[story] on the prowl
Mar. 7th, 2013 11:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ib_archiveauthor: cracklikeabone (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cracklikeabone)
e-mail: starkhavenmalt [ at ] gmail dot com
A/N: I'm never sure about trigger warnings but there's violence and gore in this one.
Any town, any city was a whole new animal at night: bathed in the sickly orange glow of street lights or garishly bright neon signs, headlights casting odd shadows, the sounds of staccato thumps of music, revving engines and screaming brakes. People still out at all hours and in every kind of weather, no matter what day would dawn in the morning. At night, strangers huddled in pub doorways, light and sound spilling out from under the doors, sharing a light and a smoke; meanwhile workaholics slept on the train home, a fitful sort of sleep where they jerked into wakefulness at every stop, surreptitiously checking their chins for saliva, glancing around to see whether or not they'd drawn stares with their snoring. Then the zombie shuffle at last orders, intoxicated bodies swaying wildly out into the street, groaning, singing, laughing. Throwing their arms wide and embracing any chance to fight at any sort of provocation, howling and shrieking like angry chimps until sirens wailed, police breaking it up. Early morning joggers crouched at intersections, pretending to ignore the commotion as they retied their shoes.
All of that was one world. But not, even in all its variety, the only world.
Dark made many things bold. It masked them and gave them a certain sort of edge: long ago they had sprung from darkness itself, so little wonder they still preferred it to daylight. At night, monsters prowled with their odd misshapen bodies and strange - bizarre is probably a better word - arrays of limbs. They had eyes filled with hunger or malice, too large or too small, too many or even too few, in colours human eyes didn't come in; eyes that were eerie to look into, pits of nothingness, the last thing victims saw before they were killed. They had mouths too horrible to think about, full of sharp teeth, exuding foul breath. In the dark they cast no shadows, even when the light touched them, but they could still be seen reflected in doors or windows, any gleaming surface really, so long as it wasn't silver, the one thing they feared. No one saw them in the dark – well, almost no one.
Although less hidden, they were no less dangerous during the day. If they happened to be out in the sun, they hissed; they gnashed their teeth and wailed, clawed at themselves and sought shadowy places in which to hide. The sun weakened them, for their creator had shunned it before they had ever been spawned in pits. This weakness, however, only made them dangerous. It made them angry, and anger made them stronger - more dangerous than any cornered animal.
Like so many things in life, if you didn't know what you were doing it was better leave it to the experts. If few people saw the monsters, however, even fewer knew what were or who hunted them. The unexplained assaults, deaths and disappearances were blamed on a myriad of other things - normal, believable, everyday things. Too many became cold with no resolution for those left behind; distraught loved ones searched for answers that they rarely found. The world had moved on, or so it thought: left belief in the supernatural firmly in the past.
Too often, believers of the 'wrong' thing were labeled weird or crazy, and looked upon with scorn and pity; or, if they seemed particularly sensible in other ways, simply disbelieved. Sometimes their peculiar views inspired genuine curiosity that was well-meaning but all too easily twisted into something else. This world could be explained by your science or your God - although not every God was right, it had to be a very specific sort of God, according to many - that was how the world was and how it ought to be.
Violet Masters was one of those few who knew the real truth of the world: that shadows prowled the night, running on hate and bestial instinct. A little taller than average, she possessed an athletic frame she honed almost every night as a matter of course. Her skin was a deep brown, her eyes darker, and she wore her hair in a multitude of tight braids that she often pulled back when she worked, some dyed a rich purple, others royal blue.
She dressed sensibly for the hunt: in sturdy boots with thick soles and good grip, loose trousers that wouldn't restrict her movement, and practical tops that changed with the weather. Comic books, TV shows, films and everything else could have their heroines in ultra-tight numbers revealing miles of bare skin; she'd rather be warm, protected, and have a full range of movement. Monster hunting meant having to run, climb and fight on a regular basis, with no room for error. Monsters grabbed at hair and clothes, had no fear of dramatic lunges across buildings or roads, scrabbled up the sides of buildings with their claws sinking deep into stone or concrete or wood or metal. Violet was the best at what she did – as proven by her success rates, the fat pay checks she brought home, and the fear and loathing she inspired in her prey - because she knew exactly what it took to maintain that position.
While the drunks stumbled home, Violet made sure they met with only human trouble. Tonight, though, her shift was over. Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, she sighed and picked up her pace, more than ready to be inside and out of the cold. At home, she'd put the kettle on, and a minute later be warming her hands around a steaming cup of tea with the rest of her thawing out in the process. Being a monster hunter has terrible hours, she thought – not for the first time - but she'd never give it up. There was a thrill to what she did, facing down creatures most knew only as nightmares or horror stories. And she was secure in the knowledge that she kept people safe – that each gunshot or knife wound meant one less monster running around, preying on the weak.
