Short story 38

Night one

While I'm not at liberty to say which state has done so, I can tell you that around a year ago I picked up a job removing those corpses you see at the side of the road. Some are spotted quickly and the clean up is as easy as picking up the carcass and chucking it. Some times the roadkill is left for days or hit by several cars, these cases are a pain in the ass.

A lot goes into making sure your kids don't break out crying on your five-hour road trip when they see Bambi at the side of the road. The work is quiet, people don't bother you and other than an intercom on my dashboard telling me where to go, I have little reason to talk to anyone. I just traverse the highways in my truck that looks eerily similar to what horror movies would have you expect someone in my profession to be driving.

In life, you go through changes. Not all of them are welcome but they're going to happen whether you're ready or not, Just gotta roll with those punches. That's what I'm doing. Scraping remains off four lanes isn't enough to pay the bills though and it was around the time I was close to losing my home, that a peculiar phone call gave me an interesting change. I can't remember the date but three months ago I was approached with an offer that at first, was nothing but humorous.

They told me the line of work I was already in would seamlessly integrate into the work they had lined up for me. They were right. I was used to long ride, solitude and most importantly I knew how to dispose of an animal. With cautious hesitation, I agreed and not a day passed before I received my first call. The encounter nearly made me quit on the spot. Until I saw the pay.

I could afford a nice shiny pickup truck but I can't imagine the use of owning something like that and spraying the thing down every night. Besides, old Elvis has been keeping me company ever since I pulled my first animal remains off the black tar. Even more so, ever since my first night with that thing, I wised up and began to teach Elvis some new tricks. The truck ain't pretty on the outside but it could outrace eighty percent of the cars I'd see passing me by.

There's no need for me to elaborate much on my time back then, I don't think either of my employers would be too keen on recounting all that. Nor will they like what I'm doing now but for the sake of compilation. I'm writing my jobs down from now on. You see from nine-to-five I do nothing but wait until some poor animal's day is up until time or nature kills it. Once that shift ends though, I sit by my radio and wait, sometimes minutes, sometimes hours. Until I hear faint static kick in and give me the location, situation and- the cryptid I'd be hunting that evening.

You've no doubt heard stories of some of the cryptids you can come across, some are even famous. For every cryptid you've heard of there's ten more waiting in the bushes, those are the ones that I'm called to take care of. Not all of them are out to harm humans and some can exist peacefully with the surrounding ecosystems but when one goes rogue or harms their biome, that's when I'm called in. Tonight I was called in to take care of a swift bastard called “The Mile Wolf”. They all have cute nicknames like that.

The Mile Wolf was once thought to be in a rare category of cryptids that were singular in nature meaning it was the only of it's kind. It wasn't until two attacks were sighted ten miles apart in the time frame of 5 minutes. These things are fast, but not that fast. Thank god. They're agile and cunning so when one is spotted it becomes a priority. They attack humans for food and seemingly for sport and also feed on any species of wolf that happens to habitat the area. The attacks resemble that of a pack of wolves with how vicious the claw and bite marks can be.

So after receiving the call I made my way to the cold storage where I kept any clean roadkill and pulled a deer from the freezer. Heavy bastard. I located the sighting on a map, some backwoods car path that was primarily used by lost foreigners. It had one way in and out making it a perfect road to plot a trap on, so that's what I did. Then after gathering the necessary supplies I chucked everything into the truck bed and took off.

By the time I finally hit the road the sun had long since left the sky and it was approaching midnight. This is typically the best time for hunts, the fewer people the better but if you wait too long you risk the thing hauling up for the night. Mile Wolves are very adept at making themselves invisible and can even trick passing observers into thinking they're just witnessing a normal wolf. The Mile Wolf gets its name from its body structure. If you were looking at it head on all you would see is a very tall wolf, it's legs are thin and stretched giving a malnourished appearance. Their height could dwarf the extinct dire wolves. I've heard of Mile Wolves that have reached up to six feet in height, I'm thankful I've never seen one of those.

The community is still split on whether or not Mile Wolves have a hierarchy like regular packs do if they do though; that six-footer was no doubt the alpha. Their tall stature isn't their main feature, no it gets weirder. The Mile Wolf will rarely be seen from the side but if you were to catch a glimpse you would see a long cylindrical like stomach and chest. They've been compared to snakes and worms but I see a stronger resemblance to ferrets. They can reach over ten feet in length and you can tell they're hungry in the middle of their tube-like body is sagging. If that's something you manage to see, it's already too late for you.

As I've said before, these suckers are fast. It doesn't matter if they're running away or towards you, they are faster. Their bodies allow them to slink through the forest as if they were made of water if you wanted to kill one you'd have to do so swiftly but even that wouldn't be easy. For whatever reason, all these cryptids have accelerated healing and The Mile Wolf is among the worst of them. Like the worms they resemble, a limp or even half of its body will begin to regrow after being severed. There is one thing that can halt the healing completely, and it's far too cliché for my taste but it gets the job done.

Going over the plan in my head I pulled up to my destination, about halfway through the secluded trail and turned the truck off. I withdrew several small speakers from the back of the truck and placed them at random positions on the road. On the side of the road, I placed a uniform row of rusty iron and covered them with leaves. Mile Wolfs will not make a sound as they approach you, if you are hunting one you must act fast and quiet, or the tables will turn before you even realized you're drawing your last breath. Their teeth are some of the sharpest I've ever seen, they would slice through a tree faster than a chainsaw if one had the mind to do so.

Reaching into my truck I pulled the double barrel shotgun I bought my first day on this job, it and Elvis got together well. Then my hands found the revolver and dropped a single, very expensive bullet, into the chamber. I placed them on the road, laying them gently next to a ghillie suit. Then the final piece was dragged from the truck bed, several space heaters were focused on the Deer, the stench it gave off was horrendous but it was powerful and I didn't have time to pay it mind. I placed it in the road, a safe distance from the speakers, iron and my own supplies. With a hunting knife, I stuck the Deer's stomach and pulled, the fine skin giving way easily I felt a flow of red run past my hands.

Quickly I rushed to the open door of my truck and took one last heavy breath, just to center myself. My hand pressed hard on the car's steering wheel and the horn cried loud into the vast silence of the night, bouncing through the trees. Slamming the door I swiftly made my way to the ghillie suit and threw myself under it. I laid on the road, watching the Deer's body lying in the road, moonlight as my only source of light, I could see it reflecting off the pool now surrounding the Deer.

Mile Wolves are cautious, I had no doubt that it was sizing up the Deer, I had no doubt it wanted the easy prey. Before I knew it a shadow lunged onto the lifeless Deer. Ugly sounds of gnawing, like ripping sheets of paper could be heard coming from the mass of meat. My fingers wrapped around the grip of my shotgun. There was going to be no opening, I was just going to have to go for it and hope everything worked out. You have to take leaps of faith like that a lot in my line of work.

Going over the plan one more time in my head, I readied and calmed myself, It was time. Like a maniac, I sprung from under the ghillie suit and readied my shotgun, before I even raised the barrel it was already aware of me. Its long slender body began contorting to face me, I didn't have the time, so without a clear shot, I pulled the trigger. The recoil jarred me for a minute but I could see I did some damage to its legs. The Mile Wolf swung away from me after being shot, it was attempting to flee. It made it several feet and a large hum emitted from of the speakers, frightening the Mile Wolf, as it picked a new direction another speaker went off.

It made a frantic sprint towards my truck, my finger clicked a small rubber button on my keys and the lights of the truck shone bright piercing the dark. The road lit I could now see The Mile Wolf's albino white hair that was standing on end like it was a pissed off cat. Along with the lights, the radio and the speakers mounted atop good ol' Elvis chimed a wonderful tune of harsh static. The Mile Wolf retched and ran towards the side of the road. The biggest part of this job is having foresight, you are hunting the things that go bump in the night. Most of them are still animals though and their actions can be predicted.

