I’ll spare you the details of how I woke up. I was a white furred cat now. A big, fluffy thing that was mostly fur. I must have weighed a mere seventy kilos under all that hair. Tiny. Not ideal for having to fight a murderous giant, but I’ve dealt with worse bodies.

He knew who I was now. Smelled me or saw something in me he linked with my last few appearances. Only a matter of time before he tracked me down. Last time, I was expecting him, but my trap didn’t work. When he came for me again, I would be prepared. He’s tough and determined, but doesn’t catch me as very smart. Luring him wouldn’t be a problem, since his life’s purpose was to end mine.

It’s something of familiar territory for me. As you detectives have had unscrupulous people target you, my share of malefactors have come after me. A problem that comes with being a hero, so I was used to it. Never had someone of the Farmer’s level come after me, but I had a method of dealing with him.

Small towns had abandoned buildings. Seems to be no shortage of them. I found a nice abandoned hotel to set up shop in. Some little tourist trap ten miles from the nearest town and twenty from the nearest highway. Probably failed when they moved the highway, but you can still see a billboard advertising vacationers to ‘visit the birthplace of fantasy writer T.M. Hymer!’ as you travel.

Must have been a nice place at one point. Two stories, about twenty rooms. Not part of a chain originally, I don’t think. Most of the decorations and anything of value had been stripped out. All that was left were a couple of nests for vagrants and a makeshift lab for making drugs. Cleared out the squatters. I needed the place to myself.

Spent about a month setting up. Filled the place with every trap I could think of. Blocked hallways and rooms, set it up so to get to me he’d have to wind his way through the lobby, several rooms, and up some stairs. Then, back down and into the center of the building. I’m no master trap maker, but I set up a few swinging blades and improvised explosives. My aim was to get him injured and into the center of the building, then collapse it on top of him. It would crush us both, but I’d be okay. He wouldn’t.

If I was mortal, the body I was in wouldn’t have been up to building barricades. Good thing I wasn’t bound to the physical limitations of it. I probably broke off every piece of edging and used every remaining piece of furniture in the building. Scavenged more wood from the farm refuse piles, decaying barns, and broken-down machinery in the area. That’s another thing I love about the Midwest; lots of spare parts lying around if you have the inclination to get it. Most would be happy just to have someone haul the junk away for free.

By the time I was done, I had a proper labyrinth in chintzy hotel form. Only thing left to do was wait. This took a little longer than I would have liked. A couple weeks passed. Occupied myself as best I could. Lots of reading. I spent a little time wandering around the area surrounding my den. Get a feel for the land, check for any signs of the Farmer, think. Have a lot of time to think, but a lot of my thoughts lately are consumed with finding and ending him.

Looking back, I must have the worst luck in the world. A couple kids wandered into my funhouse. Probably dared each other to explore the potentially haunted hotel. Might be partially to blame for that. I thought I was careful enough to avoid any attention, but kids are sneaky. Probably saw all the lumber changing places around it or the barricades built around the doors. Regardless of the how, they found their way in. A couple of ten year old boys, a raccoon and a squirrel.

The raccoon had his arm cut up quite badly trying to open a door. The squirrel stepped into a jawed trap trying to run. I was in my den at the time, thankfully, so I could find and tend to them. Decent doctor when I put my mind to it. Nice kids, if not a bit too curious for their own good. In my den, I just about finished bandaging the raccoon when my bad luck got even worse.

He was here and deep inside the building. Already made it halfway through by the time he finally sprung one of my traps. Underestimation on my part. I figured he wasn’t clever enough to spot them. Should’ve hidden them better, but that’s hindsight.

There I was with two kids under my care and the very last person in the world that kids should be around. The farmer could wait. I had to get them out. Had my bag of belongings by the door, just in case I needed to make a hasty exit. The detonator for the explosives I rigged around the foundation was there. If I could get the kids out without the Farmer noticing, I could bring down the building. Even if he wasn’t at the epicenter of the collapse, it may still be enough to end his life.

There was only one exit from my basement lair. Had I the right amount of foresight, I would’ve put in an emergency exit. Only one way in and out of the hotel, I made sure of that. But, there was an emergency exit that wasn’t too boarded up. If I could move the boards aside, they could escape. Then I’d be able to deal with the Farmer on my own terms.

Fortune did not favor me. As soon as I turned the corner, he was there. He swung out of one of the rooms as soon as he spotted us, drawn either by my smell or the blood of children. I got a momentary thrill when he moved over a tripwire. His haste to get us brought him into one of my traps. A simple trap, just a can of hairspray with a lighter rigged to it to act as a firebomb. Didn’t think something like that would do more than singe him. It went off in a burst of red and orange, but it didn’t hit him at all. He dodged it.

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You’ll have to take a moment to imagine my surprise. I saw him wade through electrical currents, fight off multiple assailants, and take a cluster of bullets to the chest and not flinch. He just shrugged off the damage and kept going. When it came to fire, he moved. Graceful, fluid, probably out of reflex. He saw the flames and made sure they didn’t touch his body.

