Beasthunter

by Katharina Gerlach

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Join my Reader-verse

  Acknowledgments

  About Katharina Gerlach

  Copyright

  Beasthunter

  A Monster Story

  Katharina Gerlach

  with illustrations by janko_m

  To turn his ghostly sister back into a human, twelve-year-old fraidy-cat Tom must fight the Beast, a century old demon stealing kid’s souls.

  Tom is afraid of his own shadow. What if it turns into a monster and attacks? Luckily his older sister, Sally, protects him from everything that scares him: classmates, teachers, shadows ...

  One night during a heavy thunderstorm, a real monster attacks Tom in his very own bed. At the last moment, their new neighbor's dog saves him from the Beast. But even the Beasthunter and his not so doggish dog can’t stop the creature from turning Sally into a ghost.

  Will Tom find the courage to confront the Beast to find out if he can rescue his beloved sister? He has no effective weapons. All he can count on are his ability to see through the Beast’s disguises and the imagination that has given him scares for all his life.

  Copyright 2017 Katharina Gerlach

  Go here for the Table of Contents

  Dear reader,

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  Chapter One

  Sally: Here and Now

  It was a dark and stormy night, and my imagination worked overtime—again.

  Tom's handwriting wriggled along the top of the page like a family of worms on a picnic. Sally longed to hug Tom as he chewed on the end of his pen and stared at the nearly empty sheet of paper.

  She bent over his shoulder. “You shouldn't start like that.” She wished she could wipe away the smudge of ink across his bronze forehead. “You should begin with my death.”

  “It's hard to find the right words,” Tom said and laid down his pen.

  She floated around, looking at the few belongings he had brought from home. “Start with the reason why we live in a tiny room in a stranger's house.”

  He replaced the cartridge in his fountain pen. “I'm not like you. I never put my shoes on before my jeans.”

  Sally laughed. Before her change, her breath would have moved the wind chimes over the window. Now it barely reached her own ears. She cocked her head when Tom blinked away a tear. Why was he so sad? Why didn't he look at her?

  She walked to the middle of his table and bent down. That way, he should be able to better see her freckled face with the wide grin. Worried, she gazed at him as he squeezed his eyes shut. Why was he behaving so strangely?

  Perhaps she should take him somewhere. A sister had to look after her younger brother. But he seemed determined to write this story—for whatever reason. Maybe she could help.

  “Start with action,” she said. “Everyone likes something going kaboom.”

  “I will write this story my way. No one is going to read it anyway.”

  “As you please, but don't complain.” Sally floated away. From the far wall, she watched Tom pick up his pen again and write.

  Tom: Diary

  For half an hour already, thunder rumbled through the night like the growling of a gigantic monster, and my heart tried to hammer itself out of my chest. I lay in bed pressed against the wall behind it, but even with my eyes squeezed shut, the lightning blinded me. With every crash of thunder, I slipped deeper under my covers. I knew I could run over to Sally's room and she'd protect me like she had always done, but she would tease me for ages again afterwards. And I had worked so hard not to be a coward any more. At nearly twelve, it just didn't do to be afraid of a thunderstorm. I knew it was nothing but electricity in the air. Still, I knew how dangerous flashes were. A year ago, one of our neighbors died when lightning struck his house, coursed through the cables, ruined his computer, and zapped him.

  Another clash and I gasped for air. My heart hammered so hard, breathing was difficult. What if lightning struck our roof? What if a nearby tree fell on our house? The pictures in my mind made the storm even worse. The next clash was so loud my ears rang.

  The door opened and Sally's familiar voice drove away my fear. “Hey, Tom Faintheart, let's get you a mug of hot cocoa. That'll keep you from panicking until the storm is over.”

  I hated the nickname, but I climbed out of bed obediently and shoved my hand in hers. Jerking me along, she hopped down the stairs on one leg. Despite the uneasy stride, Sally made me feel safe—safe enough to venture through the dark house into the kitchen during a thunderstorm. She wasn't that much older than me, only two and a half years, but she was brave to the point of daring.

  Just when she opened the fridge, another stroke of lightning illuminated the room, and the furniture looked like monsters ready to pounce. I squeaked.

  “Shh.” She put a finger to her mouth. “Mum and Dad don't need to know we're up.”

  Thunder crashed and nearly drowned out the doorbell. I stood frozen to the spot, but Sally turned with sparkling eyes. She ran to the window and peered outside.

  “There's a man with a cape.” She waved for me to come closer. “A real cape. With a hood. Like in a movie.”

  I found it hard to move my legs, but finally I stood beside her at the window. The thunderstorm was finally drawing to a close, but the lonely figure in front of our door was drenched. The man rang again. This time it shrilled through the house.

  I heard our parents move upstairs, and Dad called from a window above. His voice sounded strangely doubled, from their bedroom and, less clear, through the front door. “Who's there?”

  Sally frowned. “Drat.”

  “Mr. Sastre? I am sorry to trouble you at this time of night.” The deep bass of the man outside made my bones hum. “I'm your new neighbor. We met the other day when I bought the house. Do you remember me?”