As I watched The Mile Wolf clamber to the side of the road and as I heard the harsh clamping of the row of bear traps. I knew I was chalking up another successful hunt. The things frantic movements had been it's undoing. If just one or two of its legs had been caught, it could have gnawed them off and I'd have no chance of catching up. But it had slipped and the traps closed on its stomach and near just below its neck. As I walked over I pulled out the revolver. If left be, this thing would recover and be angrier than ever. It looked up at me and flashed bright green eyes, giving off several cries for mercy but The Mile Wolf is crafty. If you show it mercy, it will not return the favor.

I had more than enough time, I aimed up the perfect shot and with the pull of the trigger, the hammer brought down and ejected the bullet. A gleaming oval of silver flew from the barrel and straight into The Mile Wolves head. The only way to really kill one of these is to stop the regeneration completely. Silver is the cheapest compound known to do such a thing, still, ain't cheap.

The rest is no different from my morning job, just a little more intimate. I removed the traps and threw the corpse into the back of my truck, covering it with the ghillie suit. And after packing all my supplies I hopped in and began the long drive home. I am tired but I am alive and there is a very long wolf hanging in cold storage. I keep the cryptid bodies around for a while before burying them because just like the roadkill.

They have their purpose to serve.

Night two

It's hard to keep a social life with a job like this. Nevermind not having the time between both occupations, trying to wipe the scent of dead roadkill or some creature's blood isn't an easy task. I honestly make good money but I'm not sure what I'm making it for. My routine is to wake up and try my best to acquire some semblance of 'fresh'. I'll go a couple of rounds with the punching bag, sometimes I'll just sit and look at it, memories can be draining.

Some people work so that they can live. More and more I'm discovering that I'm living to work, I find more comfort in the rides too and from than I do sitting in my house. I won't beat around the bush either, there are nights after a rough hunt that leave me feeling like a badass and I miss that feeling. As far as the nine-to-five goes, it was a fairly slow day. I was even called to two separate places that ended up being just sick animals. I have to contact animal control in those scenarios and then it's out of my hands.

There was a skunk discarded into the brush off the interstate that a number of drivers were complaining about. The smell wasn't all that bad, lord knows I've experienced worse. Squatting over the poor thing I observed its wounds and considered what could have inflicted them and ignore the skunk's defense mechanisms. Most cryptids you will run across have their senses enhanced as they've evolved to avoid detection and hunt more dangerous prey.

If I wanted to find out the cause of the skunk's death I would have to open it up and that just wasn't going to happen. As I picked it up however it felt light, and its bones had clearly been cracked. Throwing it into the truck bed I thought of the Colossal Viper, a massive snake that is able to, through sheer muscle power, burrow underground. It's presumed to either lack the ability to smell or deny it as a repellent. It will constrict its prey and pull its blood out using its fangs, the sheer strength of the thing would leave any animal broken.

Wouldn't be too outlandish to assume I'd be getting a call about it in the near future, if it came as close as it did to civilization, it could be a problem. How would I deal with something like that monstrosity? Lucky for me, my prey this night was something a little more docile and smaller than some Hollywood horror snake. I took the days work and disposed of whatever I couldn't use, but the skunk went into storage, its smell could be useful in the future. Waste not and such.

I got a call from my employer a few hours after getting home. It was a simple job, one that, if finished quickly enough, would allow me to take another. There are these little creatures called Jobbins, I didn't name them, I have no idea where the name came from. They're as peaceful as a cryptid can be, they are almost kind in fact. You see- they'll sing for you. It's not a song you will enjoy and for one reason or another it'll enable you to enter sleep, or if you're already sleeping; you'll be unable to wake up. Something about the frequency locking your brains state of 'awake'.

These are easy to get rid of, you just have to make them know their presence is unwelcome, the reason I was even called in for this is the caveat that comes with Jobbins. They are so docile that they are easy pickings for larger prey, mainly cryptids. So when the big boys hear the Jobbins singing they will culminate on the area in search of them. Even the apex of the cryptids can't resist their call, makes you wonder what they taste like. I can tell you now if the Jobbins were to attract the attention of the ever elusive B.F I'd be going radio silent for a few days. That is one job I'm not willing to take, my rule is if something can chuck a tree at me, I'm going to avoid it.

So like any rational hunter, this is a job I jumped on quick. Easy money, no fuss. I drove until I saw the distinct red light the Jobbins give off. The best visual I can give you is, imagine large red lightning bugs with tiny little feelers. Their singing is created by the rapid movement of their wings. God is it annoying to hear a whole cluster of them. I wrapped a towel around the nearest branch I could find and doused it in lighter fluid with a dab of vanilla extract. It has to be straight from the bean, nothing artificial. Lighting it on fire I made my way to the group waving it around like I was trying to knock down cobwebs. The group of Jobbins song grew louder as they scattered into the woods, I'd have to leave the stick burning on the ground in case they returned. Smelled a bit like homemade cookies.

Life would be much easier if each hunt exhibited the same degree of simplicity, it was actually pretty, watching their lights dance into the darkness. These creatures used to be a larger concern, people would mistake the glow of their bodies for the glowing of red eyes peering at them. They believed the song to be some howl to call a pact or to signify that they had found dinner. Nope, just very large bugs. I stuck around the sight, sitting in my truck to make sure that nothing unsavory had followed the group of Jobbins. Thanfully, I was able to leave that site without any incident.

My next call came through the radio as I was leaving the sight, the place was several dozen miles out and I'd be cutting it close with the morning light. Luck so had it that I don't work my morning job tomorrow and this cryptid is a very hyper one, to a fault. So I shifted Elvis into gear and made my way, guided by my headlights I watched the side of the roads, not only did I want to avoid causing roadkill knowing what a pain in the ass it is, but a lot of the more dangerous fellas will attack cars when they're as alone as I was.

A handful of hours passed before I reached my destination, another stroke of luck was that the general supplies I had were enough to handle this hunt so I didn't need to stop at home. I rolled up on a farmer's driveway, hopping out I was greeted with a thick and commanding voice. This man had been tending to the farm since he was eighteen. A worn and weathered face relayed to me those youthful days was many years ago. He informed me that he saw a small creature in his field and that it was leaving barren circles of corn.

We normally don't discuss with clients unless their information is pertinent. but some of the tough stomach ones don't mind a quick conversation. I assured him I'd take care of it and even jested that I'd try to avoid setting the field on fire. He told me that would be ideal and gave me a brief history of the cryptid's activities. With that I headed into the field, supplies in tow, The small beam of my flashlight attempted to illuminate my way but it seemed every ray was met by the cornstalks resistance.

It was hard to keep track of time, the field was so monotonous and the sky was still so dark, I had at least a good two hours before sunlight. I was pleased to make such good timing. During my walk, I made sure to note the location of the clearings the farmer mentioned. After passing my third one I heard a clicking noise to my right and at this time, slowed my pace and flicked my flashlight off. Brushing aside stalks of corn as gently as I possibly could I closed in on the rapid click, it's the same noise you'd get smacking dominos together.

The noise wasn't incredibly loud, even as I stood just a few feet from it. I could see it's a faint outline through the obstructing vegetation. The Furrball was chewing away on a stalk of corn, devouring it from the bottom up. The less aggressive of cryptids tend to get names the lean towards cute, this is to sway the communities opinion on them. Things like Jobbins, Sugar Creeps and this here Furrball are typically herbivores. On rare occasions, however, a Furrball can become territorial if it finds a bountiful food source like the one we were in. Even though I had become still it halted it's feeding and became aware of me.

Furrballs have an unparallel sense of sight, looking at me the thing could see me just as clear as if the sun was directly above us. While all I could see was a tangle of outreaching thin tendrils that made up its hair. A Furrball. I could see the stalk of corn being clutched by its short stick like limbs. It wasn't going to take long before it lunged at me, Furrballs are typically harmless but this one has been terrorizing the livestock and the farmers daily operations. Not to mention ruining large plots of the crop by eating them.

They aren't something I can just put a bullet into, their bodies are ninety percent hair, even the limbs are made from longer, harder fibers of hair. I'd only get one shot before it scurried off and I wouldn't be able to trap it like my last hunt. No, this one was going to be trying to chase me. Quickly I flickered my flashlight in its direction to agitate it and began to run away. I could hear the tumbling line of dominos as it's short legs paddled after me. Furrballs are bundles of energy just as much as they are fluff, their movements are sporadic and unpredictable.

