Memoirs of a Monster Killer: Killing Forever Book 1

by David J. Phifer

  “I didn’t stop to count.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I flicked through the numbers on his cell. A name popped up.

  Poe.

  “This is how he contacts you,” I said. I opened the number. Underneath, in the information section, was an address. “Oh, looky here. An address.”

  “If you go there—”

  “I know, I know. I go there and I’m a dead man.”

  “I gave you what you wanted. Now let me go.”

  “What’s your bank account number?”

  “You’re going to steal from me?”

  “You make your money from kidnapping people to be used as food for monsters. Yes, I am stealing from you.” The thought of him kidnapping people pissed me off. So I broke his thumb.

  “Mother fucker! I will kill you.”

  “Account number. Please.”

  I put his phone in my pocket and spoke into mine. Dill rattled off his bank account number. “Zac, did you get that?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Ivy,” Zac said through the line. “$978,463.37 is transferring now.”

  Dill tried to spit at me, but it just fell down his face. “You can’t do this, you fuck,” he said. “I will sue your ass! I’m an important man. The cops will be looking for me.”

  When you’re hanging upside down all night and then your bank account gets drained, you tend to be a tad ornery.

  “You’re a scumbag human trafficker, Dill. No one gives a shit.” My phone beeped. “Something must be wrong,” I said. “This account says a zero balance. Say, you have more accounts, right?”

  “You mother fucker. You fucking hunter!” He shook as wildly as he could under all that tape. The veins in his temple and neck were about to explode. “Poe is going to murder you. He’s going to drain your soul dry. You’ll be just another dead monster hunter, you fucking freak show. No one will even know you’re dead. You’ll fucking die on the street, asshole, you hear me? You’ll die on the street and you’ll die alone.”

  There it was again. The same message on the billboard by the cabin.

  Die Alone.

  I knew enough about synchronicity not to ignore it. It could be an omen. I picked up my blade. I had another call to make. But first, I had to deal with the dead weight of Alan Dill.

  Chapter 6

  Reunited and it Feels So Good

  After the synchronicity displayed with Alan Dill and the billboard message, I decided to take action to prevent the warning’s outcome.

  I knew I’d die someday. My ticket was long overdue. And I gave two horseshits about dying alone. Hunters can’t care about making a life. Dying alone was practically written on our T-shirts.

  But I’ll be damned if some fucking omen was going to tell me what to do and prescribe my destiny.

  After I got to the house, Grace led me to the living room and handed me a cup of coffee. I sat on the end of the couch. She sat in the middle. She was still a classic beauty. Still had the red hair, though just as much of it was gray. But she made it work.

  “I’m surprised you called, Sol,” Grace said, handing me the cup of coffee. “When Augie said he met you this morning at the event, I never thought you’d actually call. Much less visit in person.”

  “What can I say, Grace? I’m a sucker for gingers.” And bad omens.

  She smiled and sipped her coffee. “Ever the charmer.”

  “Where’s your son now?”

  “He’s probably off playing in his friend’s garage.”

  “He plays in the garage? Do they not allow him inside?”

  She grinned. “He’s in a band.”

  “Any good?”

  “Better than you’d expect,” she said.

  She glanced at me with a smile. The same smile that made my knees go weak over twenty years ago. The same smile I saved from the husband who tried to kill her. The same smile that made it so hard to walk away in the first place.

  It still shined as bright as the first day I saw it.

  “How have you been, Grace? Have you been… safe here?”

  “It’s been a good life, Sol. I moved a couple times after you left. Settled here, in Buffalo Grove. I hardly ever go down to Chicago anymore. It’s safer here. More peaceful.”

  “Does August know? About his father?”

  “He thinks his father died in a car accident. How do I tell my son his father was a monster who stored bodies in the basement?” She sipped her coffee and glanced at the window. “I want Augie to think his father was a good man. It’s important he has a role model, don’t you think?”

  “You did the right thing. Sometimes the truth is hard to take.”

  “I married again after that all happened. A military man, can you believe it? Strong on the outside, but a gentle heart.”

  “Did he make you feel protected?”

  “Yes. Every day. We had our moments, mind you. Boy, could we argue. He was so stubborn. I think we set the record for slamming doors. But in a way, much like you, he saved my life. He died a few years ago. Heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He was a good man. We had a good life together. And he didn’t try to kill me, so that’s always a plus.”

  I wondered about the string of mysterious messages I received. Was the omen warning me of an inevitable death? Or helping me so I wouldn’t die alone? I’ve been on a lonely road most of my life. In the end, it was just me and the road.

  Killing monsters.

  Were the messages telling me to slow down and retire? To have a normal life?

  I chuckled to myself. When you’re in a war for thirty years, you can’t go back to being civilized. To worrying about bills and car payments and holding down a job. If I had a boss who copped an attitude with me, he wouldn’t like how I’d respond. Neither would his life insurance policy.

  I was 100% hardcore unemployable.

  No, there was no going back to a normal life.

  War was in my blood.

  I finished my coffee and set it on the table. “August said you were trying to get ahold of me for years. Why?”

