“I’m not getting in that,” I said as I turned to the man and shook my head.

“Your choice,” he grunted. “Thought you wanted answers though.”

I looked at the battered old transit van he’d indicated. The tyres were worn and probably illegal, while the windscreen had a large crack running down across the passenger side. Grey paint and rust were fighting a battle over the faded blue bodywork and the rust was winning.

When parents told their children not to get into a van with strange men, it was undoubtedly that van that they were envisioning. All it needed was ‘free candy’ written on the side to be given the title of world’s most obvious trap. Anyone with any sense at all would take one look at it and run in the opposite direction.

“Smells like ass,” I said as I climbed in the passenger side, pulling the door shut behind me.

Inside was almost as bad as the outside of the van. The dashboard was dented and bore many gouges in the plastic. The fabric of the seats was torn as well as filthy and the ashtray was overflowing. Food wrappers and beer cans littered the footwell.

“Is this where you live?” I asked as I glanced into the back of the van. Blankets and clothes had been thrown together into one big pile. Cardboard boxes had been pushed up against the rear door and a wooden case with a thick padlock was bolted to the floor behind the seats.

“Suits my purposes,” the man grunted as he started the engine.

“Where we going?”

“Need somewhere quiet to talk. Away from the dead wolf and coppers asking questions.”

For an hour he drove in silence, refusing to answer any more of my queries and I couldn’t help but question how stupid I’d been. I mean, I’d just seen him kill something straight out of my nightmares and I knew he had a knife tucked away beneath his coat.

No one knew where I was or who I was with or even where I was going. Hell, I didn’t know where I was going and for all I knew, it could be to some out of the way place where he’d abuse and kill me.

My hand ran through my hair, tugging at the short strands as I wished I could grip it firmly and pull as I’d used to do.

“We’re here,” he said as he brought the van to a halt and turned off the engine.

A ramshackle house that had obviously been abandoned for years was the only building in sight. It had thick boards over the windows, wild growing weeds and shrubbery and several grey slate tiles were missing from the moss covered roof that sagged in the middle. There were no signs of life or that anyone actually lived nearby, just lots of trees.

“Where is here?” I asked and he just grunted as he opened his door and got out.

With little option, I pushed open the passenger side door and jumped down to the ground. I slammed it shut as the man walked up to the house and pulled open the front door.

My hand found my battered old mobile and I considered sending a text to Evie or even calling her, but there was little point. I had no idea where I was and my crappy old phone couldn’t even connect to the internet, let alone send my location.

“Damn,” I said quietly to myself as I looked around.

Nothing but trees and bushes. I didn’t even know what type of trees they were, just that they towered over me with thick branches reaching up to the sky. Leaf mulch covered the ground and the man had driven up what could barely be called a dirt track to get there.

A light appeared inside the house, shining brightly around the half open door and creating menacing looking shadows that didn’t make the idea of entering the house any saner.

I hesitated by the door and bent down to grab a fist-sized stone from the thick grass beside the single step. It wasn’t much and I very much doubted it would be that effective against a guy who would go toe to toe with a werewolf the size of a pony, but it made me feel a little better.

Inside the house, I was more than a little surprised to find it fairly neat and tidy, though not that clean. Dust covered the furniture. An old TV sat on a stand at the far side of the room, one of those really old ones that were almost as wide as they were long.

Pictures hung on the walls and were set in frames on the mantle over the fireplace. I picked one up and wiped away the dust to reveal a smiling family. A younger version of the man, an extraordinarily pretty woman and two children of indeterminate age.

“Put that down,” the man said. He was standing in a doorway that led to a sizeable kitchen and had removed his coat. He wore jeans and flannel shirt with a leather harness that had a number of sharp implements hanging from it.

“This is your house?” I asked as I put the frame back down carefully.

“Come in here,” he said, ignoring my question.

I followed him into the kitchen and he gestured at a sturdy table that was set in the centre. It was made of a light wood, perhaps maple, and had obviously been the place where a family gathered to eat their meals in the warmth of the kitchen.

“Get on it.”

“What?”

“I need to see your scars,” he said without looking at me. He was searching through a large cardboard box on the counter. “Lay down on the table.”

