Deep within the inner city of Chicago lies a small, barely in-business motel near Hyde Park. Within one of its barely cleaned room was a man hunched in pain, a yellowed parchment with esoteric scribbles on the nightstand before him.
"W-What did the note say?" A pallid man stood over his nightstand as he muttered to himself, sweat dripping from all over the body, dampening his nightgown. "Goddamn bitches!" He cursed as he sat down on the dingy motel bed, stepping over the roaches that skittered about his feet.
A taxedermied doe, antlers in full bloom, lay atop the bed as its crystalline eyes coldly gazed at the sweating man. Its brown fur gelled and combed to a fine finish and its sharp antler shined to a polish. Its beheaded neck attached to a circular redwood plank, a plaque under its heavy form that read: Bonum sacrificium est humanitas.
The man had been holed up in the dirty motel room for days, longing for this moment, yet, to his dismay and frustration, he had lost the instructions to his item.
"It'll be fine. T-They cast the spell." He placated his worried psyche as he heaved the doe, placing his dirtied feet atop the bedsheets, and tried to affix the doe atop his bed. Banging a few nails around the plank and praying to whoever god was listening satisfied the man and his dark eyes as he removed his clothes and lied in the bed, covering his naked body with the dirty bedsheets.
No sooner did he lie down that the warm embrace of slumber took him, as well as all his mind's rambling and paranoia. His snores echoing across the small motel room as the night grew deeper, leaving only the light of the flickering lamp atop the nightstand to comfort him in darkness.
Creak!
Soon, a creak echoed around the room, accompanying the snores of the pallid man, which he did not hear nor care enough to awake from his deep sleep. Another creak echoed, eliciting a murmur from him, and another and another, until a loud thud finally woke him from his deep sleep. Standing up, wide awake and eyes darting around the room, he could not help but emit a frightened yelp as he noticed the dark surrounding, lit only by the flickering lamp.
"W-What's happening? D-Did it work?" He tilted his head upwards, gazing at the deer's head he had secured to the wall, only to find nailed in a circular plank with nothing on it. "I-It worked. Haha!" Rejoicing from the bottom of his heart, he stood up and clumsily danced around.
As years of depression and frustration were washed away by relief, he turned around and walked to the motel door. Now that his plan had worked, he can now return home as a new man. His hands clutched the handle, turned it, and opened a door as his face turned from a relieved smile to horror.
Towering before him was a beheaded body of a doe, blood gushing out of its headless stump as it reared its hind legs. The blood dripped to the floor, flowing down to the man's foot.
"O-oh god." The man shuddered in fright, hurriedly closing the door before the headless doe could do anything. He then ran to the bathroom as the doe rammed its stump to the door, spraying blood and ichor across the motel lot.
"No, no, no." The mam clutched his head, swinging back and forth while he lay down inside of the grimy bathtub. "Please. Please. I just wanted to-to go home." He muttered, blocking the sound of the banging door.
Like clockwork, his wish came true as the sound coming outside of his room subsided, replaced only by the silence of the tenants next to him. He gingerly sat inside the bathtub, eyes bloodshot from the sheer fear he had experienced.
"Hehehehe..." Laughter erupted out of him, surprising even the man as relief washed over his body. "I-I sur--"
Drip!
As he began gloating over his survival, a loud drip echoed around the chamber as a liquid touched his forehead that soon traced down to his cheek.
He looked up to see the mounted skull of the bodyless doe held aloft in mid-air, its eyes gazing straight at his as blood continuously drip and patter towards his shaking body.
The stiff doe smiled.
●●●Garden, Greythorne Manor●●●
Three men sweated through their worker's attire as they hefted boxes upon boxes of fragile materials out of the manor's cellar. Green metal case hung over their shoulder while they placed yet another large wooden box on the graveled pathway, constructing a wall surrounding the garden filled with scavenged military materials and, oddly enough, a disabled head of a ballistic missile straight from the cellar.
"Be careful with the box with an orange tag on it. It has explosives." Ordered Archibald, taking a sip of his afternoon tea in front of the newly built courtyard training grounds. The sheer endurance and efficiency of the workers surprised him as they have finished removing the ancient oak tree by their fourth day of work and have had it cemented down and decorated by the ninth day. Delighted is he as he saw the enormous tree whose branches always scraped the hard to reach areas of the house by a plain cemented ground, all ready to be worked on by whatever idea his son had cooked up.
"The cookies are finished, Master Archibald. Would you like some?" Ella's voice brought him back to his musing as he looked over at the maid, whose entire life seemed to unravel and re-ravel before he could even comprehend what was happening.
"Oh, dear. The cookies... who made them?" He asks hesitantly.
"My own recipe, Sir. Don't worry." She soothed his worries, but had a mischievous smile on her face. "It's good to know of your apprehension regarding the edibility of your daughter's baking." She remarks casually as she took her leave.
"What? Oh, no, dear girl." Eyes wide as he took her meaning, he could not help but renounce at her implication. "I-I was merely suggesting-Oh, gods." But resignation beset him as he watches her enter the kitchen.