Not that people would be grateful. She knew that well enough. Sometimes they could be, crying, shaking, stumbling over their words as she waited with them for police or an ambulance to help. All too often, though, there was a hardness to their faces or voices. What do you think you're doing, where were you half an hour ago, can't you see I already had the situation under control? Maybe it was because she was a woman – how often had she dealt with that in her training? It still got under her skin when she remembered the early days of trying to prove herself to her organisation. The old timers had snorted and proclaimed that her place was behind a desk or at home ready to welcome them back, far from the action.
Some had even doubted her claims that, just like them, she could see monsters - a rare quirk no one had ever explained to her satisfaction. She'd worked her arse off to prove every doubter wrong, savouring the looks on their faces when time and time again she had the top kill count each month. These days her skills were in high demand, to the point where she had to turn down jobs. If there was a situation other hunters had tried and failed to deal with, they got Violet, or else Violet's recommendation on another hunter who could handle it.
Tonight, though, she was glad to be done patrolling and nearly home, where she could see a few lights still on behind the curtains. No matter how many times she told her not to, Serena always waited up for Violet, usually curled up on the couch with tea and a book. If it was especially late she'd be asleep with the book still in her lap and her glasses threatening to slide down her nose, looking so comfortable and downright adorable that Violet felt guilty for waking her.
It had been a gamble when she'd told Serena about what she could do. There were no rules or laws governing the conduct of people who could see beyond the normal world. It wasn't even wholly genetic: anyone could be born with the gift, or curse, and Violet still had no idea how people coped without a good support network. Most of those who hunted monsters married within their own community because it was the easiest way to ensure they would be understood. No need to lie to a loved one, or else risk being thought of as crazy if you told them the truth. Organisations like the one Violet worked for found people, explained the world to them, and then left the door open. They didn't force anything - what you did with your knowledge was your business.
She had her suspicions about how they found people, and she'd discussed them with her parents, who couldn’t see the monsters but who had – a very thing - believed her she'd gone to them as a teenager, terrified of what she'd seen. They'd helped her get her answers and she loved them for it.
Serena had been a whole other story: a nurse who was happy, in general, with the world as it was. Someone Violet had hit it off with at a bar, exchanged numbers with, and gotten to know slowly over many dates, days, and nights at their respective flats. When Violet realised she was falling in love with Serena, she'd known she had to tell her what she was getting into, even knowing that it might end badly, with Violet getting her heart broken. She was glad that Serena hadn't just accepted her words as gospel when they sat at Violet's kitchen table to discuss it. After all, Serena's world was fine as it was. But she'd been even more glad - and privately hopeful - when the other women hadn't automatically stormed out.
"I need some time," she'd said, "a few days to think it over; can you give me that?"
Violet had. She would have given Serena anything, even if she was unsettled for days, stomach churning anxiously, palms slick with sweat at random intervals, until the night she returned from hunting with monster blood clinging to her clothes – clear, not red, after all everything about the monsters was easy to explain away, they'd been designed with that in mind - and found Serena waiting for her. It must have been the look in her eyes that night, more than anything else, as Serena had stripped her and pushed her in the direction of the shower. When Violet had emerged she'd found her clothes in the wash and a cup of tea waiting for her. They'd talked late into what remained of the night, and into the small hours of morning, their voices failing them, until Serena had taken her to bed. Sleeping until noon, she'd woken to a Serena who said she loved Violet and that she'd stay with her. After that they'd moved into Serena's flat because it was bigger, and then eventually into the house they were in now, and life had gotten better – Violet's life was immeasurably better and easier now that she had another life to come home to.
Violet unlocked her front door as quietly as she could, locking it behind her before she took off her boots and coat, the house quiet. Rubbing her hands, she resisted the urge to call out for Serena, instead peering around the sitting room door to where her girlfriend was waiting for her. Serena was darker than Violet, with high cheekbones and full lips, her hair thick and soft to the touch – Violet liked nothing more than to bury her fingers in it, massaging Serena's scalp with sure touches even though she had no idea why the act was as relaxing to her as it was to Serena.
Serena was fast asleep with a cup in front of her, glasses perched on the end of her nose, a book open in her lap; Violet smiled and crept into the room to retrieve the cup, taking it with her to the kitchen. The chamomile tea was already waiting for her, along with a jar of honey. After setting the kettle to boil she darted upstairs to quickly change, scrub her face and hands, put her weapons away and throw her clothes in the wash. In warm worn pyjamas she could feel herself relax, and decided to let Serena sleep a little longer while she drank her tea. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they made out on the couch before Violet dragged Serena upstairs and to bed, but there were nights when she liked just being in same safe, quiet house as Serena as she drank her tea in silence.
In all honesty she was worried. Lately there were more monsters, and they kept her out later and later, night after night. They were bold right now, snapping and snarling even as she cut or shot through them. More worryingly, she suspected they were getting stronger. And most worrying of all, it was hard to tell if they truly were stronger, or if she was starting to burn out.
