This time around, I was a horse. Woke up in the back of an ambulance wrapped in a sheet. Heard the paramedics bantering above me. Motorcycle accident. Brain dead. Drunk (explained the smell of vomit on my leathers). As fun as it would have been to start moving and frighten the daylights out of them, I knew that never ended well. I stayed still until they loaded me into the morgue and left. They were going to leave the body alone until the medical examiner reported in the next morning. Wouldn’t he be surprised when there was no body?

As out of shape as the wolf was, this body was alarmingly fit. Lots of lean muscle on a two-meter-tall frame. Fur was dark brown, but not well groomed. Mane was tangled something awful. Can’t have everything, I guess, but you take what you get. Felt better after a shower.

When I worked through learning the limitations of my body, I had my purpose. Had to hunt down that gray bastard and kill him. I’ve learned to be a pretty clever tracker over my unnaturally long existence, so I had some ability to find him. Experience brings wisdom, after all. The two places I encountered him were near each other.

I knew what I had to look for. Dead bodies. Lots of them. Follow reports of murders. As you may understand, this is not as useful as you’d think. But, I was relentless. I don’t sleep and he does. At least, I think he does.

I zoomed in on a little town called Ellsberry. Lots of kids going missing, lots of them found without a heartbeat. Always kids with this guy. It’s like he feeds off them. In a way, it was easy to find. Computers are a wonderful thing. Time was, I had to spend hours upon hours in library archives, poring over countless reels of microfilm for records of deaths. Can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent looking at obituaries and newspapers. Now, it’s all online. Kind of miss the feel of newsprint ink coming off on my fingers and the look of a good missing person’s poster, but the convenience is worth it.

It was summer, so school was out. Kids were drawn to places of recreation. I tracked him to a public pool. Not hard to narrow that down. It was hot and kids love water, particularly the kind of gross water only communal swimming pools can provide. Never understood the draw, but I haven’t been a kid for a long time. Had to swim in the river when I was growing up.

I watched and waited. A week passed since the last disappearance, so he’d be there again before long. Gave me time to prepare. I couldn’t fight him. Two attempts proved that was an idiotic prospect. I’m stronger and more durable than the strongest mortal, but this guy was in an entirely different category. Good thing my wits are sharper than his sickles.

I got my wish. The pool closed at its usual time, but a particularly mischief prone little otter decided to hide in the locker room. Thought he would have the pool to himself once everyone left and have a carefree night of swimming. An endearing sentiment utterly ignorant of how dangerous the world truly is. How was he to know monsters are real? A lone child is the sweetest bait for all manner of predators, as I’m sure you detectives understand.

Didn’t know he was still there at the time. Kids are unpredictable and I had no way of knowing he was hiding in the locker room. I can detect life, but didn’t think to check the pool before I left. Never assume. I did and figured there was no possibility anyone was left, so I didn’t bother. Instead, I went out patrolling the surrounding streets, thinking the Farmer would follow one of the kids home. He tracks by scent, you know. That nose of his can follow prey for miles. Doesn’t even matter if you go to another town, he’ll find you. Probably how he knew the little otter was still there.

When I got back, everything was supposed to be quiet. It wasn’t. As soon as I went to the changing rooms, I heard whimpering. No screams, just terrified pleas, like someone whose mouth was covered trying to call for help. Every muscle in my body tensed the way they do whenever something isn’t right. Without thinking, my vision shifted to when I attempt to detect life. World faded and I saw one point of light in the shape of an otter about ten yards away, in the showers. Just the one, and it was fading. Even though I could not see him, I knew the Farmer was there. He doesn’t show up when you use magical vision. Never seen anyone who could do that. It’s probably why he’s escaped people like me for so long.

Lockers rushed past me as I ran to help. Had to get to the kid before the light of his life faded. Had to save him. Cursed myself for leaving. If only I stayed behind when he snatched him from his hiding spot in the locker room, the kid might still be alive. He was already dead by the time I got there.

The Farmer turned, those gray eyes boring holes in me. He dropped the otter’s flayed open body. His face was streaked with blood, as were his hands. No sickle out. He didn’t need it to deal with one little kid. I think he prefers to kill them with his bare hands. Pull them apart like a roast chicken. Even though he shrugged off being shot multiple times during our last meeting, I had hoped he bled out somewhere after and I’d never hear from him again. No luck there, he was intact.

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But, he was also in my trap. It saved me having to lure him into the showers, being already there. I’d left the water running overnight, every night, to make sure the ground was nice and wet. There was about two centimeters of standing water on the shower floor, the drains being more than a little slow. He took a step toward me with murderous intent, a sickle out. His head tilted and he sniffed the air. When he caught my scent, his eyes narrowed.

Now, I’m not sure if souls have a smell. Never smelled one myself and I’ve been around a long time. Bodies have a smell and mine changed with every new shell. He seemed to see past that. That spark of recognition in his eyes told me everything. He knew who I was.

