Memoirs of a Monster Killer: Killing Forever Book 1

by David J. Phifer

  I wouldn’t doubt if his so-called wife was already dead, her life force drained, her body an empty shell he posed at the dinner table for tender conversations about their future together.

  That’s what these people do. If you can call them people. They destroy everything they touch.

  That is their nature.

  I sighed. “You think you can have a life with her?”

  “When I’m fixed, we’ll be together.”

  “What do you mean ‘fixed?’”

  “I won’t have to drain people any more. She’ll be safe.”

  I scowled. “By fixed, you mean… you think you’ll become human.”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “It’s impossible.”

  He chuckled. “Then you don’t know Poe. Or the people he works for.”

  Poe. I heard the name before. He killed a dozen hunters over the years. He was formidable. And Forever.

  “Alexander Poe?”

  “He has a plan. He’s got friends in high places. They can do anything.”

  “Where is he?”

  “No clue,” he said. He spit blood over the side. It dribbled on the pile of his friends’ heads. “He contacts me through a broker.”

  “What’s the broker’s name?”

  “You have to promise to let me go first.”

  “I’ll let you go after. Cross my heart.” I crossed my finger over my chest.

  “His name is Alan Dill.”

  It figured the bad guy’s name was Alan. People named Alan were usually pompous dickheads. This one just happened to be an evil dickhead.

  “Where does Alan Dill live?”

  “I don’t know, man. He contacts me on a burner phone. I don’t even have his real number.”

  I patted him on the head. “Good boy.”

  I pulled a photo from my jacket pocket and held it in front of him. “Have you seen this boy?”

  His eyes danced in front of it. “Oh, Christ.”

  “No. His name’s Jason.”

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! FUUUCK.” He turned to me and we locked eyes. “You’re Solomon Ivy!”

  “What gave me away, the rugged good looks?”

  He turned from my gaze. “Everyone knows about the hunter searching for his ten-year-old son, man.” He was starting to gain mobility in his neck. I needed to end this before he completely healed from the toxin.

  “Have you seen the boy?”

  “A couple weeks ago. Poe had him.”

  This was the first lead I had on Jason in months. Hell, years. I was close.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What did Poe do with him?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since.”

  I stood and gripped the handle of the shovel. “Thank you.”

  “You’re not going to let me go,” he said, turning to me. “Are you?”

  “No.” I raised the shovel.

  “But you promised!”

  “I lied.”

  KERKRUNCH!

  His eyes burned bloody orange as his head rolled into the grave. I packed up the truck with the remainder of my things so I was ready to take off at a moment’s notice.

  When I was ready to go, I looked down at the grave and sighed. Once again, I was cleaning up God’s mess. I picked up a gas can and poured it over the heap, soaking it good, making sure the pile was bathed in gasoline. I lit a match and dropped it.

  They went up in a bonfire of blazing heads. Normally, I use acid to melt them. It’s the only way to know for sure they’re dead. But I was running low. If you burn deep enough, fire works too.

  The heat warmed my face like the sun. The cold wind behind me clashed with the heat of the blaze.

  I missed my opportunity. I should have brought marshmallows.

  In the far distance, police sirens blared in the night. The fire would show them the path to the cabin.

  KRACKLE.

  A noise in the woods. To the right.

  A deer?

  I sat on the dirt mound pretending to watch the fire. But my eyes were cut to the side.

  To the woods.

  I remained still. From the corner of my eye, I saw it.

  A shimmer. In the dark of the woods…

  Glowing sapphire eyes.

  One of them. Was watching me.

  If I waited too long, he could teleport away. But using only my peripheral, I couldn’t tell exactly where he was hiding.

  KRINKLE.

  There.

  At my four o’clock. I kept my eyes on the fire without flinching. Hiding my awareness of the voyeur.

  SNAP.

  In a fraction of a second, I unholstered my Glock and fired sideways into the woods.

  BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

  There was a grunting sound.