Whenever it caught up it would jump across my path and take a swing at my legs or get brazen and leap to my chest. I had to wince and ignore the slicing of flesh whenever it managed to land a hit on me, I was sure to wear something loose to snag it's attacks. Foresight. It only came up to about my thighs with its height so most of the strikes were around my ankle, it felt like running through an upset rosebush. I continued though if I stopped I'd get the worst of it for sure so my arms and legs kept pumping, cool air pressing my wounds.

Just when I thought my knees might buckle under the strain and minor blood loss, which I've never been good with; go figure. We came across a larger circular clearing where all the stalks had been ripped up and eaten for the Furrballs dangerously high metabolism. Reaching into the pocket of my blue jeans I pulled out a pill bottle sized cylinder of metal. My finger reached into the metal pin and pulled it loose. Straining my body as much as I could I whip the stun grenade high above the cornfield, I hoped it was far enough to avoid any ignition.

Once thrown I spun around and threw myself to ground, burying my face in what was left of the cornstalks and pulling my shirt over my eyes. Even with all that, and my eyes squeezed tight, my eyelids still illuminated a bright pink and my ears still rang heavy from the blast. I'd be sure to apologize to the farmer for stirring his livestock. My issues were nothing compared to the Furrball's hypersensitive eyesight. It would be rendered useless for a good while, when you have something as efficient as the Furrball's eyes are, you tend to lean on it. That and its energy was spent chasing and it didn't have enough to even try stumbling away in some haphazard direction.

The quickest and most painless way for me to kill it was by just letting it starve. They have to eat pretty consistently or their active metabolism shuts down in around thirty minutes and dissolves what little muscle mass they have. It sounds terrible but it really is a quiet way for them to pass on and if I have the choice, that's the one I go with. I've heard enough horror stories about hunters that like to play with their hunts, drag it out, that's not who I am. So I sat with it, watching its fur swaying with each gust that rush through the cornfield, accompanied by a soft rustling. As its body was shutting down the arms and legs began to unravel and resemble the rest of its hair. The sun was coming up by then and I had actually forgotten their fur is brown, not black like the night suggest.

When its body had given up searching for fuel I watched it's hair separate from the form and drift into the morning's wind until nothing was left. Nothing but its eyes, the only part of it's functioning body that wasn't in some manner made up of hair. I don't like killing most of the cryptids I come across, hell If there were more peaceful solutions I would pursue them. Cryptids, they end up taking people from their family, one way or another. Even the Jobbins can keep someone asleep so long that the body gives up similar to the Furrball that had been across from me. I have to stop these situations before they occur. I once lacked foresight but no longer.

I cleaned up the scene, ears still ringing I placed the Furrball's glass like eyes into a plastic bag, they would be iced in the cooler. Couldn't help but notice the clearing looked a damn lot like a crop circle, aliens; what a joke. Typing all these cryptids name's reminded me I haven't really introduced myself yet,

My name, is Jack.

Night three

Some cryptids are only classified as such for sake of convenience, there are several categories you'll come across. Physical cryptids are your most common, that's where you get your Mile Wolfs and your Lochness monsters. This category makes up the majority of my calls but almost all of them can be killed with minimal contact. Then you have intangible cryptids. You could technically call these things ghosts but they are just a subset of creatures that seem to exist without a form. I've only ever had to deal with one of these.

It was shortly after I first began this job, I was called to the suburbs to a nuclear family's ranch house. When I arrived the scene looked like it was straight out of the exorcist. All their belongings were thrown to the ground and parts of the walls were dented. The kids were beside themselves. It was the Likencolly. A very interesting study, it creeps the notion of its existence into an underdeveloped mind, mostly children. Slowly it manipulates more and more around the child until they are either convinced they have an imaginary friend, or they believe a monster is in their closet.

From there it can begin attempting to manifest itself in a more physical plain. Some of these guys will make you question the world around you but it's a slippery slope and one I avoid. These type of cryptids require more out of the box solutions. For example, while the mother pulled her children from the house to avoid the Likencolly me and the father put on a show. The Likencolly always appears the same no matter the host. It shows itself initially as a yellow teddy bear, but as the child interacts with the Likencolly the bear will stretch, its limbs contort in a sick attempt to imitate a human form and it's button eyes sink deep into the plush skull. The bear's skin will turn from a bright vibrant yellow to a dirty tan, its fur will be matted and ripped off in patches.

Before I arrived at the house I had stitched together a body suit that resembled the Likencolly as much as it could. I'm no tailor but it was enough. I pulled the suit on and walked by a few windows to show the children I was inside the house. I made my way to the front door and stepped out, doing my best impression of a thoughtless form I walked down the sidewalk. The children were crying and begging for their mother to run with them. Just as one the children were about to take off the father tackled me from behind and slammed me onto the pavement.

I told him to sell it but the bruise from hitting the sidewalk remained on my elbow for what felt like weeks. He spouted lines about how I would never scare his family again and how I was going to jail for a long time. The bear mask I had made was then pulled off revealing my face to the children, staring at the little girl I could see the gears turning. The bear she had been seeing wasn't some psychic vampire, it was just some weirdo in a costume who was going to jail for the rest of their life. She was no longer convinced the Linkencolly was anything more than that and as such, it would vanish from her thoughts.

Other cryptids act similarly to the Likencolly but do so in more of an immediate physical fashion, these are affliction cryptids. In this category are things like Fastjackets, Hornet Doves and the Calvier Contaminant. Very few things can shut down an entire mile radius as the Calvier Contaminant can and that was the subject of my call tonight. For a rare night, I wasn't going to need much physical prowess to deal with a cryptid. So after I had obsessively treated my wounds, Furrballs can be dirty little things, I started preparing for the hunt. Although “cleanse” would be a more accurate word.

The call had informed me the inner city had several blocks shut down and under quarantine. Victims were reporting advanced flu-like symptoms and their skin was showing sign of rapid decay at a cellular level. Sightings of bizarre animal behavior and appearance were also a cause for concern, Me and my employer knew that simply quarantining the area wouldn't suffice. All it would take is one rat slipping out to infect another area.

I threw on a heavy hazmat suit and headed out, the more time I wasted the more I risked a citywide infection. Like I said Elvis can haul ass and with me driving the roads as much as I do every day I have pretty good intuition on which ones I can press the pedal down on. Elvis roared down the side streets, I didn't bother checking the side of the road, if something wanted to jump out at me, Elvis would be sure to take care of it.

The bag of supplies resting on the passenger seat rattled and clanged with every bump Elvis took on. I don't normally venture too far into the city, I used to though, years ago I would spend entire weekends just fooling around. That life is something I've had to leave far behind and memories of it serve me little purpose but at the very least I knew where I was going. I'd find the afflicted area shortly after entering the city, it wasn't hard to spot all the yellow tape and no entry signs littered around. I parked a few blocks away, before leaving I had scrubbed the hell out of Elvis, he looked cleaner than the day I bought him. If there was even a hair of something that was once organic around the infection sight than I would just cause more problems than I solve.

The place was in acomplete shutdown, even the street lights had been shut off, the city must have blacked out part of its grid. Which was smart, sounds and lights could attract things like insects, things the Calvier Contaiminit absolutely love. Carefully I made my way from building to building trying to find the source of the Contaminant. This affliction cryptid worked similarly to the hivemind of bees. If it weren't for that, it'd probably be an extinction level cryptid running rampant from state to state. Unfortunately, there is no known cure other than shutting down the hivemind before it takes too many victims.

The source will send out a mist of spores that will attach to any organic life and start to absorb it for energy that will then be converted into more spores. The whole quarantine zone had a thick green hue to it, as though I was swimming through swamp water. I could see the semi-intelligent spores swirling from house to house as I was, they were looking for a meal. The Calvier Contaminant was aware of my presence as the cloud grew ever so thick around me, the spores were looking for any imperfection in the suit.