“This is weird, you know that right?” I asked as I did as he bid. All the while a little voice in the back of my head was screaming how incredibly stupid I was being. Another voice though, more insistent, seemed to be telling me that to finally have some answers was worth the risk.

The man finally selected a few items from the box and brought them over to the table where I lay with just my lower legs hanging over the edge. He placed a thick candle down beside me and lit it with a match.

He lifted some dried plants and crushed them over the candle, letting them fall into the flame where they flared briefly, releasing a pungent smoke. He muttered a few words, too low for me to hear and gestured for me to lift my t-shirt.

I did as he bid, all the while watching the sheathed knife that hung from the harness he wore. The feeling that I was about to be sacrificed wouldn’t leave and my heart was hammering so hard in my chest that I thought it would burst through.

With one hand he lifted a talisman and held it above my scar. He seemed uninterested in staring at my breasts which was at once a relief and at the same time almost insulting. I’d spent so many years where all men wanted from me was to stare or paw at me. For one to not do so was decidedly weird and threw me off.

The talisman was a circle what looked to be wood with black markings running across it. He held it above the long scar that crossed my body for what seemed an eternity though was likely just minutes. All the while, he muttered to himself and his hand trembled.

Finally, he let it drop and shook his head wearily. He ran one hand down his face, scratching at the grey stubble that covered his chin and looked me in the eye before he spoke. “What are you?”

“Huh?”

“There’s a darkness in you kid and you’re not fully human,” he said as he reached for the knife, sliding it out of its sheath and pointing it at me. “This will hurt.”

Before I could protest or even move, he had the knife pressed flat against the flesh of my stomach and he blinked when I just stared at him with my mouth open. He looked from me to the knife and back again.

“That should have hurt,” he muttered.

“Are you nuts?” I snapped as I pushed his hand away and sat up. “What’re you doing?”

“Almost all the supernatural races suffer when presented with silver,” was his only reply. “You don’t.”

“Maybe because I’m not a bloody supernatural anything,” I said.

“Perhaps…” he said as he reached out and lifted my t-shirt then pressed the silver blade directly against my scar.

Pain shot through me like a jolt of electricity and my back hit the table top as I threw out my hands. The man yelled as I lay there, gasping, muscles tensing and whole body tingling.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“What the hell!” I yelled as I rolled to my side and almost fell from the table, barely managing to get my feet beneath me.

When no response came I looked up to see the man was in the living room, sat on the carpeted floor with his back against the side of an armchair and eyes wide in shock. “What’re you doing over there?”

“You’re definitely not fully human,” he said and shook his head slowly. “Definitely not.”

“What?”

“When the knife touched your scars, what happened?”

“It felt like I’d been hit in the stomach by a cattle prod,” I said.

“What else?” he asked as he pulled himself to his feet and slid the knife back into its sheath. I watched him warily as he held up both hands before him to show he was unarmed as he slowly approached.

“I don’t know. Pain, confusion, that’s about it.”

“You don’t recall hitting me?”

“No…”

“With both hands,” he said. “It was like being hit by a truck and I was thrown backwards several feet.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“I’m most definitely not,” he said. “Something is inside of you and it’s powerful.”

“That makes no sense,” I said. “There’s nothing powerful about me. If there was, I could have saved my parents.”

It was there again, flashes of darkness and old pain at the mere mention of my parents and tears welled up. I refused to cry though, I hadn’t since that last visit to the nuthouse and I wasn’t going to start again now.

“What’s your name?” he asked and I blinked.

“Selena, Selena Lunn, though friends just call me Lena.”

“Call me Abe,” he said and smiled. The lines of his face, those wrinkles that told the tale of a lifetime, showed me that wasn’t something he did often.

“Well Abe, you’d better start giving me some answers or I’m out of here.”

“Go sit down,” he said. “I’ll get you a drink and we’ll talk.”

Still clutching my stomach, I staggered into the living room, giving him a wide berth and practically collapsed onto the couch. Dust exploded upwards and I almost doubled over from coughing which did nothing to improve the ache in my stomach.

“Drink this,” Abe said as he handed me a glass of water. I sipped it, barely wetting my lips and suspicious of what it might have in it.