  I got him.

  He ran through the woods until a flash of multi-colored light burst through the trees.

  He teleported.

  No point in giving chase. Forevers are coming out of the woodwork now. They’re like cockroaches. Practically have to set the whole world on fire just to get rid of them.

  I gathered my things and threw them in the truck. Didn’t want to get caught on the trail when the cops showed up. I patted the hood of my blue ‘69 Chevy truck. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore. It was old, but ran twice as good as any piece of plastic shit they made today.

  I turned the engine. Pushed in my cassette tape. The cassette deck was a pain to install but worth every penny. The song ‘Papa was a Rolling Stone’ by the Temptations started to play. It calmed my nerves.

  I opened my can of Rockstar energy drink. Killer Grape. I took a long, healthy gulp. It hit the spot.

  Before taking off, I grabbed my journal and quickly sketched the beast with the tentacle face. It wasn’t a demon or Forever. I never saw it before. There were very few creatures I didn’t know about.

  It made me nervous.

  After jotting down my thoughts about it, I drove for a while on the path before hitting the main road. I pulled on and went about half a mile before a convoy of police zoomed by with flashing lights.

  They were going pretty fast. I hoped they didn’t miss their exit.

  I passed a billboard on the right before hitting the expressway. On it was a picture of an elderly woman on a hospital bed. A nurse held her hand. It was an advertisement for a hospice service. It said Don’t Die Alone.

  Morbid fucking ads. Made you feel real good inside.

  I had only two things on the agenda. Locate Mr. Alan Dill and pay him a visit.

  Following that, I’d work on my presentation. After all, in the morning, I had a paranormal convention to attend.

  Chapter 4

  Guest of Honor

  “…And that’s why you should never walk home alone from the bar on the night of a blood moon,” I said. “And if you do find yourself staring into the eyes of a person wearing someone else’s skin, but drooling heavily and is drunker than your creepy uncle Bob at a family reunion, chances are it’s a skinwalker who wants to eat your face. And you should probably run for your life.”

  The audience burst into laughter. I shut down my presentation and accepted the applause. It was nice to be acknowledged for my experience, even if they all thought it was just a bunch of bullshit.

  The Tenth Annual Paranormal Conference had an impressive turnout. There were all kinds of freaks, geeks, and weirdos who were obsessed with the bizarre and unexplained.

  I checked my watch as I packed my things in the briefcase. 12:30pm. It was time to get back to work.

  As I started through the crowd, two young men approached me. The one with red hair reached out to shake my hand. I returned the favor and shook his.

  “Hi, Mr. Ivy, I’m August. My friends call me Augie,” he said. “I’m a big fan.” He was tall and thin, but an awkward dork. There was a lack of confidence in his demeanor. But he was genuinely happy to meet me. Let me rephrase that. Happy wasn’t a strong enough word. I would use the term giddy. The ginger dor
k was giddy to meet me.

  I wasn’t surprised he was awkward. Who the hell names their kid after a month on the calendar? He probably got beat up more in grade school than I did. And my last name is a woman’s.

  “Good to know I still have fans,” I said. “Nice to meet you, August. You’ve read my books?”

  “All of them. Been reading them since I was a kid.” I almost chuckled at that. He didn’t look grown up at all. He was in his early to mid twenties. Still a kid. At least to me. “The book you wrote about the Succubus was really frightening. And the shifters were terrifying. Do you think there’s any truth to those stories?”

  “The people who lived those stories seem to think so,” I said. His friend stood behind him. A tall teenage boy with short brown hair. He was tapping his foot. “I’m impressed,” I said.

  “That I read all your books?”

  I smiled. “No, that millennials can read.”

  “I was raised on your books. My mom used to talk about you all the time.”

  “Your mom has good taste,” I said.

  “She said she knew you back in the day.”

  “Really?”

  That was odd, since most people who knew me back in the day were dead. A hunter’s life wasn’t known for its longevity and retirement package.