I could hear rats and other small critters scurrying about, I came across one such rat convulsing in the corner of a shutdown mini-mart. Its skin was being eaten away in several spots revealing its bones and inner workings. Each hole was outlined by an almost neon green light, as the Contaminant eats away it glows from the energy it receives, this, however, was not the host so I moved on.

Buildings were either completely vacant or had small animals I would have to stop and observe, if they were small enough I could just move on but anything that could host the membrane would have to be examined. This includes getting really up close and personal with the inflicted and cutting it open to get a good look. Or if the decay was severe enough I could just tell from a glance that nothing abnormal was inside. I knew people were sick and on the verge of death so I tried to hurry but something as simple as tripping up or snagging my suit on a loose nail would cause the whole hunt to be a bust.

After a few blocks had been clear I was convinced I had missed something or just wasn't thorough enough with what I did come across. I only had a few houses left, I figured I could clear them and just double back. I found something rather unexpected, the decaying body of another cryptid was being converted to energy, it was just laying on the sidewalk. Another Mile Wolf laid at my feet, this one smaller than the last by at least a foot, I cursed myself for not bringing the revolver from my truck so I could give this thing a swift death or a death at all. Until I clear the Contaminant source, this one would have to suffer the waging war of its regeneration and Calvier's feeding process. At least the virus didn't latch onto the Mile Wolf, the Calvier Containment has a nasty habit of making its epicenter host somewhat immortal.

As I stood observing the Mile Wolf, not wanting to get too close in case it had enough energy to spring up and attack the nearest piece of meat. I heard a familiar clacking in the street behind me, slowly I turned to face what I swiftly knew to be the epicenter host. The large adult buck before me stood with a vapor of green spores pluming from its wounds. The buck stared at me like I had my high beams on, its ears twitching at every scuff I made moving forward. I had no idea how I was expected to handle something so massive and powerful, let alone get to the to source inside it.

I could just barely see it as I carefully approached the buck. Inside one of the open sores adorning the massive buck's stomach was an obnoxiously green, tumorous mass clinging to the buck's intestinal track. The virus needed to be soaked in a flammable delivery of antibiotics, heavy ones, which needed to be set aflame by direct contact with an open flame. How I was going to do any of this was beyond me. Every time I closed in the buck would turn and gain several more feet of distances between us. Which was honestly more favorable than the muscled goliath goring me through with its massive antlers. They were intricate and imposing, this guy was for sure an alpha male. Poor thing.

My attempts at a peaceful approach weren't working an I was running out of time, the people in hospital beds were running out of time. Those around them that didn't know the infected were exhaling clouds of spores so small in numbers they were barely visible, were running out of time. I knew something about my appearance was throwing it off, I knew what that something was. It wasn't hostile towards me but it was cautious of something it didn't know.

Any attempt to speed up was no doubt going to result in the buck just trotting off, the virus has no effect on the host's cognitive functions so the buck was going to act how it always had. It's sights like this that one that eats away at me. Such a proud and strong member of the ecosystem was reduced to nothing but a carrier, it's skin a patchwork of brown and green linings. It's neck only minutes away from being unable to support the weight of its antlers. Sometimes on this job, you have to forsake every safety measure you have built up. You have to take a gentle approach, like putting on a show to let a little girl know the bad man is gone. Sometimes you have to be the bad man.

I clasped my hands around the hood of my hazmat suit, once white, now stained a deep green with the patches of spores stuck to it. Lifting up I felt the spore-filled air swirling around my head, every inhale felt like I was breathing soup. I tore away at the rest of my suit until I was standing in just my tee-shirt and jeans. The virus was in me now, filling every organ and pore the spores could wriggle their way into. It was warm and within moments the spores would begin feeding, luckily the lining of human organs is tough for them to get through, so I had a little time before irreversible damage occurred.

Cautiously stepping forward with an outstretched arm I closed the gap between me and patient zero. Its body made the motions to turn but with a few clicks, like I was calling a cat, I acquired it's attention until I could see my reflection in its eyes. Gently I brushed what patches of intact fur I could find until the buck was motionless. Freehand grabbing the bottle of liquid I continued soothing the buck. The lid slipped off and the anti-biotics applied directly to green mass, best efforts were kept to keep the liquid from directly impacting the buck's remaining nerves, it would surely set the beast off. I had forgotten the flare, it was taped to the hazmat suit. I backed up, clicking once more and the buck, thank god, it followed. We danced together until I felt the suit at my feet.

Kneeling down, I picked up the red flare and cracked it, a bright red cast it's light on me and the buck. Then the light disappeared as it was being shoved onto the Calvier Contaiminit, sparks of it would flick and burn onto my hand but I had to remain steady until the flare burned out. It was reacting with the anti-biotics, stripping it's exterior of the viscous liquid that caused the infection and boiling the interior until all the spores had turned into an inactive mush.

Shortly after the buck dropped to the ground, it's antlers smacking against the pavement, the green spores around me began dropping just the same. I felt bad for the buck, I really did but if you need some solace. I could see that not even the virus was able to eat away at its impressive show of antlers. Body feeling like hell, like it, did back when I would have to go ten rounds with more than just a punching bag. I grabbed the suit, now completely useless and pulled the green mess from inside the buck. It was dormant now but inside the slush of spores was a highly potent poison, might be useful with handling future cryptids. I then made my way to the truck, the authorities would discover on their own that the area was clear and I'd be called in the morning to remove the animals. I'd of done it tonight but my energy was quite literally drained.

When I arrived at the truck I noticed that it's driver side door had been left completely open which is something my neurotic mind would never do. I searched the interior and found nothing missing until on a whim I checked where I stored my revolver. Instead of a shining metal handgun, I was left with a small, silver pellet. One I had forgotten to recover from the Mile Wolf hunt. I know when to leave a situation and when I happened to glance at my passenger side window to see a distant pair of yellow orbs watching me, I left the scene.

Even on the drive home, I could see the same pair of yellow eyes every few miles, once I got home, on my doorstep was a shining metal revolver. Or as I now saw it-

A warning.

Night four

Despite having work in the morning, after jotting down the events of last night I spent a good amount of time just holding the revolver and twisting the silver between my fingers. I went over my ever expanding knowledge of cryptids to try to decipher what could be sending a message to me. In the time I've been working, not once has that work followed me home; animals don't tend to hold grudges and while cryptid's behavior can be unique; I've never heard of something like this.

Not only was the culprit smart enough to target me specifically but it must have been watching me for a while. It also had to have a ridiculous amount of speed or have an alternative mode of transportation. Intangible cryptids are capable of disappearing and reappears but are typically bound to one area. Between the time I parked and the time I returned to the truck last night, maybe something like around the speed of a Mile Wolf could cover the distance, big maybe.

Lost in my thought I failed to notice the sun creeping through my window so my biggest threat tonight was a complete lack of sleep. The telephone ringing nearly threw me off my chair but I was pleasantly surprised to discover some other poor soul was going to have to clean up what was left of the contaminant's mess. Hopefully, the Mile Wolf didn't decide to stick around. I would be on highway patrol which was a godsend. I drove from spot to spot doing the usual except this time around I was skeptical of every vehicle that followed me around too many turns. I kept pulling over just to see if they would drive past me. They all did.

Around halfway through my shift, I stopped into a diner to grab a quick cup of coffee, I'd need several to stay awake. As I was sitting at the table a waitress walked over to me and place a cup of coffee down and a plate stacked with pancakes. When she noticed the bewildered look on my face she mentioned that someone had covered the bill for me. I questioned her but she didn't get a good look at him, only remarking the man had told her that I had “Been through a long night.”

I started scanning the diner but she said he left right after paying for the food, didn't order anything for himself. Against my better judgment, I obeyed the rumble from my abdomen and ate the pancakes. Whoever this man was, he was trying to send a message. If he wanted to kill me he knew where I lived. At least I know it's not some cryptid. Maybe he was at the Calvier site and saw me pull in, did he orchestrate the infection? To what ends would someone take out several blocks of life like that?