"She got you too, huh?" Another voice rang behind him, annoyance clear in its tone. "Like father, like son, I guess."
Archibald merely sighed in reply, thinking of how different Ellaise had become. He wondered about the time her tiny figure had come into their lives, shy and easily flustered at the sight of his son. He smiled fondly. "It's good that you told her to stop wearing that god-awful bawdy dress."
"Yeah, me too. I mean, don't get me wrong, I would've preferred that." His son assented as he sat down next to him. "But, uh, you know, I like her too much to wear something... unrespectable."
Archibald laugh at the youth's choice of words as it reminded her of the way the lords of the parliament spoke of the fresh waves of femininity. "Don't tell me your next bright idea is to lobby for women not to drive or vote? I won't support you on that, Richard."
His son snorted at his suggestion, waving his hands dismissively before grabbing a cup of tea for himself. "Can you imagine? Aunt Anastasia would have my head." The two shared a laugh at the thought.
The father and son enjoyed high tea for a while before Ella, wearing a grey turtleneck and long brown slacks, came out of the kitchen holding a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
"Ah, marvelous, Ella." Archibald praised as he took one in his hands and bit off a piece. "Oh, quite delicious, ow, and hot." He blew on his mouth, dropping the leftover at the tray.
"Thanks, Ella." His son too took a bite, remarking on its softness and richness. "You gotta bake like this more often."
"Afraid not, Richard. I have other duties now." She replied, emphasizing her other duties. "So you need to hire more people, Master Archibald."
"Yes, yes, dear. I have feelers up and about, but it's hard to find good help these days." Archibald agreed with her statement. The work on the manor had been stalled for a week now and the dust and dirt had accumulated, making it harder for one to walk and live in such squalor. "Though it will be all easier once the Men of Letters send their operative and prove us free of the werewolf curse. Then we can send for the best help England can provide." He remarked at the end.
"Wait? The Men of Letters are coming to America?" His son asked in a worried tone.
"No, just an operative. The Elders have no good reason to set up a base here. At least not yet." Archibald placated his son, who soon sighed in relief. "Would their arrival be detrimental to your plans?"
"I doubt it, if they're just temporary agent. But once I've set up my hunter network around the continent, then there's a chance they'll retaliate in fear of a grudge from us." His son replied with a thoughtful expression. "But, again, that will take a very long time."
"Then why are you here, Richard? Where's your little friend?" Ella interjected, taking a sit behind the two men. "God, it's so hot."
"Says the woman who's wearing a turtleneck in the middle of the summer."
"Screw you!"
"You wish you could!"
"Children." Archibald warned, preventing the two from furthering their argument.
"Right, I'm just killing time 'till Garth's flight back." His son answered finally, childishly sticking his tongue at Ella. "I found us a case."
He then produced a thick manila folder and placed it beside the cookie tray, revealing the paper clippings, police reports, and different conjectures he had come up. Picking up one newspaper clip and reading it, Archibald raised an eyebrow in confusion.
[Bloody Dear Attack!]
A report by the Daily Southtown of a bizarre animal attack on an old, barely functioning motel involving a skull mount piercing a man's heart and a headless body of a small deer, all of whom were inside of the motel room's bathtub. Situated on the south side of Chicago, authorities have been placing blame on the gang war between the Black Disciples and the Gangster Disciples.
"My word. And you think this is a supernatural case? Not merely some form of... gang attack?" Archibald asks as he assumed the attack was a daily occurrence in that part of the city.
"You'd think so, huh?" His son responded with a pointed tone before retrieving another paper clipping showing a destroyed caravan which was cut in half, revealing the bloodless corpse of a blonde woman with the sharp claw of a stuffed eagle piercing her heart. "Reported a day ago. I got this from a friend of mine in Myspace. He's in Waterloo, Iowa. He's into this weird creepy stuff, so he sent it to me."
"Wow. I can't believe it..." Ella responded to his revelation.
"I know, right? This is exciting." He responded, legs jerking up and down in excitement.
"...you have friends?" She finished.
"Oh, fuck you." His son replied, turning towards Archibald for a response. "What do you think?"
Archibald merely hummed, taking the finishing sip of his tea before responding with an adage. "Well, once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, and thrice is..."
"... a pattern." His son finished for him with a renewed smile. "Right. I'll go to the airport, pick him up, gather our things, and head east."
"He ought to have a rest, son. It's a long flight from Mozambique." Archibald suggested.
"Nah, he got this." But he merely waved it away. "But, thanks for the guns, pops."
Archibald hummed in reply as he watched his son giddily make his way to the front of the manor, taking with him the keys to the sonic blue Ford SVT Lightning.
"You gave him access to guns, Master Archibald?" Asked Ella incredulously.
No one could blame her for his son's history made it troubling to trust him with anything even remotely dangerous. Even she, who saw first-hand of his sudden change in nature, was hesitant, But he knew his son was good for it.
"Don't worry about it." He replied. "It's just small ones."