It had been years since she'd done that. The last time had been back when she was still wet behind the ears, trying to prove that she was not only as good as everyone else, but better. Even the best had their limits, though, and if this kept up much longer, she and the others in her organisation would need to sit down to formulate a plan of action. As she leant back against the kitchen counter, she allowed herself to take stock of all her aches and pains - sore feet, tight calves and thighs, one knee pulsing – idly thinking that she should put ice on it, or else she'd regret it (and Serena's looks) come morning. But she was too tired to get up and get the ice, and her shoulders were stiff, protesting if she stretched her arms too much. She was too tired even to drink her tea, which was cooling in her cup. Time to wake Serena and go to bed curled up against her, safe and secure for a few hours.
Weeks passed. The daylight hours of normal life shot by all too quickly. The nights dragged on endlessly, a blur of running and climbing after monsters who sprinted away with something close to unholy glee. Every last one of the hunters in her organization was reporting back exhausted, trembling and weaving on their feet, with mounting injuries. Some were minor and healed quickly, others were worse and kept the hunters out of action, increasing the burden on those who were left. Violet had the sneaking suspicion that she'd twisted her knee the wrong way and torn something, but she could keep going – she had no choice but to keep going, with the newspaper headlines screaming about an unprecedented rise in violent crime. People were frightened, which was exactly what the monsters loved.
"I've never seen anything like this," Rupert confessed. A tiny old man with a ruddy complexion, blue eyes watery with age, and a nervous way of smoothing his wispy white hair: he'd been a great hunter in his day, until age had caught up with him by way of near-crippling arthritis. Now he was involved in their organization as a strategist, tracking hot spots on maps.
Violet frowned, rolling her shoulders to relieve the ache in them. "Really? There are always spikes. Three years ago down south they had a bad wave of activity."
"Not like this, Violet - you know this is bad." She couldn't meet his worried gaze and looked instead at his hands, with their swollen joints and papery skin, the right one missing pinkie and ring finger. They were shaking.
"We'll get it done." Summoning up her last reserve of bravado, she continued with a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes, "This can't last, they'll burn out and we'll slaughter them." If we don't burn out first, she thought.
"Be careful," Rupert called out as she left.
"You too," she echoed, not bothering to disguise the tightness in her voice.
Even though she felt ready to drop the instant she arrived home, she couldn't do it when she saw Serena pacing between the kitchen and the living room. Her shift had finished hours ago but she was still in her hospital scrubs, wringing her hands. The moment she spotted Violet she launched herself forward into her arms, uncaring of blood or weapons. Violet staggered but held her, hands rubbing Serena's back as she tried to make out what her girlfriend was saying with her face buried in her shoulder.
"Serena, baby, I can't hear you."
"A girl today," Serena choked out, and Violet gasped at the shining tears on her cheeks. Whatever it was that had happened was bad: Serena saw and heard awful things at work regularly enough and they no longer affected her the way they used to. "Monsters. She was assaulted, doesn't understand what happened but said they attacked together, in a pack-" she broke off for a long moment to get her breathing under control, "a whole pack. She told me about a nightmare she had when she woke up from sedation..."
Violet didn't need Serena to say more as bile rose in her throat, burning all the way up. "It's bad out there," was all she could say when she trusted her voice.
"You're being safe?"
"Safe as I can be, Serena, we just," she swallowed hard, needing space to breathe, and took a step back, letting go of the other women, "we just don't know." Serena's mouth was a thin hard line of worry. "I can't tell you what I don't know – hunting these things is my job, I'm doing what I can to get rid of them but no one knows what's going on." It made her feel small and helpless and that in turn fed her frustrations with the monsters and the lack of information. She thought of the fear in Rupert's eyes, the tears on Serena's cheeks, the blood in the streets, human and monsters.
"There are so many hurt and traumatised people in the hospital, I don't want to see you in there too." Serena's whisper cut through her life a knife, stunning her into silence. Maybe it was better that way, as it stopped her from voicing the treacherous thought.
I won't end up in the hospital. I'll be in the morgue or lost forever.
They went to bed that night stiff and anxious. She slept poorly, and ended up in the study instead, reading through old journals until her eyes burned. Serena's smiles were strained, and Violet wanted to do something to ease her fears, but she was running on empty herself. There wasn't enough left in her to give to someone else, even someone who meant as much to her as Serena did. These days they saw each other less and less, Serena busy at the hospital, Violet busy hunting or in meetings. Everyone was working, everyone was in a race against the monsters, but no one knew how long it would last, how to pace themselves - only that they were about to hit the wall. Long hours were spent under hot showers, her and Serena pressed close, massaging out what pains they could.
Until one night it finally caught up to Violet.
She was running, hot on the heels of several monsters with snapping, slavering jaws above rows of beady black eyes that shone like beetle wings. Their teeth were long needles too large for their mouths, their fingers ended in cruelly hooked claws. They howled as they scrambled up the side of a building, Violet following more slowly; her knee still hurt and so did her ankle.