The alarm on my phone alerted me when my break was done and I quickly poured the coffee down my throat, a tingling burn went all the way to my chest. The train of thought had to end there, a decent haul of bodies went by without any more issues and then my shift was over. I had just enough time to head home and take a power nap keeping the radio next to my head, I drifted off the static. The universe took some form of mercy on me and I didn't get a call for another three hours. I didn't wake up feeling refreshed and renewed when the chatter on the radio woke me but I had gotten enough to get me through my next hunt.

Some mansion had a cryptid of sorts haunting its premises. My employer gave me all the known details and I gathered my supplies. I didn't need much this time around, just some heat resistant clothing and a breathing apparatus. After brief delegation I decided to leave the magnum behind, if I need a gun my shotgun was always around. Tires spun and I headed out.

Before I knew it I was sitting outside the mansion. I got out and made my way to the house, the door was locked but that was only a momentary issue. Walking inside felt like I had stepped into a furnace. Only moments after entering and I was sweating, my grip on the shotgun felt loose as beads of sweat ran between my palm and the gun. I could see a decent amount of the house from where I was standing and what I needed to find wasn't on the ground floor.

When I made my way upstairs I was met with the cryptid. It stood facing me, not because I had shown up though, it likely had been standing there for a while. Salem Children, it wouldn't attack me but if I stayed in the heat it generated for too long I might-as-well have fallen victim to a house fire. These poor souls are said to be the physical manifestation of hatred felt by children being burned for witch accusations. I was a bit lost though, normally they only surface when the ground is being disturbed or there is similar 'magic' around.

The house looked like it was there for a number of years and there were no signs of something like remodeling. The Salem Child and I locked eyes for a few moments, its eyes are nearly hypnotic. They're as wide as a tennis ball and devoid of any ocular feature, they only have the appearance of embers. Like when you blow on wood to feed the embers on a campfire. The fire in its eyes was replicated along its black ashen skin, the flames ran through its veins replacing its blood.

Otherwise, it looked like a normal child, coming up to about three feet and a little potbellied, it calmly focused its gaze on me. I gave it a nod and began walking from room to room, the only way to kill the Salem child is to kill its source of power, similar to a Calvier. The house remained perfectly intact despite the heat and nothing was out of place, I didn't even consider that I had spotted a pair of cars parked in the driveway.

I didn't take that into account until I walked into one of the children's rooms to see the child and his father huddled in the corner. If you're going to be a hunter like me, one of the first things you should know is you'll have to deal with loss. Whether you hear the news that one of your fellow hunters had lost to their encounter, or you held sympathy for the Cryptids as I do. The hardest though is when you can't save the victims. You either not fast enough or the circumstance was inevitable, it's hard to deal with either way.

This time around I just wasn't fast enough. The Salem Child must have appeared in here and unaware that it wouldn't attack them, the father sheltered his kid in an attempt to save him. They were roasted before they even knew it. Their bodies resembled that of crumbling statues, a stark reminder that like last night, I didn't have much time. Even with all my precautions, I couldn't stay for longer than thirty minutes. I had to find the source so I swiftly checked from room to room, it's not always obvious but the source will generally have a magical vibe to it. It could be anything from a crystal to a spell book.

Walking through the house I glanced at their family photos, the father, his son and the wife who I hadn't seen yet. She was in all the photos smiling wider than anyone, they were happy and at the time I didn't know what she would do if she came home after all this. I was debating in my mind if I should stay in that scenario or take off before she even got home. Everywhere I walked the Salem Child would follow me, small flecks of fire drifting from between its dark lips. The longer it took the more frustrated I became, I can normally keep my cool but the damn heat was unbearable.

Even the basement had nothing of note in it, thankfully the family was rather neat and tidy so I didn't have to sift through boxes of knick-knacks. Something wasn't sitting right with me, I had dealt with a Salem child once before and it was a pretty cut and dry hunt. I popped into some construction site, found the artifact and destroyed it. That was it. I had a few rooms left to check on the first floor but as some of the gears began to turn I made my way back upstairs. Leaning it I took a closer look at the family photos, the mother while happy gave off a very specific vibe.

I looked back at the Salem Child knowing my sorrow had not yet finished. I found a small string and pulled down on it, a ladder dropped down leading up to the attic. I only peaked to confirm my suspicions. I hate being right sometimes. It was dark but I could see several spellbooks and half-burned candles littering the wooden floor. I saw half of a circle drawn on the floor with various symbols placed inside. The source, despite all this, wasn't in the attic. Climbing down I found a window that would outlook the backyard and my heart sank. Looking back at the Child I thought of the trauma that put his anger here.

“It's going to be up to her, I hope she sets you free.” I'm not a man of many words and I knew I was essentially talking to myself, maybe I was just passing the buck. With the Salem Child casually following my movements I made my way to the back yard or the field that was a backyard. It was massive and free of any eyesores until the treeline a few dozen feet away. I saw her right away, her frizzy hair and baggy clothing. She had a shovel in her hands and was frantically digging away at the dirt, several other holes told me she'd been at it for a while.

The back door swung closed after me and the Salem Child stepped off the patio and onto the grass. The wife perked her head up when the door slammed and found me, she had been crying. Her make up was an even greater mess than her hair.

“I'll find it. It's here somewhere.” She stuttered out, I don't know how or why but she seemed to know the reason I was visiting. Perhaps it was that I was there at all, letting a burning child follow me around. I didn't know how to respond, I'm not much for conversation but if I left her to her own devices, she'd make matters worse. She too was sweating but it wasn't the heat, no, she couldn't feel the radiating sauna just yet.

“You're not going to find the source,” I remarked, the shotgun was rattling around in my shaking hands. “Because it's you,” I stated before she could retort. She had been practicing magic and had the unfortunate mishap of practicing it near the buried bodies of a child that had been burned alive when humans were still learning about the oddities of the world. To my surprise and I suppose relief she became somber and calm. The three of us stood in silence until I bent over placing the shotgun onto the grass.

There was one more exchange of glances and I walked away from the two of them, there was a pit in my throat as I walked towards Elvis. The door swung open and I sat inside listening to the quiet the night had to offer. My fingers grasped on a small golden ring hanging around my chest, knuckles turning white I tried to sink my feelings down as far as I could. I tell you this because I want you to know, how important it is to remain as human as possible. Even when the chips are down.

The night was silent for what felt like forever and just as I was worried the Salem Child was going to run rampant or that I was going to have to do something unspeakable. A loud crack of gunfire interrupted my thoughts and the tears welled up in my eyes. It took many long breaths in and out to stop myself from rocking back and forth because I still had a job to do. I once again left my truck and paced my way around the house to the backyard.

I couldn't bring myself to look at her, I avoided it as much as possible. Scooping up the Salem Child who's heating had now dissipated, the furnace in his eyes going out. His face was now just a black outline against the night. I'd leave the shotgun with her, it was too close. When the police find her, at least they'll have a rational cause of death for her.

Relieved to see that while I was away my truck hadn't been messed with I loaded everything up and placed the child, gently on the bench sheet, wrapped in blankets. It felt wrong to just throw in him the truck bed like roadkill. I turned the truck on, pulled away from the house and left the whole scene behind all while ignoring the bright yellow eyes I had seen hiding in the treeline. I just wasn't in the mood for anything else.

The road back was long, lonely and it smelled far too much like ash. I took it upon myself after getting home to dig a grave for the child and placed him inside, not just for his sake, but the family as well. I was never under the impression that I was going to save every soul that I came across but it never fails to get under my skin. I'm far too tired, physically and emotionally to go over anything else and I just want to get to sleep.

Night five

I'll admit, last night was a rough one for me. Losing something like that reminds me of why I started all of this in the first place. After writing down what I had gone through during the Salem Child hunt I received news that I would be sent as back up tonight. In my line of business, 'back-up' is a corporate way of telling us the last hunter failed and we were expected to clean up. More often than not, failure was death.

Sleep wouldn't have come easy if I wasn't so exhausted but my dreams didn't pull their punches, I saw her face in every scene. I woke and went through the throws of my day job and I'll be honest, nothing really to report. Do you really want me to say 'I picked up some road kill' day after day? that's not why you're here. I have a lot to write down and a lot I need to do after I finish writing tonight's entry so we're going to cut right to the hunt.