●●●LAX Parking●●●
Garth really enjoyed Madagascar. Who wouldn't? Long beaches, beautiful women, decadent delicacies, spa massages every day, and, best of all, being thoroughly trained by a professional soldier. Not only was he in a heavenly paradise, he was also training his hunting skills simultaneously. A perfect week-long vacation he wished he never had come home from.
Even better was his farewell party when the two dark-skinned women gave him his last massage with a happy ending. A homemade Godrogodro, a welcome surprise given that his instructor had forbidden him to partake in sugary confections.
That was the best of life, yet, unfortunately for him, his 21-hour long flight and, subsequently, his daydreaming has ended when his employer appeared, sunglasses and laminated paper sign with his name in hand.
"Hey, bud." Though disappointed by his removal from paradise, his instinct still flared up and rushed in for a hug.
His employer, Richard, let the hug happen, mostly due to the element of surprise. "Alright, that's enough." Tapping him on the shoulder, Richard pushed him back with a strained laugh. "How's the trip?"
Garth laughed and sighed in contentment. "It was... heavenly."
Richard laughed. "Well, that's certainly a good thing, but I hope you trained some of you hunting skills?" He asks, grabbing luggage before putting it inside of his truck.
"Oh, yeah. He said I was superb." Garth boasted. "Also, you didn't even meet me at the boarding gate."
"Well..." He trailed off before tapping the bottom of the truck's trunk, producing an audible click. Opening the bottom wide, he revealed the rows of small firearms, boxes of ammunitions, and the plastic box filled with grenades. "I didn't want to leave it here unattended."
"Wow." was his only reply to the revelation.
"I know. Took Archibald awhile to gather all this stuff. My specifications were unusual, to say the least." Richard said, picking out a bullet from a gilded box. "Silver-coated ACP. 50 rounds per box, 3 boxes."
"So, we're good if we encounter werewolves. Any other things?"
There was an almost giddy look on Richard's face when he asked that question, like a child impatiently waiting to show off his toys.
Richard picked up another bullet in a different box. "Silver-tip hollow points."
And another. "See the edges? That's a custom made Devil's Trap. Keeps the demon in kind of a stasis mode and you can then exorcise them or kill them." He said, as if both of those things were a normal chore for a hunter.
"Wait? We're gonna be dealing with demons? Aren't they super powerful?" Garth said, worried and panicking for a second. They were barely even alive by the time they luckily killed a werewolf, yet here was his employer, thinking of trapping a demon.
"So?" He replied with confidence.
Garth looked Richard in the eye as the latter shrugged with a smile, contemplating his next words. Then it hit him; why would Richard allow him to train abroad? Why would he spend large amounts of money for a week-long military training? "You want me to trap a demon for you?"
Although Richard didn't respond to his question, his hitched breath and twitching smile gave him enough of an answer. "You think I could trap a demon for you?"
"I do not." He answered while holding up a hand. "But I think, after your trip, you could last enough of a moment against one that I could cast a quick spell and trap it."
Garth could see where his employer was coming from, freshly trained with an agile mind; he was a force to be reckoned with. Then he thought of the rumors regarding the black-eyes bastards, mostly coming from the hunters he came across during his previous hunts.
Demons were powerful, unrelenting, and, even when shot a hundred times, could still snap him in half like Bane. A nightmare from most hunters, but he knew Richard was not a normal hunter. "I may not know you that long, but I suppose you have another card in your silk sleeve?"
Richard laughed before producing the Monster Banishing Sigil. "I do have a 'card' up in my cashmere sleeve, Garth. Cashmere."
Garth laughed along before yawning. "Do I still have that hotel room in Long Beach? I want to sleep then take a long, smooth bath. I mean, it ain't even gonna be as good as the one in Madagascar, but I might remember it through that."
"Afraid not, bud. We have a job." Richard shook his head, producing a large brown envelope and giving it to Garth. "Series of freak animal attacks in cities and highways."
"How is this a job of- Oh, shit?" Garth recoiled from the gruesome scene, now knowing why.
"Yep, no blood in the body but liters of puddled blood, and the animals that attacked them were all dead beforehand."
"So this is the demon we're going to be hunting?"
"Yes, the first guy, deer guy. There were some black outs in the area, electrical storms most likely. Second guy in Iowa, found dead and a couple of miles of the scene, was a bunch of dead cows. All demonic signs and same COD." He explained.
"Alright, I get you. I'll rest for the night, then head east." He said.
"Yeah, no. We're heading straight there because demons are roaming around the states and the need our help." Irwin begrudge Garth, grabbing the latter by the shoulder and nearly forcing him to enter the car.
"Aren't you a bit too excited?" Garth noticed his companion's twitching eyes and giddy smile.
"What? No... it's, uh, this is merely called anticipation." Irwin defended, closing in on Garth before he could respond. "You know, Chicago is famous for its desserts. How about before we investigate the case, I treat you to some of them Atomic Cake?"
Garth positively drooled when Irwin's words reach his ears. "You had me at Atomic Cake."
"That was the last bit of my sentence." Irwin replied mirthfully. "But it's good you're on board because it's gonna be a seven-hour drive."