addressed her. “I admit, the possibilities are endless. However, if you want to start with practical matters, I’d say the fact we’re both standing behind a murder diner with a corpse. We also both were killed and came back from the dead. You know, because of the copious amounts of blood.”
Nancy seemed to register these facts and put down the five iron. “Okay, I’m sorry. This is just a really weird day for me.”
“This is a pretty normal Thursday for me,” I said. “I gotta be honest.”
Nancy closed her eyes and made herself vulnerable. I could have run away or attacked given she’d shown herself to be hostile and dangerous—slashers sometimes preyed on each other, after all—but I just stared at her. Despite my brain having repaired whatever damage had been done to it, I still found her entrancingly beautiful.
Is it the broken nose or all the blood covering her? The Spirit of the Hunt asked.
The fact she could kick my ass. Now hush, I said, wondering when the gods got so nosy.
Always, The Spirit of the Hunt replied.
“I was at a bridal party for my best friend, Cassie,” Nancy said, frowning. “That’s how this nightmare started.”
“Odd attire for a bridal party but you do you,” I said, feeling like she needed to confess. A part of me also sensed this was related to people like Charles. I’d failed to satisfy my need to kill and that was an itch I still needed to scratch. I needed to find another murderer every bit as repulsive as him—they were, apparently, my preferred prey.
I was also interested in finding out whether she did die and come back from the dead, signs so far pointing to yes. My sister already proved female slashers existed, but the odds of just casually coming across another one was remote. There was also something about her energy, for lack of a better term, that felt different. I imagined she was equally interested in figuring out her situation but would need time to process what was going on. Not all of us were as “lucky” as my family to grow up surrounded by the world of occult murder.
Nancy didn’t seem to notice my interest in her story, instead getting a faraway look in her eye. “Cassie decided we should go camping. It was weird because I was thinking we should go to the Kansas City Riverboat Casino. However, she was on one of her back to nature trips. That was when all these guys in suits grabbed us. They took us to a compound and it was—”
“Go on,” I said.
“I need to go rescue my friends,” Nancy looked up. “They were hunting us.”
“Hunting you,” I asked. “Like for sport?”
Nancy nodded. “A bunch of rich assholes with torches, dogs, and rifles. I volunteered to go first to save Cassie. I thought I could outrun them, get through the cornfields, and call the police.”
I tried not to snort at the idea of calling the police. They’d made life a living hell and were pretty much useless against a seasoned slasher. My opinion of them was not high. “You didn’t make it.”
Nancy stared forward. “I didn’t make it. Oh Jesus, I actually died and came back to life.”
“He would know,” I said. “I mean, probably. I’m not exactly an expert on historical accuracy. I’m like 99% sure he wasn’t a slasher, though. No wait, 100%. That would be a very different religion than Christianity.”
Nancy snorted and looked up to me. “I’m going to kill every last one of these jerks.”
Seriously, could she just not say bastard? “Sounds good. Need any help?”
Nancy blinked. “You want to help me? Me? A girl who comes back from the dead?”
“Yes,” I said. “From the person who came back from the dead as well a few seconds ago.”
“How does this work, exactly?” Nancy asked, finally coming to terms with the second part of her being murdered: the fact it didn’t stick.
“Well—”
“Get away, son!” My father’s voice shouted in the background. “It’s an Artemis!”
A what?
Chapter Three
“An Artemis?” I asked, blinking. That was a bit like being warned you were about to be gored by a unicorn. They were a ridiculous untrue myth and that was saying something since I knew so many other ridiculous myths were factual.
“Stay away from my brother, you witch!” Carrie shouted before running up and delivering a flying kick Bruce Lee would have been proud of.
Thankfully, or not depending on who you were rooting for in this nonsense, Nancy’s reflexes were just this side of superhuman and she was able to duck out of the way. My sister then went over her shoulder and landed in a roll before springing up into a fighting pose. In her hand was a straight razor and I wondered how the hell I’d missed that in my last weapon confiscation. Probably easily since I didn’t mind admitting my sister was smarter than me.
“Kill her, Carrie! Kill her for Daddy!” my father’s ghost egged Carrie on.
Nancy tossed away her golf club and went for the knife I’d dropped on the ground. It was a stupid decision because I immediately grabbed her by the wrist.
“Time out,” I said, dryly. “Nobody is killing anybody.”
“What?” Carrie asked, looking like I’d just said Christmas was cancelled. A frequent danger at our house growing up due to Papa’s work.
Nancy shot me a death glare then relaxed. “Okay, who the hell are these people?”
“Nancy, this is my sister Carrie,” I said, gesturing with my head. “Carrie, this is Nancy. Nancy wants to go kill a bunch of misogynist women-hunting men.”
It was like a light went off behind her eyes. “Oh, why didn’t you say so?”