It was fire. The thing that could stop him was something as simple as mankind’s very first invention. Wish I would’ve thought of that sooner. Could’ve loaded up the whole place with every flammable material in a five kilometer radius and lit a match. Had to keep that in mind, if dropping a hotel on him didn’t work.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. Then he looked at the kids. A big, gray shoulder rammed into my tiny housecat body. Knocked me aside like I was made of paper mâché. The kids were dead before they hit the ground. He tore them both apart, but at least they didn’t have to suffer.

I landed with multiple broken ribs. Would’ve hurt more if I had to inhale or catch my breath. Still didn’t feel good. The kids were dead, the gray monster loomed over me, I was down. Perfect time to hit the detonator.

The explosion collapsed the supports. I hadn’t handled explosives for about a decade, but I read a lot of books. Amazing what you can do with fireworks, fertilizer, and some wiring. Wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing, so I used a lot of materials. It worked. I heard the whole building groan like a collapsing giant before it came down.

It wasn’t a perfect demolition. If I had him closer to the center, it might’ve smashed him into paste. Would’ve been satisfying. Part of the wall fell on him. Brought him to a knee, but he shrugged it off, grabbed me, and dove through a window. Broke through it, boards and all, with me in tow. Being dragged through a splintered window sliced my skin to ribbons.

I was alive. He was alive. Everyone was alive but the kids. That’s not a good trade. I was in no shape to fight. He broke my legs. Shattered more of my ribs. He didn’t kill me right away. I think he wanted to keep me around a while. But he was so bloodthirsty and enthusiastic about violence that he snapped my neck. Just as well. I wasn’t eager to lose any more limbs.

The sloth rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. “You trespassed in a hotel, filled it with traps…”

“That injured two children.” The lion added.

“And then used homemade, illegal explosives to bring it down?” The sloth continued.

Thorpe could only nod. Any law enforcement representative, and maybe most people, would view this through the lens of reckless irresponsibility. Negligent at best, murderous at worst.

“I admit it sounds unreasonable, but the Farmer is not responsive to reasonable methods. I was desperate to stop him. Still am.”

“And the kids? What about them? State troopers found their bodies in the hotel rubble.” The lion asked.

Thorpe felt a pang of emotion in his chest. Such a tragedy. “Words cannot express my regret, detectives. I wish their curiosity hadn’t led them into my trap-filled den. Would that I could have warded them off. Or contacted their parents. There was no time. I did everything I could to protect them from the Farmer. But, he was too powerful for me. Everything was inadequate in my case, and I’m truly sorry.”

The sloth nodded slightly. A thoughtful frown was on his features. Brow slightly furrowed and eyes open. A look of sympathy and understanding. Thorpe’s vision was starting to clear. His natural regenerative processes cleaned the lenses of their opacity, so he could see facial expressions again. It made answering questions much easier. Hard to do that when you cannot tell what the other person is feeling.

The sloth leaned back in his chair. “You have to know your story sounds pretty out there, Mr. Eacott. A bullet proof, child eating monster responsible for death and destruction across multiple towns for who knows how long. Something out of a direct to video movie.”

Thorpe had to smirk. “So is the walking dead, detective. You felt my pulse after Miss Flagstone summoned you to deal with me. Or, rather, my lack of one.”

The lion nodded. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m familiar with the guy you’re talking about. He’s been an urban legend among multiple police departments. Seems to get the blame whenever a lot of bodies show up in one place. Particularly when people like you are involved.”

An odd itch crept over the back of Thorpe’s head, like a spider nibbling his skull. “People like me?”

“Practitioners of magical arts. Wizards, mages, necromancers, whatever you call yourselves.” A sheepish grin and chuckle from the lion. “No offense intended.”

The itch went away. “None taken, detective…” Thorpe squinted. He could read the lion’s name badge now. “… Whelan.”

Both detectives stood up. The sloth spoke. “We’ve heard enough to believe you. Farmer’s been running around too long. Been wanting to bring him in for some time, but we’ve never had anyone who he’s fought approach us.”

“Or live long enough to do it.” Detective Whelan added. He shook his head. “Not that you survived any of your meetings. Someone with your powers, well, you’re very unique.”

Apprehension that built up after his last story dissipated. Flattery went a long way in smoothing over his suspicious mood. “Thank you. I knew you’d understand. Your town certainly has its share of unusual stories. It’s why I came to you in the first place.”

“Good.” The sloth clapped his hands once. “Now, if you have time, would you come with us to a more secure location? We’d like to discuss plans for dealing with the situation.”

“A… more secure location?” Thorpe tilted his head. “Is this necessary?”

“Not everyone in the department is so understanding.” The lion’s voice dropped to conspiratorial tones. “Not everyone understands how to do what needs done. And the threat out there demands a response.”

The thought of even part of a police force coming down on the Farmer appealed to Thorpe more than words could express. Even if they could not stop him, they would be an adequate distraction.

“Of course, detectives. I have all the time in the world.”