  “Her name is Grace,” he said. “Grace McKenzie?”

  Grace McKenzie. I hadn’t heard that name in years. A beautiful ginger with the face of an angel, the body of a stripper, and the touch of a saint. Don’t ask which one I appreciated the most.

  “How is she?”

  “Single,” he said. The kid was trying to play cupid. In my line of work, people who get close get dead. It’s easier not to have emotional attachments. Those get you dead too.

  “Good for her,” I said. “She’s doing well then?”

  “Yeah. Considering her condition.”

  “Her condition?”

  “Stage One lung cancer. Lucky they caught it in time. I almost forgot, she wanted me to give you this if I saw you.” He searched in his right jeans pocket. Then went to the other pocket.

  Augie’s friend was eyeballing me. Sizing me up. His eyes connected with mine. He didn’t move his gaze. The intensity of his stare was discomforting. He didn’t blink or turn away.

  Challenge accepted.

  I kept my eyes on him and didn’t flinch. I reached out. “We haven’t met,” I said. “Solomon Ivy.”

  He smirked. Looked at my hand as though I was diseased. After several seconds, he shook it. He seemed overly confident. Arrogant. Without even saying a word.

  “Blake,” he said. He was wiry, but strong. Too strong. His grip was exaggerated, as though trying to compensate or dominate. But I didn’t have to shake his hand to know he was a smug little asshole.

  The intensity of his stare told me he could be a sociopath. His gaze never wavered. Unbroken eye contact is a classic sign he was socially inept.

  He also smiled with his lips, but not his eyes. Meaning the smile was insincere, like a chameleon trying to fake authenticity. Another sign of being a sociopath.

  Strike two, kid.

  Augie pulled out a business card and handed it to me. It said The Paranormality Podcast.

  “That’s my podcast,” Augie said. “I started it a year ago, but it’s doing pretty well. Climbing the charts. Flip it over.” I did. A phone number was hand-written on the back. With the name Grace above it. “My mom wants you to call her,” he said. “She said she tried finding you but couldn’t get ahold of you.”

  That was because I had ten burner phones with unlisted numbers and all my information was filtered. The last thing I needed was my cell to start ringing in the middle of a monster fight because an ex-girlfriend wanted a booty call.

  “I get busy sometimes,” I said. I peered at Blake. “How long have you two known each other?”

  Augie jumped in. “Me and Blake? About a month now. Met in a paranormal forum. He loves supernatural creatures and stories like I do.”

  “I bet he does,” I said.

  My appearance at the paranormal convention was announced a month ago to the day. Was it coincidence that Blake befriended Augie at the same time? Was Blake really his friend or just trying to get to me?

  I trusted my gut. I knew the answer.

  Blake loved supernatural creatures because he was one.

  Augie stammered to get the next words out. “I-I’d love to interview you sometime if—”

  “No,” I said.

  “Um, are you—”

  “Maybe when my next book comes out,” I said.

  “Do you know when—”

  “I’ll call you.” I turned away and headed through the crowd. I stuffed the card in my pocket. But had I known the trouble it would eventually get me in, I would have tossed it in the trash right there.

  When I made sure no one was following, I moved through the hall and down a small set of stairs. To the right was a door that looked like a closet. It had a padlock. I fetched my keys and unlocked it. I headed down cement stairs to an abandoned area of the basement. I lucked out with this spot. Sometimes things actually go my way.

  Despite God’s best attempts to screw me over.

  I unlocked yet another door and closed it behind me. The room was pitch black. I set my briefcase down on the dirt floor and pulled the chain on the light socket above me.

  Darkness gave way to light.

  Remember when they had toy prizes in the bottom of the Cracker Jack box? The mystery item?

  That was the feeling I got when I walked into the room. Hanging upside-down on the support beam, wrapped in duct tape, was my guest of honor.

  My very own mystery prize.