He saw and nodded almost approvingly before taking the glass from my hand and taking a long swallow. “See, perfectly fine,” he said. “You don’t have to worry, I’ve no intention of harming you.”

Just yet seemed to go unspoken but it hung there in the silence between us as I accepted the glass back and took a defiant swallow. It helped a little.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked and didn’t even bother trying to keep the anger from my voice. I still held the stone I’d picked up from the gardens, the rough edges digging into my skin as I gripped it tightly.

“I’m a hunter,” he replied as he sank down into the armchair. His eyes were fixed on me and I didn’t know if that was because he was paying attention or just avoiding looking at the pictures that filled the room.

“What, you go out and hunt werewolves?”

“Those and vampires, ghouls, ghosts and any other supernatural being that needs to be stopped.”

“They’re all real?” I stared at him and didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Which was ridiculous since I’d put up with so much just because I so very badly wanted to believe.

“Yes, the monsters you’ve heard about are real,” Abe said. “Not quite like you’ve seen in the movies, but real none the less.”

“And you hunt them…”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he lifted an eyebrow and I shrugged. “I mean, why do you do it? You want to be a hero or something? Travel the world saving people?”

“I don’t care about saving anyone,” he said and it was my turn to blink in surprise. “I just want to kill the monsters.”

“Is it just you?”

“There are others,” he admitted. “Lots of us, spread around the world. Some try to save people, others like me, just try to make sure no one else will be killed by them.”

“This a religious thing?”

“No,” he smirked and I frowned as I tried to figure him out.

“So there’s a load of people wandering the world killing vampires and werewolves and stuff… do the police know?”

“Some might, most don’t. This has been a fight that’s been going on for millennia and the supernatural creatures have become adept at hiding themselves from us. If they stay hidden, don’t kill people, then we’ll probably never meet them. The ones like the wolf tonight… those get noticed.”

“When they get noticed a hunter kills them?”

“Or they kill the hunter and another will notice and come after the monster.”

“This is… unbelievable,” I said. “How many are out there?”

“Monsters? Thousands, tens of thousands perhaps. No one really knows. Not enough to be more than parasites, feeding off the edges of humanity.”

“They all eat people?”

“Most feed on humans in some way or other. Wolves are generally not bad, they don’t need to kill humans.”

“They don’t?”

“No, they stay in their packs and they live in rural areas. Usually change only when they really have to around the full moon and maybe chase down a rabbit or deer if they’re lucky. They keep to themselves and hunters don’t notice them.”

“Occasionally though, one will get it into its head to chase down a human and afterwards, they can never go back. Too much fun you see.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Indeed.”

“What about vampires? Can they turn into bats and stuff?”

I noticed it as soon as I said it. A definite chill filled the air as his expression hardened.

“No,” he said. “Vampires are stronger than humans and live a good long time as long as they feed.”

“On blood?” I pressed and he scowled.

“Blood and misery,” he said but didn’t elaborate. “Vampires were human once but as soon as they’re turned, everything good and decent about them is burned away. What’s left is a shell of a human.”

I sensed that it was a sore subject for him and my gaze went to the dust covered pictures that filled the room. I daren’t ask though so instead, moved on.

“So is this, like, your job?”

“If you’re asking do I get paid, no.”

“A hobby then.”

“More of a calling,” he said with a faint smile. “Some are born to the life, others gravitate towards it because of tragedy that brings with it an awareness that these monsters exist.”

“Like mine.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “I think you need to tell me what you remember.”

With a suddenly dry mouth, I tried to answer, coughed and finally just nodded. I did need to tell him. If I wanted answers at least, but after all those years of barely being able to speak about it, I didn’t know if I could.

“Take your time,” he said as he saw my struggle.

My memories, despite the nightmare recollections I’d suffered over the years, were hazy about that time. I nodded though and began to speak.

“I know I was eight years old and it was a Sunday night. We’d spent the day together, I don’t recall exactly what we did that day and that upsets me sometimes, but we’d returned home, had a family meal and I’d just had a bath. I had my pyjamas on and had gone downstairs to ask my mum to read me a story.”

Sorrow clouded his features as he listened and his eyes were hooded. He looked at me or at his hands where they rested in his lap, but nowhere else. I thought of the two children in the pictures and understood.