But she kept going, swearing when she couldn't get a clear shot at them. Her lungs burned as she raced over the rooftops in pursuit, leaping from one building to the next, rolling to absorb most of the impact. The landings still hurt, though, each impact jangling along her nerves. She was reaching her limit and she knew it as she drew her gun to fire off a shot, clipping one of the beasts in the shoulder. One more shot and it screamed, stopping to claw at its thigh. She drew closer to fire again through the skull – other hunters were out, they'd hear the shots and know where to go. She'd catch up with the rest of the monsters once this one was gone.
The monster looked up at her and smiled, top lip flipping up and over the slits it had for a nose, revealing a second row of needle-like teeth.
She'd never seen a monster do that before – smile in the face of death as it clutched at the ruined meat of its thigh. It even laughed, an awful, rattling sound. She leveled her gun, pulled the trigger and blew most of its face away.
The reason for the laughter became apparent before the body hit the ground, as more monsters poured over the top of the building, some screeching and groaning, others chittering and clacking with a sound like an insect swarm. They all headed toward her at once. Gun in one hand, knife in the other, she weighed her options as a scream reached her ears from a different rooftop. Backing away, she fired a shot at one of the monsters, the bullet ripping through its throat and wounding the monster behind it.
A ragged sound issued from the monsters surrounding her as her target fell. None seemed ready to attack, however, instead holding back as if they were waiting for something.
They seemed to be following some kind of plan, but their actions were violent and chaotic, with any action from her or another hunter driving them wild – spurring them to either fight or flee. Eventually, though, she found herself completely surrounded, all her escape routes cut off, with the monsters closing in while she fought down waves of panic. Maybe she could break through the line of monsters, run and leap, catch a ledge and keep moving. But each time she tried they forced her back, grabbing at her arms and legs, ignoring her collectively as she slashed and shot until her ammunition was gone with her hands and arms racked with agonising cramps.
Another blood curdling scream rose in the night air, as did a fog of breath from the monsters' mouths as they panted in anticipation, their breath fetid and rancid.
"What do you want!" Violet finally screamed as she continued to fight with her knife alone, until she was held tight, multiple hands clamping her in place. No answer came – after all, monsters could not speak. "Why are you waiting?"
To the left of the rooftop stood a tall building too modern for this town, made of slick dark glass, and it was on the roof of that building that she saw it: a monster of infeasible size, the kind of monster described only in the oldest scraps of lore. It was too dark to discern much else but the monsters about her trilled and keened, visibly buzzing with anticipation. Adrenaline gave her strength she hadn't known she possessed, and, distracted as they were, she seized her chance to break free, sprinting hard until they moved as a great wave to cover her, crushing her beneath their collective mass. Was this how she would die? Smothered beneath the stinking beasts of nightmares? I'm sorry, Serena, she thought as her vision swam, as the air was forced out of her lungs. I'm sorry, I love you, I love you, I'm sorry I'm dying like this.
Just as her heartbeat began to roar in her ears, the monsters moved off her, and she was allowed to greedily gulp in air as they dragged her upright to greet the beast that now towered above her. It looked as if it had been carved of stone, with huge sweeping wings that blocked all else from sight, and eyes red as blood though their surface seemed to ripple with other colours. Its mouth was a vicious slash from ear to ear, and its tongue was split into wriggling worms deep purple in colour, each covered in glittering silver barbs. When the mouth opened wider to bellow she could see further mouths nested below, all with the same jagged shark's teeth.
It advanced with surprising grace and speed, not at all like the lumbering behemoth it appeared to be, but instead with a predator's grace. Looking up, she saw a crown of horns protruding from its skull, blood and scar tissue suggesting they grew from within the skull itself, forcing their way out - and recently too, as the wounds looked raw and painful. A massive hand beckoned, and the monsters lifted her up and closer, as if she were their macabre puppet. She turned her face away, breathing through her mouth so the sulphurous stench wouldn't make her gag. The sounds it made had her shivering, though she didn't understand them. The very tip of a claw beneath the soft flesh of her chin made her look back at it.
It smiled and dragged the talon down, the cacophony of monstrous glee the last sound she heard.
Serena jerked awake with a start, some instinct making her roll to what had been Violet's side of the bed to fumble the drawer open and grab the gun there. The weight of it should have felt foreign, unfamiliar and wrong in her hand. It feels right, she thought instead, and for the first time since Violet disappeared - died she corrected, you know she's dead just like all of them - she felt right. It was barely three in the morning, but she rose and dressed warmly, the gun in her jacket pocket, solid and comforting in her hand as she left the house, walking briskly into town.
Street lights and neon signs lit the town, with more police on patrol than ever, and always in cars, as news of the grisly attacks continued to spread. In her peripheral vision something flickered, a thin gangly creature. Monster, her brain supplied. Calmly she crossed the street, raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The monster went still, lying in a pool of its own blood spreading out beneath it. She'd never fired a gun before - she'd never killed anything more than an insect before - and she'd certainly never seen a monster before. Violet had been able to see them, not Serena.
The next night she dressed as Violet had and went out with knives and guns, teaching herself as if remembering old skills. She met others, survivors and those who woke up just like her. They hunted monsters by night.