“Killed you twice.” He spoke. I remember that much. How could I forget that voice? Want to know what it sounded like? Take two rusty speakers, drop the low frequencies to a snarl, and rub them together. That’s what it sounded like. I’ve revived in three pack per day smokers that sounded better.

I didn’t want him to kill me a third time. I reached for the wall and pulled an electrical cable from it. I managed to externalize some of the wiring and run it under the wall. Covered it with tile so the lifeguards and kids wouldn’t notice. I took it out, stepped on a bench, and threw it into the water.

Sparks flew. You could practically see the electricity arcing into his body. Crackling bolts running into his legs and up his arms. He spasmed. Looked like he was cooking from the inside. I smelled burning flesh. I honestly thought I won, but the burning smell was coming from the kid’s dead body.

He walked toward me. His muscles twitched slightly, but it didn’t seem to do much else. Too stunned to move, I couldn’t believe it. Bullet and shock proof? That’s not fair! He was on me in a second.

The next half hour was a haze of pain. Guy seemed to have it in for me. Or, maybe just hates horses and he’s a rampant speciest. Probably both. Regardless, he broke my arms and legs. Maybe pulled some parts off me. It was hard to tell. He thought if he broke me enough, I wouldn’t come back. It’s not accurate, but he tried his best. When he finally did kill me, it was a relief.

Thorpe flexed his hands. The memory of having his fingers snapped and pulled off, one by one, was not something he would easily forget. Fingers tucked beneath his paws, he waited for the detectives to say something. It was a lot to take in. Each installment had to sound increasingly fantastical to the point he worried they would stop believing him. Being a walking corpse added credibility to his tale, but it still strained credulity.

The sloth was the first to speak. “We heard about that. Place caught fire after you left. Electrical. Report said someone tampered with the wires.”

“Arson was suspected.” The lion added. “Found two bodies at the scene. The young otter you described and a horse that was too badly mangled to be identified. Local cops decided the horse was the culprit. Closed the case.”

Thorpe’s muzzle twisted into a sheepish smile. “They were technically correct, though it was not my intention to burn down a public pool. One would not think that would be possible; all the water. The collateral damage was not on my mind. I was only concerned with eliminating the Farmer and keeping him from harming more children.”

“Admitting to arson in front of two detectives is a rather bold move.” The lion raised an eyebrow.

Thorpe tilted his muzzle. “Well, it’s the truth. What need have I to lie? If it means destroying the Farmer, I’d rather not omit any details.”

“Even if that means going to jail? Life in prison means a lot to someone who can’t die.” The sloth proposed.

“Again, it’s a price I’m willing to pay. And I’m certain my actions will be vindicated by the end of this.” Thorpe tried not to sound amused. He had never been in a jail cell for very long in the grand scheme of things. If the detectives were trying to make him nervous, they did not know him very well. His original body was long gone, Thorpe Eacott having been dead for nearly two centuries. For all intents and purposes, he did not exist. They were interviewing a memory.

The detectives looked at each other. Clouded vision, so he could not read them well.

“Why always children?” The lion finally asked.

Relief blossomed in Thorpe; they moved on to another subject. If they were plotting on giving him a prison cell, they were not showing it. He would remain wary. “I cannot pretend to know the vagaries of a wandering killer, detective.”

“You’ve run into him a few times. Do you have any theories?” The sloth asked.

“Perhaps he feeds on them? Perhaps he likes easy targets? It’s immaterial. All that matters is destroying him.” Thorpe shrugged, his neck wrinkling slightly from the motion. Flesh was a little loose. It would tighten up eventually. Felt like wearing an extra skin at the moment.

“Humor us.” The sloth tapped his claws on the desk. “Your thoughts on it might help us find him.”

Thorpe suppressed a sigh. “Well, he is not magical. He seems to be the opposite; a living conduit of antimagic. The blood around his mouth suggests he’s a meat eater, but I’ve never seen him eating the actual flesh, nor have I been able to examine the children after he’s done with them. Were the bodies missing anything when they were found?”

“The brains.” The sloth answered.

Thorpe leaned back. His brow furrowed for a moment. The answer was not one he expected, but he quickly recovered. “Brains? Perhaps I’m not the only undead creature around, if movies are to be believed.” He managed a smile.

“No, that’s not right.” The lion corrected. “Bone marrow. Cracked open the long bones, hips, and sternum to get at it.”

Thorpe nodded. “Hm. That’s considerably stranger. Why do you think he’d need to do that?”

“We’d like to figure that out. It’s why we’re asking you.” The sloth commented. “But, if you don’t know, we can talk about your last meeting.”

“Certainly, detectives.” Thorpe commented. “Though, I’m afraid this one is difficult to talk about, even for me.”