  “After Robert died, he took my sense of security with him. I haven’t seen any monsters in over twenty years. I haven’t even thought about them. There’s only one thing from the bad old days I still think about. Only one hunter.” She shimmied forward and set her hand on my knee. “Only one man.”

  I gently placed my hand on hers. “Grace—”

  The front door banged shut. August was home.

  Grace immediately pulled her hand away. “Augie, you’re home early,” she said. “How’d practice go?”

  He kicked off his shoes in the foyer. “It sucked. The band sucks. I suck. Julia sucks too. What’s with the crappy old truck in the driveway?” He came around the corner. “Mr. Ivy?”

  “Solomon called me, Augie,” Grace said. “I should listen to my son more often.”

  “You owe me twenty bucks,” Augie told her, smiling.

  She turned to me. “Augie and I made a bet. I didn’t think you’d call,” she said. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

  I shifted in my seat. “You could say I was highly motivated,” I said.

  Augie stood behind her and grabbed her shoulders. “Did you ask him about the podcast yet?”

  “We didn’t get that far,” she said.

  I looked up at August. “Are you trying to coerce your mother to manipulate me into being on your podcast?”

  Grace patted her son’s hands on her shoulders. “Was my son that obvious?”

  “He asked me at the conference. I told him no.”

  “Well,” she said, casting me a charming smile, “how about now?”

  “Still a no,” I said.

  She reached over and touched my leg. “And now?”

  Augie jumped back. “God, Mom!”

  She glanced back at her son. “Hey, I’m not getting any younger,” she said.

  I grinned. “Now it’s a maybe.”

&nbs
p; “Mom, will you please stop. The podcast isn’t that important.”

  She slid close to me and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close. “Now?”

  Augie threw his hands to his face. “Oh my god. My mother is pimping herself out for my podcast. I’m both disgusted and impressed.”

  I cleared my throat. “If the boy buys me food, I’ll do his stupid interview. Where’s the nearest breakfast place?”

  “Breakfast?” Augie said, scrunching his face. “But it’s almost five o’clock.”

  “Pancakes are good all day,” I said.

  Grace removed her arms from me and turned to Augie. “Honey, take him to Rise ‘N Dine.”

  “Rise ‘N Dine?” I asked.

  Augie rubbed his eyes, obviously not aligned with the idea of breakfast. “It’s a pancake cafe.”

  “I can do that,” I said.

  “Fine,” he said, rifling through his pockets to get his keys. “Let me grab my recorder.”

  “I’ll drive,” I said, getting up. Augie nodded and ran up the stairs.

  Grace took my hand. “Thank you, Solomon. This means everything to him. I gave him all your books over the years. You’re kind of his idol.”

  “Does he know?”

  “That monsters are real? Heavens no. He thinks you’re like the guy on the history channel that screams aliens to everything. But instead of aliens, it’s monsters. But he’s still interested in weird things. He’s a curious soul. Longs to understand the universe. Like you. He looks up to you.”

  “I’ll have to fix that.”

  “Be gentle with him, Solomon. He’s a soft boy.”

  “I’ll have to fix that too.”

  Chapter 7

  Rise ‘N Dine

  The Rise ‘N Dine Pancake Cafe looked classier on the inside than it did on the outside. I took a swig of coffee as the waitress set my plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me. She gave Augie his eggs and bacon. She was a cute girl, strawberry blonde, early to mid twenties. Her name badge said Laura.

  Augie was smitten.

  “Y’all let me know if you need anything else,” she said, walking away. She had a southern accent. Texan.

  Augie held onto his glass but leaned too far over the booth and almost fell out trying to get a peek at her walking away. He was a hormone-obsessed goober.

  “Put your eyes back in your head, kid,” I said. “She ain’t into you.”

  “Are you sure? She smiled at me.”

  I poured the syrup on my pancakes. “She’s a waitress. That’s what they do.”

  “I think she likes me.”

  “No. She likes tips.”

  “She was flirting with me.”

  “For a big tip,” I said, cutting my pancakes into bite-sized pieces.

  Augie’s hand was shaking. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. He downed them with a glass of OJ.

  “You gonna die on me, kid?”

  “My medication,” he said. “I get anxiety and panic attacks.”

  “Only around pretty ladies?” I asked. He turned red. I stuck my fork in my blueberry pancakes. “How’s your mom these days?”

  “Annoying,” he said. “She nags about everything.”

  “The cancer. Is that why you moved back in with her?”

  “Yeah,” he said, gulping down his OJ. “I dropped out of college awhile back. Went through a few jobs. Nothing stuck.”

  “What kind of jobs?”

  “Hotel customer service. Warehouse assembly line. Valvoline oil. Any odd job you can think of. I’m between jobs right now.”

  “They all fire you?”

  “You could say that.” He dug into his whole wheat toast. “I have a hard time concentrating. Worse than ADHD. I can’t sit still.”

  “The anxiety?”

  He nodded. “I’m anxious all the fricken time, bro,” he said, his knee knocking under the booth. “I’ll apply to UPS next week. I hear they pay good. How hard is it to drive and deliver packages? My mom thinks I moved back home so I could save money. But that’s not the real reason. She’s in denial.”