Serena was the best of them all.
the end
cracklikeabone)e-mail: starkhavenmalt [ at ] gmail dot com
A/N: I'm never sure about trigger warnings but there's violence and gore in this one.
Any town, any city was a whole new animal at night: bathed in the sickly orange glow of street lights or garishly bright neon signs, headlights casting odd shadows, the sounds of staccato thumps of music, revving engines and screaming brakes. People still out at all hours and in every kind of weather, no matter what day would dawn in the morning. At night, strangers huddled in pub doorways, light and sound spilling out from under the doors, sharing a light and a smoke; meanwhile workaholics slept on the train home, a fitful sort of sleep where they jerked into wakefulness at every stop, surreptitiously checking their chins for saliva, glancing around to see whether or not they'd drawn stares with their snoring. Then the zombie shuffle at last orders, intoxicated bodies swaying wildly out into the street, groaning, singing, laughing. Throwing their arms wide and embracing any chance to fight at any sort of provocation, howling and shrieking like angry chimps until sirens wailed, police breaking it up. Early morning joggers crouched at intersections, pretending to ignore the commotion as they retied their shoes.
All of that was one world. But not, even in all its variety, the only world.
Dark made many things bold. It masked them and gave them a certain sort of edge: long ago they had sprung from darkness itself, so little wonder they still preferred it to daylight. At night, monsters prowled with their odd misshapen bodies and strange - bizarre is probably a better word - arrays of limbs. They had eyes filled with hunger or malice, too large or too small, too many or even too few, in colours human eyes didn't come in; eyes that were eerie to look into, pits of nothingness, the last thing victims saw before they were killed. They had mouths too horrible to think about, full of sharp teeth, exuding foul breath. In the dark they cast no shadows, even when the light touched them, but they could still be seen reflected in doors or windows, any gleaming surface really, so long as it wasn't silver, the one thing they feared. No one saw them in the dark – well, almost no one.
Although less hidden, they were no less dangerous during the day. If they happened to be out in the sun, they hissed; they gnashed their teeth and wailed, clawed at themselves and sought shadowy places in which to hide. The sun weakened them, for their creator had shunned it before they had ever been spawned in pits. This weakness, however, only made them dangerous. It made them angry, and anger made them stronger - more dangerous than any cornered animal.
Like so many things in life, if you didn't know what you were doing it was better leave it to the experts. If few people saw the monsters, however, even fewer knew what were or who hunted them. The unexplained assaults, deaths and disappearances were blamed on a myriad of other things - normal, believable, everyday things. Too many became cold with no resolution for those left behind; distraught loved ones searched for answers that they rarely found. The world had moved on, or so it thought: left belief in the supernatural firmly in the past.
Too often, believers of the 'wrong' thing were labeled weird or crazy, and looked upon with scorn and pity; or, if they seemed particularly sensible in other ways, simply disbelieved. Sometimes their peculiar views inspired genuine curiosity that was well-meaning but all too easily twisted into something else. This world could be explained by your science or your God - although not every God was right, it had to be a very specific sort of God, according to many - that was how the world was and how it ought to be.
Violet Masters was one of those few who knew the real truth of the world: that shadows prowled the night, running on hate and bestial instinct. A little taller than average, she possessed an athletic frame she honed almost every night as a matter of course. Her skin was a deep brown, her eyes darker, and she wore her hair in a multitude of tight braids that she often pulled back when she worked, some dyed a rich purple, others royal blue.
She dressed sensibly for the hunt: in sturdy boots with thick soles and good grip, loose trousers that wouldn't restrict her movement, and practical tops that changed with the weather. Comic books, TV shows, films and everything else could have their heroines in ultra-tight numbers revealing miles of bare skin; she'd rather be warm, protected, and have a full range of movement. Monster hunting meant having to run, climb and fight on a regular basis, with no room for error. Monsters grabbed at hair and clothes, had no fear of dramatic lunges across buildings or roads, scrabbled up the sides of buildings with their claws sinking deep into stone or concrete or wood or metal. Violet was the best at what she did – as proven by her success rates, the fat pay checks she brought home, and the fear and loathing she inspired in her prey - because she knew exactly what it took to maintain that position.
While the drunks stumbled home, Violet made sure they met with only human trouble. Tonight, though, her shift was over. Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, she sighed and picked up her pace, more than ready to be inside and out of the cold. At home, she'd put the kettle on, and a minute later be warming her hands around a steaming cup of tea with the rest of her thawing out in the process. Being a monster hunter has terrible hours, she thought – not for the first time - but she'd never give it up. There was a thrill to what she did, facing down creatures most knew only as nightmares or horror stories. And she was secure in the knowledge that she kept people safe – that each gunshot or knife wound meant one less monster running around, preying on the weak.
