It was nearly midnight when Greg Van Helsing turned into the Mayhew’s neighborhood on his beloved motorcycle. He’d spent the evening sniffing around the Hawthorne district, a trendy, incredibly hip part of the already incredibly hip and trendy city of Portland, for any sign of a particularly aggressive group of gnomes that had been spotted in the area. The contract requirement was simply to locate the gnomes, not to eradicate them. Either way, Greg had absolutely zero luck, and he was in a sour mood.
Throughout his fruitless search, Greg continually got the feeling that he was being watched. Despite his incredible senses, he was never able to catch his pursuer in the open and even went so far as to abruptly turn around and sprint the other way in an attempt to flush them out. He nearly barreled into the group of elderly women leaving their weekly book club in the process, but skidded to a stop just before contact. The feeling of being watched faded slightly on his way back to the Mayhew residence, but he was still on edge. Greg Van Helsing did not like being followed.
As he was about to pass Karen’s house, Greg slowed his bike to a crawl and revved the engine to its upper limit several times as he rolled by. He’d been doing this every single time he passed the psychotic woman’s house for a little over a week. The simple action and smug satisfaction at disrupting her evening had yet to fail in improving his sour mood. Greg imagined the righteous fury on her overly tanned face and smiled happily to himself. He killed the engine and coasted down the Mayhew’s driveway, parked to the side of the garage, and detached his travel bag.
All of the lights were out, which wasn’t too much of a surprise considering the hour. Still, Greg had assumed Peter would still be up playing video games or cleaning something. He shrugged, unlocked the door, and entered. The feeling of eyes on him returned, more intense than it had been all night. Greg dropped his bag, assumed a staggered fighting crouch, and pulled a long, serrated knife from its sheath in a single, smooth motion.
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The lights suddenly flashed on, temporarily blinding Greg. At the same time, two loud bangs rang out, one on either side of him. Instinct took over and Greg triggered one of his most powerful defensive abilities. His outermost layer of skin thickened and hardened, turning pitch black in the process. This protective layer of leather-like skin wouldn’t last long, but it should keep him from dying until his senses adjusted to the sudden and unexpected explosion of light and sound.
Looking down at him, each standing atop a chair on either side of the front door, were Peter and Renea Mayhew. They were each holding a colorful cardboard cylinder that, Greg assumed, had once been packed to bursting with confetti. Confetti that was now falling all over him. It was like a blizzard threw up a rainbow.
“Happy birthday, Greg!” the Mayhew’s shouted in perfect unison.
The happy couple’s look of excited anticipation turned quickly to confusion, surprise, and fear. Greg could only imagine what they must think looking at him right at that moment. His stone skin ability made the big man even bigger, swelling his muscles and thickening his skin in addition to altering the color of his skin to that of crude oil. The Mayhew’s fear and surprise faded as Greg’s skin and bulk went back to normal, though the confusion remained. He was just as confused as they were.
“Today isn’t my birthday,” he told them while putting his knife away. “I almost killed you both just now. You know that, right?”
All three remained quiet for a few long seconds. And then Renea snorted a laugh that broke the silence. Peter joined her after a moment. Greg did not find the situation humorous until Peter explained that, since Greg refused to provide his date of birth, they had decided to assign a birthday to him for the purpose of an annual celebration of his life. The day they had chosen, it turned out, was this day.
The Mayhews were each holding out a well-wrapped gift and looking at him expectantly. Greg Van Helsing did not know what to make of these two humans. There was a strange feeling in his chest. It was warm, fuzzy, and pleasant. It made Greg uncomfortable.
Heartburn, perhaps? It had to be.