“Well, I don’t know if misogyny is what’s motivating them but given all of their victims are women, probably,” Nancy said, sounding so confused that she’d calmed down from a traumatic situation faster than if she’d been left on her own. In fact, her attitude was remarkable given the circumstances and I wondered if it was another sign of inhuman heritage.
“No!” Billy said, running up to us. “You can’t let her live! You don’t know how dangerous she is! An Artemis could kill us all! Me, deader than dead!”
“That’s not a bad thing,” I replied.
Nancy looked at my father, cocked her head to one side, and reached over to put her hand through his body. “Am I suffering head trauma or is that a frigging ghost?”
“Frigging?” I asked. “Yes, my father is a ghost. Not all slashers become malevolent spirits, but it’s not uncommon.”
“I have a thing against bad language, okay?” Nancy shrugged. “And seriously? Ghosts are real?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said. “You have taken your first step into a larger world.”
Star Wars was about the only movie I knew that had only a single dismemberment. You’d think H.P. Lovecraft Memorial Hospital would have shown more romantic comedies.
“I intend to possess a car when I die,” Carrie said. “The
n I will run over people I don’t like. Maybe I could be a hotel in my elder years.”
“You really should find a different author to fangirl over,” I said.
“Never!” Carrie snapped, sliding her straight razor back in her sleeve.
“Okay, I’ve clearly died and gone to Tim Burton’s Oz,” Nancy said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “So, before I click my heels three times and wake up back on the farm, I’m going to try to treat this entire insane situation rationally.”
“That is a terrible idea,” Carrie said. “You don’t have the silver slippers.”
“Kill it!” Billy shouted, gesturing to her. “Why is nobody listening to me?”
“Because we hate you,” I said. “I’m sorry, Nancy, he thinks you’re an Artemis.”
“A what?” Nancy asked.
“The bane of all slashers!” Billy hissed. “Maidens of the Hunt! Bloodthirsty Amazons and Valkyries! Artemises harness their virgin power to destroy our kind! You never know when you’re going to chance upon one of them. You think you’re on your next victim and then, boom, they turn on you and chop your head off with the strength of ten cheerleaders.”
“Effectively, yes,” I said. “They’re kind of an urban legend of slashers that some women have special powers to kill us.”
I sincerely doubted they existed despite my general credulity to almost anything else under the sun. It seemed more likely some sexist male slashers weren’t quite the paragons of battle that they envisioned themselves being and were looking for an excuse when a female victim proved to be harder to kill than they imagined.
You are half-right, the Spirit of the Hunt replied. One might argue that all women are daughters of the hunt. Our bond is far older than the legend of Artemis, though.
Oh, you’re still here, I said.
You’re almost interesting now, the Spirit of the Hunt replied. I’m willing to give you another shot. Your sister would be sad if you permanently died too.
Oh joy, I replied.
“It’s not a myth!” Billy said, gesturing to Nancy. “Look at her.”
“If you’re looking for virgin power, Casper, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Nancy said. “That hasn’t been true since I was fifteen and Johnny Kaplan told me he loved me.”
Billy recoiled like a vampire to a cross at her confession. Yeah, my father was a real piece of work.
“Have you bathed in the spring of Kanathos recently?” Carrie asked.
“The what?” Nancy asked.
“It’s the mythical spring where Hera renewed her virginity,” I said. “It’s similar to the sea of Paphos where Aphrodite would do the same.”
“You two are unusually well-versed in Greek mythology,” Nancy said. “You know, for serial killers.”
“Clearly you haven’t read much Thomas Harris,” Carrie said.
“Spree killers,” I corrected her. “Not serial.”
Nancy blinked.
“Serial killers kill one targeted victim at a time while spree killers kill many targets one after the other,” I said. “Most slashers are the latter. Technically, I’m neither.”
“I prefer to think of myself as a switch hitter,” Carrie said. “But yes, most serial killers are dumb as posts. IQs less than average. I’m self-educated, though. So is my bro. The mental hospital had like a huge library. Really big. Better than most colleges.”
“Yeah,” I said, remembering the only place I’d ever really felt at home. If it wasn’t for the torture and horrible experiments I would never have left. “Books on engineering, anatomy, snares, true crime, mythology, and various occult topics. Seriously, I just wanted to learn advanced calculus and the tax code.”
“I think they just had whatever people donated,” Carrie said. “It’s why there was like ninety copies of The Da Vinci Code.”
“Pfft,” I snorted. “Talk about a book that will drive you to murder.”
Nancy looked ready to murder someone, so at least she was in good company. “We need to rescue my friends.”
“Your friends who were kidnapped by this mysterious Fraternity?” Carrie asked, having apparently been listening in.
“Yes!” Nancy said.
“Well, they’re probably dead,” Carrie said, reaching into the pockets of the late Charles Devinshire. “I hope this guy believed in carrying cash. Ooo, a cellphone. I’ve always wanted one of these.”
“The government can track those,” I said, looking down at her.
“Pfft. On TV maybe,” Carrie said, holding an advanced satellite phone and a wallet stuffed with cash. “Score! I am going to buy myself a murdering dress!”