As I said, it was a back-up call. They didn't tell me who, only that a hunter had failed to report back after being sent out. When they told me what I'd be hunting, I wasn't surprised and only hoped the hunter wasn't someone I respected. Because that was only going to make the job harder on me. I've told you before that not all cryptids are bad and that I generally don't take any joy in killing them but some cryptids. They only exist to make people miserable, the FastJacket is one such evil creature.

Even worse. You have to come to them, as long as they have their source of food they remain in one area until needing to feed again. If I were to guess, I'd say the previous hunter was sent out to kill the FastJacket during its hunt for food and ended up becoming said food. I couldn't set a trap or even outsmart the thing. This did work in my favor in the department of me needed to take out some very pent up anger.

Back before all this, I would take long drives before I went to work, I need to find peace with my emotions so I could channel them. I was young and far too poetic but it's become a ritual that I follow to this day. So that's what I did, I and Elvis passed through winding forest and across amber pastures, I couldn't help but think of all the hunts that I had been to in these places. How I had become as much of the ecosystems as any other wildlife.

When I ran out of patients with my ritual I turned around and headed to the FastJacket's feeding spot. It was an out of service parking garage located in a construction zone not too far from where I eradicated the Calvier Contaminant just two nights prior. It's possibly the FastJacket saw the chaos the virus left behind and took advantage of it.

Pulling in front of the crumbling grey parking garage I pulled out a stack of CD's from the visor above my head and fingered through them. When I found the CD I wanted I let it slide into the player and turned the volume to max. Stepping out I could hear the speakers on top of the truck buzzing to life with static. I pulled a mesh of copper wire from the truck bed and double checked my pockets before heading into the building. Starting on the ground floor I observed the vacant and broken structure before me. Not a single car in sight, it wouldn't be hard to find the FastJacket. I just needed to ascend and take a quick peek until I hit bingo.

With each step, I heard either broken glass or chunks of concrete fall apart under my heavy boots. The further I went up the darker the structure became as the wind whistled through each level and the staircase I used to climb up. The wind seemed to carry the sound of static coming from my truck below.

Floor two was empty

Floor three was empty

Floor four was empty

Floor five is where the FastJacket had decided to begin eating its prey. I almost missed it despite it being the only blemish of shadow on the empty floor. It was hunched over several feet away from the stairwell. I walked and when I was close enough I threw the copper wire onto the concrete, it didn't make much noise but the FastJacket noticed regardless. It rose to its feet and turned to me, a moniker of intelligence being shown in its movements, almost human but still infantile. I could see it's wriggling skin in the buildings shade.

Perhaps that's not the right way to describe it. Imagine you bought a skintight suit that covered every inch of you. Imagine that suit mimicked the color of your skin. Imagine it had consciousness and was eating your body under it at a snail's pace, that it left you alive but unable to move of your own volition. That's a FastJacket until it finds a host it might as well be a piece of pink gum sitting under a school desk. When it finds something to eat it wraps around their body completely, looking like some beefed up and featureless ken doll.

The FastJacket is made entirely of muscle and gets its consciousness from its host which it will pilot like a puppet. You can see the muscle moving around, contracting and vibrating as it would eat away at its food, thousands of microscopic teeth grating away at what's under it like sandpaper, the more muscle the host has, the better. So people like hunters would be a delicacy to this thing. Where the host face would be is blank save for a few surgical like cuts that open and close like heart valves allowing the host to get oxygen.

These guys are non-stop killers. They feed, move on and feed again. They have no selection process and will often use their host to kill the next piece of food. It's a disgusting cycle and I could tell looking at the thing, another hunter was underneath. I heard the static from below kick out for a moment, perfect timing. I pulled my jacket off and let it fall to the floor, the FastJacket likely thinking it found it's next meal. Reaching into my jeans I pulled a set of bronze knuckle dusters out and slipped my fingers into them.

As FastJacket is comprised completely of muscle and most of its mobility comes from the host it takes on, there aren't many ways to deal with it. Bullets seem largely ineffective as the skin constricts when shot and the bullets simply don't pierce. Bronze, however, burns the damn thing. A mixture of pressure and bronze will singe its flesh and deprive it's ability to puppet the body if enough of it is applied the is. The FastJacket making it's way, walking in a half-circle to avoid the wire I had dropped.

Then it started. A familiar song started to play from my radio's speakers, I closed my eyes and for just a moment I could hear the roaring crowd. I was back five years, if only for a brief moment. Are there other ways to deal with the FastJacket? Sure, I knew of a few. Is this how I chose to do it anyway? Yes. Almost by muscle memory I closed my fist and put my arms up guarding my chest, knees buckled and my stance widened.

With my entrance song cascading into the building, the FastJacket lunged forward and took a swing at me, aggressive things they are. My head and chest lowered in response until I was under the things attack. Two swift jabs once from each arm fired out like pistons, it'd had been so long I was surprised my body remembered how to do this. The bronze left a burn mark on it and a small trail of smoke lifted from each impact point.

It reacted and stumbled back from me, which is a superb way to lose your footing, especially if you're just piloting a human. My footwork, just as I had many times before, quickly closed the distance it created. Still bent over I sprung my body up and arched my right arm above my head, landing a hard uppercut to the jaw. Some of it's wriggling mass tore off and dropped to the ground, a bizarre attempt at manipulating the hunter's vocal cords created this babbling and stuttered speech. Similar to the ramblings of a child.

All the cuts that adorned it's face flared open revealing the hunter's face under. It stumbled and threw another swing. My torso drifted back letting the fist pass right by my face, altering my momentum I shot forward and plunged a right hook straight into its face throwing it to the floor. As it squirmed around I walked over to pick up the copper wire. I could feel it's presence as I bent over, looming over me. It had gotten up far faster than I expected.

Before I could react and lifted it's toes into my stomach, nearly smacking my ribcage whose bones would have surely busted. I got too cocky, perhaps that was ingrained in my muscles from back then too. Locked away under all the concussions and broken bones. I moved swiftly to get back in stance but my favor was returned and I felt a hard blow to my face, I could hear my nose giving way under the pressure. An all too familiar crack.

My back hit the ropes- it hit concrete. It started throwing hands at me like a desperate drunk, but a drunk that was much stronger than me. Blows landed hard all over my body, I could taste a pool of dark red iron building around my tongue. I kept my arms up as best as I could but the thing was too unpredictable. I remembered what my team would say to me in these situations, something stupid like “if you're not down on the mat, you're not out!”

I pulled forward and wrapped my arms around its arms squeezing as hard as I could and pushed away from the pillar. I could feel it moving around under me, it's skin constantly shifting like a gel-filled balloon. Letting go I quickly threw a right hook, it connected, follow up, left fist slamming into its side, keep going. Don't get cocky, I needed to overclock its functions. Its inertia was in my hands after the second hit, it wouldn't know how to back off or switch things up. If I kept hitting I was in control. Fuck this thing.

My body became a machine, bobbing and weaving, arms like pistons throwing out shot after shot, each one as powerful as the last. I wouldn't notice how much the knuckles were ripping up my skin until afterward. Once again the thing fell to the concrete, this time I pounced on it and proceeded to pummel its face, the burns from the smoke sending plumes of smoke into my eyes. My song was long over, the fight was long over. With all my aggression out I stood up and returned to the wire, with it I wrapped the FastJacket up. The wire would be enough to keep it dormant until I got it home and used a more permanent solution.

The trek down the stairs was eye-opening, making me come to terms with just how much damage the FastJacket did in its flurry. I'll be purple all overcome sunrise. Placing the FastJacket where I normally throw these things, the radio when off and the truck turned on, I began my drive home. I was in a bit of a rush, wanting to get home and soak in a nice hot bath and take care of the skin in my truck bed.

I wasn't being careful, I was spending too much and watching the road too little. I could have seen it. One moment I was watching my headlights covering the road, then next I could see the pavement moving to the hood as the truck flipped over. The hood slammed onto the pavement after my hangtime was over. The seatbelt tightened and rubbed far too many of my injuries, frantically I unbuckled my seatbelt sending me falling.