“There was someone there with them, in the living room. I couldn’t see his face but my dad was arguing with him.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I don’t know. I just remember their voices were raised and it scared me.”

“What did this man look like?”

“Tall, taller than my dad but I was eight. Everyone looked tall to me.” He nodded and I scrunched up my face as I tried to recall more detail. “His eyes were funny.”

“In what way?”

“Odd, a different colour.”

“What?” he leaned forward in the chair and his face twisted as some unrecognizable emotion crossed it.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it. They seemed almost red, like fire. Does that mean something?”

“Carry on, what else do you remember.”

“Not much. Dad started shouting louder after the strange man said something and he was waving his arms about. Then the other man just hit him.”

“Hit him how?”

“Backhanded, across the face but hard enough it sent him spinning across the room.”

“And then?”

“I screamed and the stranger came towards us,” I said as I swallowed past the dryness in my throat and the overly loud pounding of my heart in my chest. I drank down the last of the water and sucked in a deep breath of air, holding it a moment and then releasing. I repeated that several times to try and gain control of the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm me.

“Keep going,” Abe said, impatience colouring his tone.

“My mum shouted at him and he smiled and then I saw his face and it wasn’t human He hit me.”

“Hit you? How?”

“Swept his hand across me and suddenly there was blood everywhere and I was lying on the other side of the room.”

“That’s what gave you that scar?”

“Yes,” I shuddered at the memory of the pain, the fear as I saw him turn to my mum. “He grabbed my mum with one hand around her throat and lifted her. He said something to my dad and then…”

“Then what?”

“She stopped screaming and he dropped her.”

“What did he say to your dad?”

“I don’t know.”

He scowled and his hands were clenched into fists but he didn’t press. I could tell he wanted to and I tried, really tried to remember what had been said but it slipped away from me.

“My dad started saying stuff. Nonsense words to me but I’m sure that was just the shock. The stranger screamed and everything went black.”

“Screamed in pain?”

“Anger I think.”

“What happened next?” He asked as he nodded thoughtfully. Something had occurred to him but he didn’t offer up any insight.

“When it wasn’t dark anymore, my dad was holding me. He was bleeding and saying a lot of strange things. More words I didn’t know. I think I was in shock because everything was strange.”

“How do you mean?”

“The lights were on but the room was full of shadows, moving like people. Twisted and distorted like things out of nightmare, but still… my dad kept talking and then they were gone and so was he.”

“He was gone?”

“Not physically,” I said as my eyes filled with tears once more. “He was breathing I think, but his eyes were empty. A few days later he died in hospital.”

“I’m sorry kid, that’s quite a tale of woe.”

“Yeah, thanks. What does it mean though? What killed my parents?”

“From your description, I’d say vampire.” He scratched at his chin, eyes distant and tone thoughtful. “Are you sure about the eyes?”

“I think so, why?”

“Because it can’t be possible that there were two vampires like that.”

“You know him?”

“I knew one with eyes like that, many years ago,” he said. “There’s no way it could be him though.”

“Why not?”

He ignored me and pushed himself to his feet. He took a quick look around the room, somehow managing to miss every photo there with his gaze and stamped his feet.

“You can sleep here tonight or walk back, I have some reading to do.”

“Seriously?” I snapped. “What reading?”

“Your parents weren’t human, at least one wasn’t. I suspect your father because he did something to keep you alive.”

“He did?”

“No way you’d survive a blow from a vampire with just a scar, no matter how impressive the scar. That he survived being hit and drove it away speaks of power. I have some idea, but need to confirm it.”

“Are you going to tell me?” I asked as a sudden thought came to me. “Wait, I thought you killed supernatural creatures, if I’m one does that mean you’re going to kill me?”

“Depends,” he said without looking at me.

“On what?”

“On what type you are.”

He stalked from the room before I could respond and I was left staring at the doorway he’d passed through. I had no idea where I was and even less of an idea of how to get back to the city, let alone home.

But on the other hand, it was likely that he’d try and kill me if he figured out I was something he didn’t like. So I had no choice, there was no way in hell I was going to sleep there.

In the kitchen, there was a pen and notepad beside a phone attached to the wall. I scrawled down my mobile number and left the house. It’d be a long walk but better than being murdered in my sleep.