Not that people would be grateful. She knew that well enough. Sometimes they could be, crying, shaking, stumbling over their words as she waited with them for police or an ambulance to help. All too often, though, there was a hardness to their faces or voices. What do you think you're doing, where were you half an hour ago, can't you see I already had the situation under control? Maybe it was because she was a woman – how often had she dealt with that in her training? It still got under her skin when she remembered the early days of trying to prove herself to her organisation. The old timers had snorted and proclaimed that her place was behind a desk or at home ready to welcome them back, far from the action.
Some had even doubted her claims that, just like them, she could see monsters - a rare quirk no one had ever explained to her satisfaction. She'd worked her arse off to prove every doubter wrong, savouring the looks on their faces when time and time again she had the top kill count each month. These days her skills were in high demand, to the point where she had to turn down jobs. If there was a situation other hunters had tried and failed to deal with, they got Violet, or else Violet's recommendation on another hunter who could handle it.
Tonight, though, she was glad to be done patrolling and nearly home, where she could see a few lights still on behind the curtains. No matter how many times she told her not to, Serena always waited up for Violet, usually curled up on the couch with tea and a book. If it was especially late she'd be asleep with the book still in her lap and her glasses threatening to slide down her nose, looking so comfortable and downright adorable that Violet felt guilty for waking her.
It had been a gamble when she'd told Serena about what she could do. There were no rules or laws governing the conduct of people who could see beyond the normal world. It wasn't even wholly genetic: anyone could be born with the gift, or curse, and Violet still had no idea how people coped without a good support network. Most of those who hunted monsters married within their own community because it was the easiest way to ensure they would be understood. No need to lie to a loved one, or else risk being thought of as crazy if you told them the truth. Organisations like the one Violet worked for found people, explained the world to them, and then left the door open. They didn't force anything - what you did with your knowledge was your business.
She had her suspicions about how they found people, and she'd discussed them with her parents, who couldn’t see the monsters but who had – a very thing - believed her she'd gone to them as a teenager, terrified of what she'd seen. They'd helped her get her answers and she loved them for it.
Serena had been a whole other story: a nurse who was happy, in general, with the world as it was. Someone Violet had hit it off with at a bar, exchanged numbers with, and gotten to know slowly over many dates, days, and nights at their respective flats. When Violet realised she was falling in love with Serena, she'd known she had to tell her what she was getting into, even knowing that it might end badly, with Violet getting her heart broken. She was glad that Serena hadn't just accepted her words as gospel when they sat at Violet's kitchen table to discuss it. After all, Serena's world was fine as it was. But she'd been even more glad - and privately hopeful - when the other women hadn't automatically stormed out.
"I need some time," she'd said, "a few days to think it over; can you give me that?"
Violet had. She would have given Serena anything, even if she was unsettled for days, stomach churning anxiously, palms slick with sweat at random intervals, until the night she returned from hunting with monster blood clinging to her clothes – clear, not red, after all everything about the monsters was easy to explain away, they'd been designed with that in mind - and found Serena waiting for her. It must have been the look in her eyes that night, more than anything else, as Serena had stripped her and pushed her in the direction of the shower. When Violet had emerged she'd found her clothes in the wash and a cup of tea waiting for her. They'd talked late into what remained of the night, and into the small hours of morning, their voices failing them, until Serena had taken her to bed. Sleeping until noon, she'd woken to a Serena who said she loved Violet and that she'd stay with her. After that they'd moved into Serena's flat because it was bigger, and then eventually into the house they were in now, and life had gotten better – Violet's life was immeasurably better and easier now that she had another life to come home to.
Violet unlocked her front door as quietly as she could, locking it behind her before she took off her boots and coat, the house quiet. Rubbing her hands, she resisted the urge to call out for Serena, instead peering around the sitting room door to where her girlfriend was waiting for her. Serena was darker than Violet, with high cheekbones and full lips, her hair thick and soft to the touch – Violet liked nothing more than to bury her fingers in it, massaging Serena's scalp with sure touches even though she had no idea why the act was as relaxing to her as it was to Serena.
Serena was fast asleep with a cup in front of her, glasses perched on the end of her nose, a book open in her lap; Violet smiled and crept into the room to retrieve the cup, taking it with her to the kitchen. The chamomile tea was already waiting for her, along with a jar of honey. After setting the kettle to boil she darted upstairs to quickly change, scrub her face and hands, put her weapons away and throw her clothes in the wash. In warm worn pyjamas she could feel herself relax, and decided to let Serena sleep a little longer while she drank her tea. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they made out on the couch before Violet dragged Serena upstairs and to bed, but there were nights when she liked just being in same safe, quiet house as Serena as she drank her tea in silence.
In all honesty she was worried. Lately there were more monsters, and they kept her out later and later, night after night. They were bold right now, snapping and snarling even as she cut or shot through them. More worryingly, she suspected they were getting stronger. And most worrying of all, it was hard to tell if they truly were stronger, or if she was starting to burn out.
