Most stories start at the beginning, but not mine. Mine started the day my mother was killed. Just a few minutes after midnight, I woke up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare that i had so i went to find my mother just like any other scared little child would do.

The moonlight flooded through the curtains of our small house, casting shadows on the walls, making the familiar seem strange and eerie. I remember blinking, confused, as my eyes adjusted to the dim glow. A chill ran down my spine-a feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Then I heard it. A low, growling rumble echoed from down the hallway, so out of place it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I crept to the door and peeked out, seeing only faint, flickering shadows. Then, as I turned the corner, I saw my mother, standing in the middle of the living room, facing something -or someone-that shouldn't have been there.

The creature towered over her, black as midnight, with skin that seemed to ripple like tar and eyes that glowed a menacing red. A strange, guttural growl escaped from its mouth, curling around words I couldn't understand but felt in my bones. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and burnt metal, the scent so thick I nearly gagged. My mother glanced back at me, her expression a mix of fear and desperation, as if urging me to stay hidden. But I was frozen, unable to move.

She was the fiercest person I'd ever known, my mom, yet that night she looked so small and vulnerable. She raised her arms defensively, her voice trembling as she tried to reason with the creature, but it only snarled, a grotesque grin stretching across its face, revealing jagged, glistening fangs. Without warning, it lunged at her, claws tearing through the air as she let out a piercing scream.

I'll never forget the sound. The scream wasn't just one of pain but of terror, and it echoed through the house, a sound I knew would haunt me forever.

The creature tore into her, ripping and clawing, while I stood there, paralyzed, watching the horror unfold. Blood spattered the walls, glistening in the moonlight, and my legs finally found strength as I stumbled back, bile rising in my throat. But it was too late to run, too late to hide. I'd seen it, and worse-it had seen me.

The demon's glowing eyes shifted from my mother's lifeless form to me, a dark, twisted smile creeping onto its face. Those burning eyes bored into me, searing a memory deep into my mind, an image I would see every time I closed my eyes.

And then, just as I thought it would turn its wrath on me, my father burst into the room. He looked disheveled, as though he'd been in the midst of a nightmare and couldn't shake himself awake.

With nothing more than a determined shout, he lunged at the creature, brandishing a silver knife-one I'd never seen before but that glinted with a peculiar shine. I remember wondering how he knew to bring it, as if he had been waiting for this moment, as if he'd always known such things existed.

He drove the blade into the creature's side, and it shrieked, an unnatural, otherworldly sound that shook me to my core. Black, viscous blood spurted from its wound, sizzling as it hit the ground. The demon snarled, lashing out at him, and for a moment, I thought it would kill him, too. But my father was fast- faster than I'd ever seen him move. He managed to keep the creature at bay, buying us just enough time.

"Damien!" he shouted, voice rough, urgent. "Run. Now!"

The fear in his eyes was raw, and I knew there was no time to argue. With one last glance at my mother, I bolted. I ran down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out into the backyard, my legs carrying me as fast as they could, even though I didn't know where to go or what to do. I heard my father's footsteps close behind, felt his hand grab my arm, pulling me through the shadows, down the street, away from everything I'd ever known. From the injuries that were on his body and judging by the way he dragged my arm for us to flee the house, I knew that the creature was not dead yet.

We didn't stop running until we reached the edge of town. Only then did he stop, pulling me into his arms, his breaths ragged, as we both collapsed to the ground, too exhausted to speak.

In the days that followed, I tried to ask him about it-about what we saw, about why that thing had come to our house, and why it had killed my mother. But my father remained tight-lipped, only saying that he would protect me, no matter the cost. I could see the pain in his eyes every time he looked at me, a pain that ran so deep I knew it was something he could never talk about. But I also saw something else in those eyes -fear, a kind I had never seen in him before.

Over the years, he kept his promise. He was there for every scraped knee, every school recital, every late-night project. He saw me through every step of the way, all the way through college, supporting me, guiding me. But that night-what I saw, what I felt-it never left me. I carried it with me, every moment, every breath, and I knew I could never live a normal life until I found answers.

So, I joined the Seattle Police Department, hoping to make sense of the senseless, to uncover the truth buried beneath layers of lies and secrecy. But deep down, I knew it wasn't just justice I was after. I wanted vengeance.

For years, I combed through cases, files that hinted at things most people wouldn't believe, sightings that others dismissed as urban legends. Each one was a step closer to the truth, a piece of the puzzle that haunted me. And then, one day, I finally got my chance to face one of them again -to look into those burning red eyes and remember that night.

Hi, My name is Damien Rogers, and I hunt monsters for a living.