The Hunter (pt2)

Check out The Hunter (pt 1) here!!!

What a trip this had been. I had gotten rid of a Windigo in the Black Hills National Forest. I had helped a family in Idaho with a poltergeist. I traveled to Yuma, Arizona when I got wind of another hunters rambling of an eight foot skeleton. From there I went to San Antonio to help a friend who was having trouble with some ghosts in a hotel called the Gunter. I had hit Presque Isle trying to figure out what was luring men into the river. That’s where I got word of a group of vampires reeking havoc in a town a few miles away. It took me almost 5 days to catch up to them, following them from town to town, trying to decipher who was human, and what was not.

I finally caught up to them in Zenith, Tennessee. They won’t be bothering anyone any more. I had been on the road for months at this point. The last few hunts were different then all the others I had ever been on. For the past few weeks I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed, watched. I couldn’t imagine that this feeling meant anything good. I was tired, I needed a break. So, I hopped in my ’68 doge charger, popped in an AC/DC tape, and hit the road. From Zenith I was only about 14 hours away from home, maybe 16 if I made a few stops. If I drove through the night I could make it there sometime tomorrow after noon. As I headed toward Table Rock, Nebraska, I couldn’t help but think about the past, how I got to this spot. As I turned onto US- 127 I thought about the day I learned that monsters where real.

I was five. Up to this point things had seemed pretty normal. My dad was always away on business trips which left me, my mother, and my brother John who was 7 years older then me, at home. On one particular night I woke up to a creaking sound. As I opened my eyes and sat up I noticed my closet door slowly open. The room was dark, and I could barely make out the walls let alone anything else. The closet erupted in blue flames. I just stared terrified. Then, this thing stepped forward from behind the flames, and into them. It looked as though it was wearing a cloak, its head looking towards the ground. My eyes widened as I watched this monster, terrified. It raised its head as it raised its right arm. As it pointed at me its eyes glowed red. I screamed.

The next thing I knew my mother came running into my room, flicked on the lights, and grasped me tight. The thing was gone. As she asked me what was wrong, my brother came running into the room with a shotgun in his hands. I told theme there was a monster in my closet.

“What do you mean by monster?” She asked me as she looked over at my brother, then back towards me. I told her what I had seen. I told her about the blue flames, and the red eyes. As I told the story I realized that something was very wrong. Normally I would at least get “Oh, it was a dream” or a “don’t worry about it”. When I talked about Santa or the Easter Bunny I was told they weren’t real. Listening to me she looked worried, scared. So did John.

“Okay, you’re father should be home at some point tonight. When he gets here we will deal with this. Until then you are going to stay with John in his room.” Then she looked at John who was right next to us. “Don’t forget, line the windows, and the doors. Keep the trunk unlocked. When your dad gets home I’ll let you know.” Then she kissed us both on the forehead.

“Come on.” He reached his left hand out towards me. I took it, climbed off the bed, and walked with him to his room. Once inside he shut the door behind us, and locked it.

I sat on his bed and watched, curious to what he was doing. John laid the shot gun down on the bed. He unlocked a large wooden trunk at the end of his bed. As he opened it I noticed the odd markings covering it. Some of them I had seen before, they where on the covers of books in our library. Some I didn’t recognize at all. He took out the top shelf and placed it on the bed.

I was confused about what I saw in the shelf. I noticed a few different knifes, and a cross, a few bottles of water that had a cross on them, a few items that appeared to look like large quarters with funny writing, and some kind of beaded necklace. As I looked through the contents trying to wrap my five year old brain around what each thing was, I noticed that John had begun taking things out of the bottom of the trunk. He removed two sacks, a book with some sort of picture on it, and a piece of black chalk. I watched as he meticulously lined the windows and the closet door with the contents of the first sack leaving the only door into his room untouched. As he followed the same steps with the second sack, I peaked into the first he had place by the bed. It looked like salt; it smelt like salt; it tasted like salt. I couldn’t help but wonder why he was putting salt all over his room, let alone why he kept a bag of it.

I watched as he poured the contents of the second sack across the doorway of his closet. It was red, and powdery. It looked similar to my chalk when I accidentally step on a piece and crush it. Again, the only thing he didn’t cross was the bedroom door. He placed the sack down, and picked up the book and the black chalk. He walked over to the bedroom door and moved the round rug that lay in front of it. He opened the book. From what I could tell he was drawing a picture from the book onto the floor in front of the door. I remember thinking that Mom was going to be really mad. I always got into trouble when I didn’t draw on the paper. He not only was drawing on the floor, but he also broke a bunch of chalk, and taken the salt. I wasn’t going to tell, but she would know. She always knew.

When he was done, he covered what he drew with the rug. He did the same thing by the windows. He placed the book back into the trunk.

“Are you ready for bed?” he asked. “Do you need to go potty?”

“No.” With my answer he grabbed both sacks and lined the bedroom door. Then he placed them in the bottom of the trunk. He put the shelf back in, and closed it. But he didn’t lock it.

“Okay, lay down.” I did as I was told. I crawled under the covers and laid my head on a pillow. He moved the shotgun to his side of the bed, and placed it on the floor. Then he turned off the lights, walked over to the bed and laid down.

I remember laying in the dark for a few moments. I could hear John breathing as he lay next to me. I could hear Mom moving around the house. At one point she had gone upstairs to my bedroom. After a few moments, I heard her going back downstairs. The phone rang, and I could make out her faint voice talking to who ever had just called.

“Johnny?” I finally whispered to him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared. What if the monster comes back?” He turned over and looked at me. I can remember how the moon light came though the window illuminating where we lay.

“Don’t worry. It can’t get you. I won’t let it. I promise. Your safe here Meghan, I won’t let anything hurt you, ever. Now, get some sleep” As he spoke he pulled me close to him.

As worried as I was, I felt safe cradled in his arms. I believed his words. He wouldn’t let anything hurt me. While I drifted off to sleep I couldn’t help but wonder about what was going on.