It had been years since she'd done that. The last time had been back when she was still wet behind the ears, trying to prove that she was not only as good as everyone else, but better. Even the best had their limits, though, and if this kept up much longer, she and the others in her organisation would need to sit down to formulate a plan of action. As she leant back against the kitchen counter, she allowed herself to take stock of all her aches and pains - sore feet, tight calves and thighs, one knee pulsing – idly thinking that she should put ice on it, or else she'd regret it (and Serena's looks) come morning. But she was too tired to get up and get the ice, and her shoulders were stiff, protesting if she stretched her arms too much. She was too tired even to drink her tea, which was cooling in her cup. Time to wake Serena and go to bed curled up against her, safe and secure for a few hours.
Weeks passed. The daylight hours of normal life shot by all too quickly. The nights dragged on endlessly, a blur of running and climbing after monsters who sprinted away with something close to unholy glee. Every last one of the hunters in her organization was reporting back exhausted, trembling and weaving on their feet, with mounting injuries. Some were minor and healed quickly, others were worse and kept the hunters out of action, increasing the burden on those who were left. Violet had the sneaking suspicion that she'd twisted her knee the wrong way and torn something, but she could keep going – she had no choice but to keep going, with the newspaper headlines screaming about an unprecedented rise in violent crime. People were frightened, which was exactly what the monsters loved.
"I've never seen anything like this," Rupert confessed. A tiny old man with a ruddy complexion, blue eyes watery with age, and a nervous way of smoothing his wispy white hair: he'd been a great hunter in his day, until age had caught up with him by way of near-crippling arthritis. Now he was involved in their organization as a strategist, tracking hot spots on maps.
Violet frowned, rolling her shoulders to relieve the ache in them. "Really? There are always spikes. Three years ago down south they had a bad wave of activity."
"Not like this, Violet - you know this is bad." She couldn't meet his worried gaze and looked instead at his hands, with their swollen joints and papery skin, the right one missing pinkie and ring finger. They were shaking.
"We'll get it done." Summoning up her last reserve of bravado, she continued with a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes, "This can't last, they'll burn out and we'll slaughter them." If we don't burn out first, she thought.
"Be careful," Rupert called out as she left.
"You too," she echoed, not bothering to disguise the tightness in her voice.
Even though she felt ready to drop the instant she arrived home, she couldn't do it when she saw Serena pacing between the kitchen and the living room. Her shift had finished hours ago but she was still in her hospital scrubs, wringing her hands. The moment she spotted Violet she launched herself forward into her arms, uncaring of blood or weapons. Violet staggered but held her, hands rubbing Serena's back as she tried to make out what her girlfriend was saying with her face buried in her shoulder.
"Serena, baby, I can't hear you."
"A girl today," Serena choked out, and Violet gasped at the shining tears on her cheeks. Whatever it was that had happened was bad: Serena saw and heard awful things at work regularly enough and they no longer affected her the way they used to. "Monsters. She was assaulted, doesn't understand what happened but said they attacked together, in a pack-" she broke off for a long moment to get her breathing under control, "a whole pack. She told me about a nightmare she had when she woke up from sedation..."
Violet didn't need Serena to say more as bile rose in her throat, burning all the way up. "It's bad out there," was all she could say when she trusted her voice.
"You're being safe?"
"Safe as I can be, Serena, we just," she swallowed hard, needing space to breathe, and took a step back, letting go of the other women, "we just don't know." Serena's mouth was a thin hard line of worry. "I can't tell you what I don't know – hunting these things is my job, I'm doing what I can to get rid of them but no one knows what's going on." It made her feel small and helpless and that in turn fed her frustrations with the monsters and the lack of information. She thought of the fear in Rupert's eyes, the tears on Serena's cheeks, the blood in the streets, human and monsters.
"There are so many hurt and traumatised people in the hospital, I don't want to see you in there too." Serena's whisper cut through her life a knife, stunning her into silence. Maybe it was better that way, as it stopped her from voicing the treacherous thought.
I won't end up in the hospital. I'll be in the morgue or lost forever.
They went to bed that night stiff and anxious. She slept poorly, and ended up in the study instead, reading through old journals until her eyes burned. Serena's smiles were strained, and Violet wanted to do something to ease her fears, but she was running on empty herself. There wasn't enough left in her to give to someone else, even someone who meant as much to her as Serena did. These days they saw each other less and less, Serena busy at the hospital, Violet busy hunting or in meetings. Everyone was working, everyone was in a race against the monsters, but no one knew how long it would last, how to pace themselves - only that they were about to hit the wall. Long hours were spent under hot showers, her and Serena pressed close, massaging out what pains they could.
Until one night it finally caught up to Violet.
She was running, hot on the heels of several monsters with snapping, slavering jaws above rows of beady black eyes that shone like beetle wings. Their teeth were long needles too large for their mouths, their fingers ended in cruelly hooked claws. They howled as they scrambled up the side of a building, Violet following more slowly; her knee still hurt and so did her ankle.
But she kept going, swearing when she couldn't get a clear shot at them. Her lungs burned as she raced over the rooftops in pursuit, leaping from one building to the next, rolling to absorb most of the impact. The landings still hurt, though, each impact jangling along her nerves. She was reaching her limit and she knew it as she drew her gun to fire off a shot, clipping one of the beasts in the shoulder. One more shot and it screamed, stopping to claw at its thigh. She drew closer to fire again through the skull – other hunters were out, they'd hear the shots and know where to go. She'd catch up with the rest of the monsters once this one was gone.