“Screw it, I’m gone,” Nancy said, looking a bit wobbly. Resurrection tended to take a lot out of the best of us after all. “You guys are all psychopaths and I’m going to go rescue my friends now. I’ll do it on my own if I must. Apparently, I have superpowers anyway.”
“Or you could call the police,” Carrie said, rolling her eyes.
Nancy took one step forward and stopped. “No, I can’t.”
“You can’t?” I asked. “I mean, my experience with law enforcement is almost universally negative but they’re not wholly incompetent. Usually.”
Mind you, I was pretty sure Wounded Buffalo didn’t have a police force given its size and population. It seemed like they had their own way of resolving things around here.
Nancy looked down at the ground. “The state police were at the compound, guarding the place for the guests. They knew what was going on there. They helped.”
“That’s because the Fraternity of Orion has a power greater than any slasher’s,” my father surprised me by saying. “Money.”
Nancy turned her head to Billy. “The Fraternity of Orion?”
My father grimaced as if he’d tasted something foul. “Yes, a group of rich poseurs who supposedly revere the Roman God of the Hunt.”
“Greek,” Both my sister and I said simultaneously.
“Every year, they hold a celebration at secure locations where they engage in orgies of drugs and sex while exalting in being the pricks who secretly rule the world. The thing is, that’s pretty much the uber-rich anyway. The Fraternity of Orion is what happens when all of that gets boring and they decide to do something more extreme.”
Nancy narrowed her eyes. “Hunting women.”
No surprise to her but it sounded like hearing someone else talk about it made the experience more real.
“Not just hunting,” Billy said, sneering. “Torture, rape, and prolonged executions. One target a night for a weeklong celebration from Sunday to Saturday. It’s disgusting.”
“I’m glad you think that, Dad,” I said, surprised.
“They actually have their targets delivered to them!” Billy added. “I mean, what the hell kind of hunt is that? These wannabes are giving a noble profession a bad name! I mean it’s like going out to Mongolia or Africa and using a ten thousand-dollar rifle to snipe a goat. I may have been broke my entire life but at least I earned my kills!”
Nancy narrowed her eyes. “William, is there any way to kill your Dad?”
“Not that I know of,” I said, sighing. “I mean, I’d try an exorcism but I’m pretty sure God isn’t listening to me.”
Depends on which god, the Spirit of the Hunt replied.
“I’ve always been fond of the Morrigan,” Carrie said, showing she could hear the same voice I did. “She’s the god I would worship if I had a choice.”
“You need a plan,” I said, looking at Nancy. “Weapons, equipment, a layout of the compound, and rest. You look like you’re barely able to stand.”
Nancy didn’t deny it.
“I know your friends are in danger but getting yourself killed is not going to help matters,” I said, trying to use my most calming voice. “You may find this a questionable claim from strangers, but we know how to do this. If you can trust us, or at least work with us, we’ll do our best to help.”
“You can’t help her!” Billy proclaimed. “Als
o, the Fraternity may be a bunch of fakes but there’s a little thing called professional courtesy.”
“William’s prey type is murderers, though!” Carrie proclaimed. “I mean, he royally screwed up tonight but it’s the thought that counts.”
Thanks, sis.
Billy looked confused. “Who the hell ever heard of a slasher who targets murderers? That’s like a duck hunter who targets duck hunters.”
“It’s actually not that uncommon,” I said, looking to the side. “I mean, there’s the Miami Butcher and the one-armed supermarket guy I forget the name of. Oh, and Agatha Christie wrote a book about a judge who did the same thing! Oh and the bloodsplatter guy in Miami!”
Okay, not a huge selection of examples but this was apparently what I was destined to do.
There’s no such thing as destiny, the Spirit of the Hunt said. But it is an opportunity to do what you’ve always wanted.
I never wanted to kill people, I said, having been disgusted by my father’s acts for as long as I could understand them.
Liar, the Spirit of the Hunt said. You just wanted to kill the right people.
Nancy blinked as if she couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on. “You know, screw it. Yes, I will ally with the Addams Family. You’re actually less weird than my biological family and it’s not like I have any options here.”
I could hear the despair in her voice. There was more as I could also see the taint the murderers left on her. A normal person would have run as far away from this situation as possible, but she had not. It made me wonder if she was like us and something was compelling her forward to do actions she might not normally. However, if we were compelled to do these acts by some outside force then could we really be said to have free will at all? But if these qualities were inborn then weren’t as a much a part of me as any instinct?
There was something else motivating me as well. I felt something drawing me to her that I couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t sexual attraction, at least I didn’t think it was. I’d grown up without any of that to any man or woman. Indeed, my psychologists had been convinced that my killing urge (that hadn’t manifested yet) was somehow related to my asexuality. Yet, I wanted to kiss her and that was just a confusing emotion for me. Also, grossly inappropriate given the trauma she’d gone through.