Between the fight and this wreck, my body was totaled. Looking out the shattered windshield I could see the one working headlight, it's illumination sparking against a spiderweb-like network of thick cables. I reached for my shotgun and dragged myself out of the busted driver's side window, glass cutting against my skin giving me further lacerations. Once on the pavement, I looked over myself, cuts and patches of blood stained my shirt and pants. My breathing became hard to control as I tried to collect my surroundings.

Looking back to the cables I was met with figured basking in the glow of the truck's flickering headlight. “Couldn't have been clearer.” A wispy dark voice claimed. The light bounced off his dark purple skin, most of which was hidden under a formal, buttoned-up black duster. His bright yellow eyes glowing just under the rim of his dark cowboy like hat. “You just had to stop my boy.”

My fingers scrambled back to the shotgun, I heard a disapproving click of the tongue from the man and my arm seized up. I couldn't move it an inc and before I knew it the man's fingers wrapped around my shoulder. “Not that those bullets would do much damage, consider it conservation of your supplies.”

Looking up, now on my knees and powerless to move, he was towering over my somehow paralyzed frame. I had just gone a few rounds with a writhing mass of muscle and whatever this was shut me down with just a touch. I was searching through everything I knew about cryptids for an answer but nothing rung a bell. Instead, I asked a question. What he wanted from me and why he wanted it.

“I want you to stop hunting.” He said as he let go of my shoulder and began to pace around my crash site. My body became lax the moment he let me free of whatever control he had. “You and your people are messing with the natural order.” He boomed. A layer of rage was bubbling just under his calm demeanor. He looked briefly at my neck, I think he was observing the chair and the ring that hang from it.

He sighed like he was genuinely upset with the situation, I couldn't get a read on him. “Whatever your motivation, you must forget it. Because next time you and I meet-” He looked over at Elvis, wrecked and twisted. “Only one of us will be leaving the scene and I'm not placing any bets on you, Jack.” He then turned and began to walk away from me, I wanted more than anything to put spread of bullets in his back.

Before the thought even crossed my mind, he was long gone. I had been watching him the entire time and even now I can't recall the moment he vanished. I can't help but feel he wasn't some cryptid but I can't for the life of me come up with another explanation.

I stayed in that road until my knees started to burn, I would just swivel my head back and forth looking at the scattered remains of my truck. Looking at the FastJacket that had been ejected from the truck bed during the crash. I had to do something with it, the copper wire wouldn't last forever and I wouldn't be winning any fights. I dragged myself to my feet and hopped over to the creature, grabbing its feet I started pulling. The wire scrapped against the pavement for the last half-mile that it took to get home.

My body reacted like I had been hiking an entire week straight, every effort to drag the FastJacket another foot was met with painful resistance. I did make it home, and the FastJacket made it into cold storage where it's feeding would be frozen until I could properly take care of it. I'm writing to you now and I don't know what to do. I want to tell myself that on a good day I could take the Purple man down. That's what I'm calling him.

The trap he set, was a show of intelligence, capability, and power. He wanted me to know how many leagues above me he was. I want to get back out there and hunt the things the prey on the innocence but if my next hunt is my last, is there a point? Will he even let me leave the house tomorrow?

I want to be able to keep talking to you folks but as I stare out my back window, I see two graves. Two different parts of my life are buried back there and right now I can't return to either one of them. Not without losing more. I called a tow truck, they went down and picked up Elvis as best as they can. I'm tending to my wounds the best I can right now as well, I've gone through nearly an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a few bottles of harder alcohol.

I was under the impression I was the type that lives to work, so what am I if I am unable to get back out there. The roadkill job is fine but at the end of the day, it's empty. Knowing I was helping people in some capacity, even if they never knew. Knowing I was at least giving these creatures a quite was out, most of them. Was a surreal feeling. It was a good run. But I'm beaten

Sorry guys, I'm done.

Goodnight

Goodbye.

- Jack

Night six

“If you're not down on the mat, you're not out.”

I spent a good long time thinking after I wrote my last entry, it's morning now. Feels weird writing this so early, normally the sun is either long gone or it's just coming up. I didn't sleep much, seems to be a running theme lately. I sat in my yard for a good long while, I sat and talked with her. I remembered the pain, how it didn't compare to the bruises I suffered. Most cryptids aren't out to hurt people but when they do I'm called in. I started doing this to help others escape my pains.

My emotions have settled and while it's not the most rational thought that could have entered my mind. I was knocked down, my back was on the matt and the ten count was ringing in my ear. I still have one last push in me. Because the Purple man isn't going to just stop at me, he'll move on to other hunters and beat them into submission or outright kill them. I wasn't just giving up a lifestyle if I decided to stop, I was putting others at risk.

I spent so much time hunting down cryptids. Learning their ins and outs, what to avoid and what to exploit. As I sat in the backyard with her I couldn't help but shift my gaze to the cold storage and think of the cryptids I had recently caught. About how I would go about setting a trap that stood a chance of overpowering the Purple Man. Lucky for me I already had the perfect bait, he would be coming to me. I've got a lot of work to do before I head out tonight, I'm going to be spending all day in cold storage.I'll write what happens tonight should I make it back.


As I said, I spent a good long time surrounded by the cryptids I had hunted in the past week. Tinkering away at anything that could give me an advantage but nothing I had was going to be enough to put it down. While I didn't know that for sure I needed to go overboard and plan for something big to happen. I'd need more than just some clever tools, I'd need help. I pulled a dusty blue tarp away from the motorcycle that had been sitting dormant since I started the roadkill work. To my complete elation the girl started right up, purring to life.

The gear I had prepared wasn't heavy or troublesome apart from the small speaker and microphone I had strung to my back. The rest was all a roll of the dice, something I had never done before but with light getting low; I had to start. The motorcycle took me away from the house for what could have been the last time. I drove for miles before coming across them again, a roaming group of Jobbins deep enough in the woods that their red lights were barely visible from the road. Putting the kickstand down I let myself breath and then, began what was going to be a very long night.

All while I worked, I could feel the sensation of being observed, every step judged. Even as I grabbed a sturdy branch and wrapped it with an old tee-shirt, dousing it in lighter fluid with a small drop of vanilla I felt gaze. With the branch lit I guided the pack trying to back away from the fire, humming their tune ever so gingerly. They would zip around me filling the gaps between the trees with a brilliant strobe of red lighting. When we reached the road I quickly extinguished the flame and put down a small berry scented candle. With the wick lit, they should be attracted to it for long enough.

I had no idea how long it would take for the Purple Man to show up if he wasn't already there waiting for me to slip up. I was acting fast but trying to remain aware of my surroundings even through the song of the Jobbins. I placed the microphone under the red choir and then the speaker as far away in the brush as the cord would allow. With leaves and brush, I did my best to hide the speaker, if that would do any good I didn't know.

I stepped back to make sure everything was in place and then I waited, he would come, I didn't want to kill a Jobbin and he knew that. He wouldn't let that happen. And sure enough, closing my eyes to blink, just a brief moment was enough time for him to slip into view when my eyes reopened. He stood on the opposite side of the Jobbins, a pack of red lights separated us. Same duster wrapping his body. I could see him clear as day now, not only from the glow of the Jobbins but because of the Furrball's incredible eyesight.

They were wildly uncomfortable to wear but what makes the Furrball's eyesight so powerful isn't in how their pupils receive light. In fact their eyes are absent of pupils, instead, their eyes have a glass-like shell that manipulates the light going into it, warping small beams of light into something more powerful. It took a while to sand the outside layer down to find a fit that I could live with. It was actually the hardest process of the night. So with the layer of glass twisting and amplifying light sources and my pupil receiving it's a generous billow of light. The Purple Man stood before me clear as day.

I could now see small dark marking like symbols running up his neck and presumably the rest of his body. “What are you doing here Jack?” He asked me almost sounding exasperated. I replied softly that I was on a hunt, that it's what I do. A billow of laughter “And here I thought you were some badass but killing Jobbins, sad.” He mocked stepping forward, the red bugs drifted gently out of his way. A red sea of sorts. “They really gave you the short stick tonight.”