  “I … think so.” Dad sounded confused. No wonder. As a banker, he saw so many people each day that he found it hard enough to remember the names of all his clients. What if the stranger knew that?

  “Can we help you?” Dad asked.

  I whispered in Sally's ear. “What if he's a robber?”

  Sally hissed at me. “Don't be an idiot. A robber wouldn't announce himself like that.”

  The stranger stepped back a little and looked up at Dad. He wore a scarf, but the visible part of his face was wrinkled. “My estate agent gave me the wrong key, and now I can't get in. Would you mind if I used your phone?” He blinked away the rain.

  “I'm coming down,” Dad said.

  “Drat. Luckily I didn't turn on the lights.” Sally grabbed my hand and pulled me through the dining room into the living room that opened to the hall. As a toddler, I had loved circling the inside of the house like that. The stairs to our bedrooms half hid the living room doors, so Dad couldn
't see us.

  He opened and let the man in, who thanked him with great fervor. The man was a lot bigger than Dad but very thin. When he bowed, I found it hard not to giggle. With the end of the thunderstorm drawing nearer, my courage returned.

  Sally pulled me closer and whispered, “When they're out of the hall, we'll run back to our rooms. Try to be quiet.”

  “The phone is in the kitchen.” Dad pointed.

  “You're too kind.” The man hung his wet cape over the banister and handed my Dad a card. Dad read it, balanced it on the top of the banister's bottom post, and followed the stranger into the kitchen. The card wobbled a bit as if alive. I waited for it to float to the ground but it kept its balance.

  Sally raced upstairs and grabbed it on the way. I chased her. Something in the stranger's cape growled and struggled to get out—a low, throaty growl that froze me in place. Just in time, I slapped both hands over my mouth to stifle a scream. I forced myself to ignore it and tiptoed up the rest of the stairs. Hurriedly I passed our parent's bedroom door. It stood ajar and there was light inside. Mamá was either waiting for Dad to cope with the disturbance, or she was dressing to go and help him. In either case, it wouldn't do to be caught.

  I saw Sally throw something into my room before she slid through her own room's door and shut it noiselessly. I slipped back into my room, and closed mine with determination. It was the first time ever that I got it done without a loud thud. Now whatever monster the stranger had hidden in the cape's pocket wouldn't come into my room.

  The card Sally had snatched was lying on my floor. I took it and climbed back into bed. Despite my nightlight, I found it difficult to read in the darkness. The card said,

  Jake Saint-Clare

  Beast Hunter and Redeemer of Souls

  Chapter Two

  Sally: Here and Now

  The pages of one of Tom's comics fluttered when Sally tried to move a page. It didn't turn. “Drat.” Sally sat up and folded her arms in front of her chest. The unwelcome anger bubbled inside her again. She had to be careful.

  Tom looked up from his writing. “What's wrong?”

  The desk light illuminated just enough of the room that Sally could see his piercing blue eyes.

  She pointed to the covers of some comics. “All these are about ghosts and haunted houses, Beast Hunters, sorcerers and magic.”

  “And?” Tom cocked his head. “I love that kind of story. I get a shiver of pleasure knowing they're not real.”

  Against her will, Sally's face contorted. “You mock my story, inserting silly ideas from your comics.”

  Tom's jaw dropped.

  Sally fought hard to keep her temper, feeling like a stranger in her own body.

  “I bet I'm not a ghost after all. You just made that up to confuse me.” She expanded and hovered over her brother.

  Tom swallowed. Sally longed to stroke away his fear but keeping her anger under control proved exceedingly difficult. Tom pointed to the lamp on the ceiling that hung halfway into Sally's head. His voice sounded hoarse when he spoke.

  “Do you think it's normal to have a lamp inside your body?”

  The sentence was like a lifeline. Sally felt herself grounded in reality again. She shrunk like a pricked balloon. “But I know I'm a human. I remember … something.”

  “It's hard for me too.” Tom held out his hand. It shook.

  For the first time ever, Sally let herself be comforted by him. She curled up into a tiny ball and sank to his palm. She needed more reality so the anger didn't come back. “Tell me something about my life,” she said. “What did I look like?”

  “You were the most beautiful girl in the neighborhood. Even stuck-up Elli admitted that.” Tom stroked her back with his thumb. “Your black curls went halfway down your back, and there was a guy in school who always tugged at your braids during lessons. You never managed to convince Mamá to cut them.”

  “What about my eyes?” Sally looked at Tom. “Are they still the same?”

  “As long as you're not angry. Dad used to say they were like those of a roe deer, but I always wondered if you stole them from a mountain lion.”

  Sally grew heavier. Yes, reality was the key.

  Tom went on. “You were fast, too. You could outrun every bully in school. Once, you pounded Fat Mat so hard on the nose that he never dared to touch me again.”

  “I don't remember Fat Mat.” Sally yawned.

  “I know.” Gently, Tom placed her on the seat of the comfy chair in the middle of the room and returned to his writing. Sally wanted to complain, but her eyes closed and her mind drifted.