  Mr. Alan Dill. Scum bag and murderer.

  “Hey there, Alan. Miss me?”

  Chapter 5

  Hanging with Alan Dill

  Alan Dill squirmed, his whole body duct-taped to the cement beam. Upside down. I admit, I used an obscene amount of duct tape to hold a 170 lb. man for almost ten hours. But I had time on my hands.

  His face was red from the blood rush. His glasses were on the floor. He was sweating badly. The room stunk like a musty men’s locker room.

  He glared at me. I ripped the tape off his mouth. He spit the dirty rag from his mouth to the floor. Which was fine by me. That’s where I found it in the first place.

  I had to wipe the spider webs off first though.

  I put Dill’s glasses back on his upside down face.

  “Fuck you,” he said. “Do you know who I am?”

  I pulled up a chair, sat down, and relaxed.

  “Alan Dill. You work for Alliance Brokerage Firm. You handle upwards of a billion dollars in investments, not including the accounts you have overseas. You have a condo downtown and a mansion on the North side. You also have a beach home in San Diego, but that’s off the books. You’re three times divorced from women half your age. That last one, quite the looker, eh?” I flashed him his phone, displaying her photo. “You probably should have gotten a pre-nup, that girl was crazy. Maybe that’s why she went missing after she threatened to divorce you. You’re a dangerous man, Mr. Dill. You work for some of the most powerful people in the world. Your clientele is impressive.”

  He laughed. “Then you know I’m protected. You leave this room and you’re a dead man.”

  “Your investment clients aren’t the powerful clientele I was referring to, Mr. Dill.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Money isn’t the only thing you broker. Is it?”

  “Jesus, you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  “Who’s them?”

  “You know. Forever People.”

  “I would appreciate if you didn’t use His name like it’s a casual swear word, Mr. Dill. You’ll live longer. No, I’m not one of them. I’m the guy who kills them.”

  “You’re a hunter? You’re even dumber than I thought. They’ll find me. And when they do, you’ll wish you were dead.”
/>   “I hope you don’t mean the seven of them held up at the cabin.”

  “How do you know about them?”

  “Know about them? I just burned them to ash.”

  “Oh, fucking hell.”

  “Tell me about Alexander Poe.”

  “I can’t. He’ll kill me.”

  I pulled out my twelve-inch hunting knife. It still had blood on it. “The question is, who’s going to kill you first? And who has more patience?”

  His eyes sliced to the side. I could tell he was going to lie his way out of this. So I cut through the tape, freed several of his fingers, and bent his index finger backwards until it snapped.

  He screamed. “Oh God.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I didn’t lie—”

  “You were going to.”

  “Oh my god. Oh my god. Don’t kill me.”

  “You have nine more digits above the waist. Eleven below. Tell me the truth and I may let you go. Don’t, and I’ll bury you today and still have time to make it home for dinner.”

  “You’re not too bright, are you? Eleven digits? I only have ten toes, jackass. Not eleven.”

  “I wasn’t talking about your toes.”

  “What the hell are you—” The thought hit him like a baseball bat.

  “The eleventh digit is the small one,” I said. “Pinky size, really. You probably wouldn’t even miss it. It’s barely hanging on as it is.”

  “What the fuck do you want to know?”

  “What’s Poe’s agenda?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue. I just get him the people. Runaways and junkies mostly. Women and kids. The ones who aren’t missed. I don’t know what he does with them after that.”

  “Was your wife one of those runaways?”

  His laughter told me she was. Alan Dill was a sinister bastard and he enjoyed what he did.

  Fucking prick.

  The cellar in the cabin was filled with people he kidnapped. That was Alan Dill’s handy work. He kidnapped those people and sold them to Poe. I wondered if his wife was in that cellar. Was she the one I talked to?

  I scraped the dirt from my under my fingernails. I kept my nails short but it didn’t seem to matter. Dirt and sand had a way of climbing up in there. “How large a crew does he have?”