The monster looked up at her and smiled, top lip flipping up and over the slits it had for a nose, revealing a second row of needle-like teeth.
She'd never seen a monster do that before – smile in the face of death as it clutched at the ruined meat of its thigh. It even laughed, an awful, rattling sound. She leveled her gun, pulled the trigger and blew most of its face away.
The reason for the laughter became apparent before the body hit the ground, as more monsters poured over the top of the building, some screeching and groaning, others chittering and clacking with a sound like an insect swarm. They all headed toward her at once. Gun in one hand, knife in the other, she weighed her options as a scream reached her ears from a different rooftop. Backing away, she fired a shot at one of the monsters, the bullet ripping through its throat and wounding the monster behind it.
A ragged sound issued from the monsters surrounding her as her target fell. None seemed ready to attack, however, instead holding back as if they were waiting for something.
They seemed to be following some kind of plan, but their actions were violent and chaotic, with any action from her or another hunter driving them wild – spurring them to either fight or flee. Eventually, though, she found herself completely surrounded, all her escape routes cut off, with the monsters closing in while she fought down waves of panic. Maybe she could break through the line of monsters, run and leap, catch a ledge and keep moving. But each time she tried they forced her back, grabbing at her arms and legs, ignoring her collectively as she slashed and shot until her ammunition was gone with her hands and arms racked with agonising cramps.
Another blood curdling scream rose in the night air, as did a fog of breath from the monsters' mouths as they panted in anticipation, their breath fetid and rancid.
"What do you want!" Violet finally screamed as she continued to fight with her knife alone, until she was held tight, multiple hands clamping her in place. No answer came – after all, monsters could not speak. "Why are you waiting?"
To the left of the rooftop stood a tall building too modern for this town, made of slick dark glass, and it was on the roof of that building that she saw it: a monster of infeasible size, the kind of monster described only in the oldest scraps of lore. It was too dark to discern much else but the monsters about her trilled and keened, visibly buzzing with anticipation. Adrenaline gave her strength she hadn't known she possessed, and, distracted as they were, she seized her chance to break free, sprinting hard until they moved as a great wave to cover her, crushing her beneath their collective mass. Was this how she would die? Smothered beneath the stinking beasts of nightmares? I'm sorry, Serena, she thought as her vision swam, as the air was forced out of her lungs. I'm sorry, I love you, I love you, I'm sorry I'm dying like this.
Just as her heartbeat began to roar in her ears, the monsters moved off her, and she was allowed to greedily gulp in air as they dragged her upright to greet the beast that now towered above her. It looked as if it had been carved of stone, with huge sweeping wings that blocked all else from sight, and eyes red as blood though their surface seemed to ripple with other colours. Its mouth was a vicious slash from ear to ear, and its tongue was split into wriggling worms deep purple in colour, each covered in glittering silver barbs. When the mouth opened wider to bellow she could see further mouths nested below, all with the same jagged shark's teeth.
It advanced with surprising grace and speed, not at all like the lumbering behemoth it appeared to be, but instead with a predator's grace. Looking up, she saw a crown of horns protruding from its skull, blood and scar tissue suggesting they grew from within the skull itself, forcing their way out - and recently too, as the wounds looked raw and painful. A massive hand beckoned, and the monsters lifted her up and closer, as if she were their macabre puppet. She turned her face away, breathing through her mouth so the sulphurous stench wouldn't make her gag. The sounds it made had her shivering, though she didn't understand them. The very tip of a claw beneath the soft flesh of her chin made her look back at it.
It smiled and dragged the talon down, the cacophony of monstrous glee the last sound she heard.
Serena jerked awake with a start, some instinct making her roll to what had been Violet's side of the bed to fumble the drawer open and grab the gun there. The weight of it should have felt foreign, unfamiliar and wrong in her hand. It feels right, she thought instead, and for the first time since Violet disappeared - died she corrected, you know she's dead just like all of them - she felt right. It was barely three in the morning, but she rose and dressed warmly, the gun in her jacket pocket, solid and comforting in her hand as she left the house, walking briskly into town.
Street lights and neon signs lit the town, with more police on patrol than ever, and always in cars, as news of the grisly attacks continued to spread. In her peripheral vision something flickered, a thin gangly creature. Monster, her brain supplied. Calmly she crossed the street, raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The monster went still, lying in a pool of its own blood spreading out beneath it. She'd never fired a gun before - she'd never killed anything more than an insect before - and she'd certainly never seen a monster before. Violet had been able to see them, not Serena.
The next night she dressed as Violet had and went out with knives and guns, teaching herself as if remembering old skills. She met others, survivors and those who woke up just like her. They hunted monsters by night.
Serena was the best of them all.
the end
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-04-14 04:51 pm (UTC)