  “You didn’t move in because you’re broke?”

  He shook his head. “She shouldn’t be in that house alone. Not in her condition, you know?”

  “You get along with each other though?”

  “I try. But man, she’s so cheap. Cheaper than the head cheapskate at a cheapskate convention.”

  “She can’t be that bad.”

  His fist pounded the table. “She re-uses the vacuum bags, dude. Empties it out and uses it again.”

  “That is pretty cheap.”

  “She washes and re-uses straws too. Straws. If she could figure out a way to re-use toilet paper, she would. I can only take her in small doses. Playing in the band is my only safe place.”

  He said he was anxious, but I found him to be incredibly aloof. Almost relaxed. Like a limp noodle. Another word I’d use was lazy. The kid had mediocrity seeping from every pore of his body. I didn’t want to hear about the kid’s crappy garage band. I was sure he wanted to tell me all about it. Then he’d waste my time scrolling though his phone for his best music track of cover songs. And his feelings would be hurt when I told him his band sucks. So to save myself the torment, I skipped to the climax.

  “You wanted an interview, kid,” I said. “Let’s get started.”

  He set a small mic on the table next to an audio recorder. When it was ready to go, he pressed Record. He seemed to take initiative with the podcast. He wasn’t a total loser. The boy had some potential at least.

  “Here we go,” he said with a quiver in his voice. He spoke into the recorder. “Interview with Solomon Ivy. Paranormal investigator.”

  “I’m not really—” I stopped myself. The kid would never believe I was a monster killer. Best to leave him to figure it out on his own. “Go ahead.”

  “You write books on the occult and paranormal. You research people’s stories about the supernatural and add them to your books. You’re basically an expert on the things that go bump in the night. How long have you been researching strange phenomena?”

  “Over thirty years now. I was about your age when I started. Early twenties.”

  “In several of your books, you mention you started off as a pastor.”

  “Ancient history. Next question.”

  “Um, okay. Were you ever married?”

  “Too personal. Next question.”

  “Right. What got you started in writing about the supernatural?”

  “The past is dead. Next question.”

  “How am I supposed to interview you if you don’t answer my questions?”

  “You and your viewers don’t care about my past. You only care about one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Are monsters real or is it all bullshit?”

  “You seem to have a lot of people in your books think they’re real. They say they’ve come across monsters or demons. But why is there no solid evidence?”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “The irrefutable kind. Like caught on tape.”

  “Most people don’t have their phone out when a skinwalker shows up to steal their skin.”

  “That’s too convenient,” he said. “We have to take their word for it? That they came across a monster or ghost?”

  “There have been plenty of paranormals caught on tape. YouTube has dozens of them, but people think they’re fake.”

  “Aren’t they? Aren’t all these stories you write about just a wish for people to believe in something fantastic? Aren’t all your books bullshit?”

  I thought the kid was a believer because he had a paranormal podcast. But he was a cynical little prick. I almost wished a gargoyle would fly into the restaurant and take him right there.

  Almost.

  If I wasn’t in the middle of my pancakes.

  I pulled out my phone and went to YouTube. Found the video a hunter shot of a bogeyman. Those things are rare, but sca
ry as shit if you’re a kid. Hell, it’s scary if you’re an adult. The hunter caught it creeping out of a kid’s closet before he iced it. I played the video for Augie.

  “That’s cool, bro,” he said. “But… you don’t seriously think that shit is real, do you?”

  “You don’t?”

  He laughed like I was a naive five-year-old believing in the tooth fairy. I wanted to punch his teeth in. In case you were wondering, I stopped myself from doing so.

  But the night was young.

  “Dude, that stuff is so fake,” he said, pointing at the video. “Look, when the creature comes out of the closet. You can totally tell that’s a guy in a costume. You can even see the seams.”

  “Bogeymen feed on the nightmares of children,” I said. “The youthful energy attracts them. The more afraid the children become, the stronger and more attracted the beast becomes.”

  “I saw that movie too,” he said. “Monsters, Inc, right?”

  Maybe after I punched his teeth out, I’d make him eat them.

  I cast a quick smile. “The creatures steal the children and drag them to their dimension, where they feed off them for years. When the kids get too old and lose their youth, the monsters gut them, drink their blood, and use their organs and skin as clothing.”

  “Well, that’s a darker version.”

  “The ones that don’t take the kids end up biting and scratching the children to death. Children have been found with bite marks three inches deep in their face.”

  “Why would bogeymen do that?”

  “They’re trying to get to the nightmares.”

  “That’s so metal,” he said. “Nice story, bro. But it doesn’t change the fact that the monster in that video is done with Halloween makeup.” He used air quotes when he said monster. “Pretty obvious the glowing eyes are special effects.”

  “Obvious, huh? You wouldn’t know a monster until it bit your face off,” I said, downing my coffee. “Then maybe you can tell me how fake it is.”

  “I’m fascinated by this stuff, but you have to admit, most of it is pretty ridiculous.”

  “You wouldn’t last a day in my world. Your bias would get you killed.”

  “What bias?”

  The kid was clueless. His lack of self-awareness and emotional intelligence made me want stick a fork in my eye.