The grin he had plastered on his face quickly shifted when I told him that my hunt tonight wasn't for the Jobbins and that I wasn't here on business. A curious eyebrow pushed his dark hat up ever so slightly. “Alright Jack, if that's how it's going to be. He drifted out of my vision and back again placing his open palm onto my shoulder. I felt his clawed fingers pushing me down, a familiar feeling of my body disobeying my orders to stand. My knees smacked against the road and we were just as it was the night before.

Except the road was much cleaner and I hadn't fallen into his trap, he'd fallen into mine. With all strength I could managed, I pushed a small syringe into my skin. My mind drifted into thoughts about how it felt plunging my shovel into the dirt I had just move a couple of days ago. How it felt to pull the Salem Child from his grave. It filled me with shame to have defiled his grave but with my thumb pressing on the syringe's plunger, shame was replaced with fire. The Salem Child's blood would burn under his skin until he decayed in his grave.

The burning blood coursed through my veins, a noticeable glow began to wrap around my body, the Purple Man took curious notice. “What are you-” His question interrupted when my hand clasped around his wrist. I couldn't control the viscus and angry growl that shook my body spitting blood to the road, blood that had been swelling from the chunk I took out of my lip. The pain of the burning blood introduced to my body was a white-hot intensity that I had never felt before. Nothing before compared to the pain rushing through my body.

Focusing solely on the pain, as I had hoped I was able to override whatever the Purple Man did to shut me down. My movements were jagged and stuttered but I was able to raise myself up the Purple Man's eye level. We locked a glare and his face contorted to something like a child who'd received a new plaything. The word 'incredible' mumbled out from behind his shark teeth. He pulled his other arm up and level his fingers making a sort of spear with hand. He plunged his spear hard into my chest.

When he was met with resistance, when he didn't even make it through my new jacket's leather-like exterior he scoffed. I needed to dissect the FastJacket anyways, I used a knife coated in bronze to perform a crude autopsy and free the man underneath who was unfortunately long gone. When I removed the FastJacket completely I had taken note that where my bronze made contact, the FastJacket's body had burned and became a rough, dark leather.

I said before, I'm not much for arts and crafts but I was able to do a half decent job sewing the FastJacket's burnt skin into- a jacket. The prospect of wearing this thing around was revulsive but it worked, the Purple Man couldn't penetrate the FastJacket even burnt as it was. In response to this the Purple Man backed away from me and observed my form, looking for other tricks up my sleeve no doubt.

He noticed the small handmade handle being held at my side by the pant's belt. “You got something to kill me bud?” He asked. I replied by lifting a small bone white knife from my hip, or rather a fang. Pulling the Mile Wolf's largest fang from its body was the easiest of the processes, but vital. Their teeth can pierce and rip apart just about anything and if bullets or pellets weren't going to do the job. The fang would get it done.

Out of my left pocket, I retrieved a small vial full of green liquid. Body still shaking from the burning blood I smashed the vial over the fang, spilling it's thick green over the smooth white. I stumbled forward at first but once regaining my footing, the small knife was thrust forward and plunged into the Purple Man's chest. The fang pierced right through his clothing and skin as if I had just assaulted the air. He laughed once more, for good reason. He was confident that the small knife, even if it broke his skin wasn't enough to deal much damage. Especially if he were to regenerate as half these cryptids do.

In his arrogance though he had let himself get cocky, I understood, I've been there a hundred times before. The fang only served as the delivery method, as the fang made it to the Purple Man's interior, drops of the green liquid also made their way in. Once it is doused in anti-biotics and burned the Caliver's Contamin becomes a dormant virus and loses the ability to spread spores as its insides are dissolved into a paste. If the mass is kept on ice, said paste will not be toxic but as it heats up it begins to reactivate. It's still an incredibly potent virus but the only way to become infected would be to ingest the virus. Or have it introduced to your bodies inner workings.

The Purple Man caught wind quickly. The virus was heating up inside his body and attacking everything it could. He snarled at me, the first time he seemed more beast than man but it wasn't enough. I knew it wasn't, even as I watched him drop to his knees, clutching feverishly at his chest I knew there wasn't anything I alone could do to kill him. His body was fighting the virus and it was winning, in the short time it was in him I could see that he was becoming calmer, I didn't have long. If I tried cutting his head off of anything of the sorts I would simply run out of time. My Jacket protected my torso and did it well by my head and legs wouldn't be so lucky.

The Jobbins had started to migrate away, the candle's wick becoming black and bare but they were still close enough. With all the anguish the burning blood has distilled in me I hobbled over to the speaker hiding in the brush and with the click of a button the microphone picked up on the Jobbins' song and amplified it. The song spread out like a shockwave filling the forest around us with the most irritating hum.

As the Purple Man continued in the clutches of the virus, slowly winning it over I walked over to my motorcycle and started it up. The purr was drowned out completely by the song I and the Purple Man were wrapped in. I had no idea what this man was, and while I intended to look into it more, I knew he wasn't the top of the food chain. With all his snark and his passive attitude. Sometimes you just can't beat out pure, pound for pound strength.

It wasn't the hum of the bike's motor that was rumbling the road beneath my feet, the Purple Man felt it too. I could see it in his eyes as I took one more glance. They were almost pleading, not for him, for me. Even in the lavish darkness of defeat, he wept for me. It's too late, nothing I or he could do would turn back time on what was about to occur. There is a very important rule that I broke tonight and by all accounts, I shouldn't be typing this now. If something can throw a tree at you, don't fuck with it.

As I saddled onto the bike I watched the Purple Man's head quickly turn towards the side of the road, the train was at its station. A hulking nine foot tall, seven-hundred-pound blur crashed down on the Purple Man, miraculously the screams he let out rose above the songs. A desperate cry. They aren't violent, they really aren't. When you turn what's normally a sign of nearby food into an ear piercing siren call, however, they might go a little ape.

I wanted to watch what the hair plastered behemoth would do to the Purple Man but if I waited around too long I'd fall victim as well. I had enough of being that. Taking a quick U-turn I looked back to see, through the Furrball's lens; a massive fist, big as a boulder mercilessly slamming the Purple Man's head into the pavement, the ground vibrating with every strike. That was enough for me, I drove as fast as I could away from the scene, thankful the song was masking the motor. I wouldn't have to worry about clean-up. The big man would smash the speaker and likely use the Purple Man for food though it wouldn't be much.

Never been that close to one before, it's brown hair was surprisingly kempt, shame I didn't get to see its faces, but that's for the best. It didn't see mine either. I didn't need to piss it off more than I already had if that was possible.

I'm home now, safe for the time being. I removed my jacket and contracts. I put all the items away in cold storage save for the poison. I wanted to bury them but I might need them again, you have to have that kind of foresight in this line of work. I'll be spending a good amount of time slowly letting the burning blood pour from me so my body can replace it with a less painful red.

I don't know what to do next, I think maybe I'm going to take a break. The last few days have beaten me up pretty bad and while tonight went better than I could have hoped. I still am lost with what I'm doing. The Purple Man seemed to care more for cryptids and had a hatred for me that went beyond knowing I was hunting them. Like he was angry at the whole system. Not to mention the markings in his skin.

A shame I won't be able to retrieve his body now that I think about it. I apologize if you guys expected more from me. Maybe there will be, I'm taking a vacation from all this and going somewhere nice and warm for a while. There are things I need to look into and if I discover anything interesting I'll be sure to contact the lot of you. Thank you for the support and interest in my line of work. You are all part of what reminded me of what it means to lose something and how important it is to protect what you still have.

I buried the Salem Child once again, next to my wife just as before. I loved her, and it's hard to admit but there was once a time I wasn't able to protect her. I didn't know how to bring it up to you guys, I didn't think it was information that even needed- well anyways. I became what I am because something took her from me, something I didn't understand at the time. I wish the man I am now was able to be there for her back then, but I wasn't. I figured if I'm leaving you guys for a while, I should tell you that at least. She always told me I needed to take a break every now and then, so here's to you baby.

Elyse V. Issacs



My Elvis.