  Tom: Diary

  The fifth step from the bottom of the stairs groaned, but it wasn't loud enough for Mamá or Dad. A soft tapping moved along the corridor and came nearer as if claws clicked on the wooden floorboards. The sound was accompanied by a sniffing noise. My heartbeat accelerated and my hands itched. What if this was the ghost the man was after? His card said he was a Beast Hunter.

  Just as I pulled my covers over my head, Mamá screamed and her door slammed. There was a rasping sound at my door as if something was trying to eat its way through it. Someone stomped up the stairs, probably Dad. I held my breath. Go away, I thought. Whatever you are, go away. In my imagination I saw ghosts pulling their skeletal fingers over the wood of my door. I shuddered. The noise didn't stop and I curled up more tightly under my covers. A dog barked. A dog? Where did that come from? I remembered the movement in the stranger's cape. What if it was a ghost pretending to be a dog?

  It was hot under my covers, but I didn't dare to let in more air. What if the door wasn't able to keep the ghost at bay? On the other hand, what if I suffocated?

  I lifted one corner of the cover less than an inch, and cool air streamed in bringing with it a really foul smell of rotting cabbages and unwashed clothes. I pressed both hands over my nose and mouth not to retch. Dad's stomping feet reached my room and the door crashed open. The barking grew louder and I caught a glimpse of a white dog. I loved dogs.

  So I threw back my covers, only to stare at two fiery eyes in a sea of blackness darker than the night right beside my bed. Something tugged at my mind, pulling at my thoughts. I scampered backward against the wall behind my bed and screamed. The blackness drew nearer, blocking out the entire room. Memories whirled through my mind and something icy tried to catch them. A soothing voice filled my ears, but I refused to listen. I screamed at the top of my lungs, terrified at the pulling sensation in my mind.

  A small, white ball of fur with raised hackles appeared between me and the monster. It barked furiously and bit the blackness wherever it could reach. Despite my screaming, I heard Sally shout commands. The monster shrank like a pricked balloon until it was smaller than the dog that stood on my bed. It looked like a rat now, but I was sure it only pretended to be one.

  Sally smashed a broom on the monster. It squeaked and ran out of the room. The dog followed, and so did Sally, Mamá, Dad and the strange Mr. Saint-Clare. They shouted and smashed things on their way downstairs. Utterly relieved at having been rescued, I sank back on my pillow with a sob and curled into a ball. I tried hard to suppress my shivering. I didn't like the prospect of Sally calling me a jelly baby.

  The dog was the first to return. It looked like one of my toys, completely white with black button eyes. Without hesitation, it jumped on my bed and licked my face, which soothed me to no end. When Mamá sat beside me and stroked my back, I relaxed and sat up. She hugged me. “It is all right now, mi corazón.”

  The others came back.

  “Gosh, did you see the size of that rat?” The awe in Sally's voice struck me as strange. Why would she talk about a rat instead of the giant ghost monster? She must have seen it as well as I did.

  “I wonder how it got in.” Dad's voice came from the hallway.

  “These things use every way they find,” the stranger said.

  What was he doing up here? Mamá never let anyone upstairs. Not even family.

  “Wh
at a lucky coincidence that you are from pest control, Mr. Saint-Clare.” Dad's voice again.

  Did his card really say pest control? It lay on the ground a little under my bed. I let go of Mamá, picked it up from the floor without getting up, and read it again. Beast Hunter—I wondered if Beast Hunters could put spells on people. What if he had known that a monster was coming for me? Why didn't he say so? Easy answer: no one would have believed him.

  I watched him stroke his dog. With his gangly body and the long white hair and beard, he looked like a magician from one of my books. He must have put a spell on my family. Sally kept talking about rats and so did Dad, but Mr. Saint-Clare stepped past them, over my toys to my bed, folded up like a jackknife and looked into my eyes. His were green with brownish speckles.

  “I am glad Snoop arrived in time,” he said.

  “Snoop is your dog?” Mamá put her arm around me, and I felt like I was in a safe haven. She was a lot like Sally.

  “He's the finest Jack Russel breed this side of the Atlantic, ma'am.” The man grinned, which made his wrinkles move. When he looked at me again, his gaze was steady and serious. “Why did it come for you?”

  I didn't know the answer, but at least he didn't seem to think it had been a rat. “What was it? What did I see?”

  “Whatever it chose you to see. A rat, a monster, a cozy blanket, anything.” He took my hand, and his sudden smile made his face look much younger. His wrinkles disappeared and his long white beard danced on his cheeks. I couldn't help but giggle.

  “I'm glad you're feeling better,” he said.

  Mamá put her other arm around me too. “Mr. Saint-Clair, this is our son. Tom, this is our new neighbor. He'll stay in the living room until morning.”

  My eyes widened with surprise. How did he get that permission? Mamá feared people she didn't know well. She hardly ever invited family to stay.

  She ruffled my hair. “The poor man is soaking wet,” she said. “His estate agent gave him the wrong key so he couldn't get into his house during the storm, and the motel is overbooked for the first time within living memory.” In a stage whisper, she added, “Don't worry, Papá will keep him company.”