by George Fry
“No… stop….”
Drifter wasn’t sure what to make of them, but his suspicions wouldn’t let up until he knew exactly what the bandages were hiding.
“Take those off.”
He slowly drew closer, convinced they were covering something.
“No! Don’t!” She cried. “I was in a car accident! You can’t take them off! Please!”
However, Drifter was unfazed and continued moving, until a sharp pain shot deep into his arm. Dale’s blade stabbed straight through him.
“Stop it, cunt!”
Though his guard was down, Drifter clutched Dale’s arm and yanked out his blade. It left a massive gash, but the white aura from his sword allowed the wound to heal fairly quickly.
“You seriously falling for this?”
“Just leave her alone.”
“What if she’s a demon?”
“What if she isn’t? What if you kill an innocent woman, for no reason?”
“Fine, geez… You talk to her then.”
Drifter threw the girl’s hat back, wandered into the living room and sat on the sofa.
He, couldn’t be bothered to argue. If she was a demon then Drifter would deal with her when the time came.
“What the fuck is his problem?” She asked, putting her hat back on.
“Still trying to figure that out.” Dale answered.
“Who are you weirdos. anyway?”
“I’m Dale, and dickhead over there is Drifter.”
“At least you seem decent, name’s Catherine.”
“So, Catherine. Could you tell me more about this mist demon?”
Catherine hesitated, holding her arms close for comfort.
“I can’t…”
“How are we supposed to stop this thing if you won’t talk to us?”
“B-but… I-I…”
She shivered again, the thought of the demon alone was enough to freeze her in place.
“O-okay, how about instead of talking about the demon, you can tell me how this all started?”
“H-how it started… right…”
This new line of questioning seemed effective, as Catherine finally divulged some information.
“It was about a week ago. That mist, it just appeared out of nowhere and the whole town went silent. I've been too scared to leave the house. I only went out today to try and get food, but I couldn’t even bring any of it back, I was too exhausted.
By the time I got to my front gate, I collapsed. I felt completely drained. If you two hadn’t shown up, I’d probably be dead. If that can happen to me, then I can’t even imagine what the death toll is, out there.”
“That mist is definitely deadly, even I started feeling sick after a while. We should stay inside until we figure out a way to stop the demon producing it.”
“Are you seriously considering fighting that thing?”
“Of course. Someone’s gotta be the hero around here. I may be new to this whole demon slaying thing, but I’m no pushover. Check it!”
Dale flashed his arm-blade, pridefully.
"Ouch, doesn't that hurt?"
"Not really. It does get itchy though..."
“Neat, and how is that going to protect you from the mist?”
“Easy, I’ll just kill the bastard before the mist kills me.”
“I see....”
Catherine was unconvinced, but let Dale have his moment.
“What about him?”
“Drifter? I have no idea. He probably has some bullshit immunity.”
“Hey, Catherine!” Drifter called. “Do you own this place or what?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Looks like a Nan’s house.”
“A Nan?”
“You know, a grandmother? You not from here?”
“Oh… well that makes sense. This is my grandparents house.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, there’s a photo of us on the cabinet over there.”
“I didn’t ask, but okay.”
“You wanted proof I wasn’t a demon? Well, there it is.”
“Alright, quit your bitching.”
On the other side of the room was a tall cabinet full of nicknacks, with a photo on the desk.
Drifter examined the photo, shocked to see that Catherine was indeed in it. Different clothes, but same beanie. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, her grandparents looked like typical old folks. If this really was a demon trap, it was the most elaborate trap he’d ever seen.
“They still here?” He asked.
“No… not anymore…”
“Oh god, not the crying again...”
“S-sorry…”
“What happened to them?”
“Car crash…”
“I see… wait.”
It took a second, but Drifter quickly put two and two together.
“You mean?”
“It was about a week ago… we were driving… then the mist suddenly appeared… and then I woke up… and they were gone... this house is all I have left...”
Recounting such painful memories made it impossible for Catherine to hold her tears back.
“For fuck’s sake, Drifter.” Dale criticised. “Could you at least try to consider someone’s else’s feelings for once?
She’s trapped in this house, terrified of the demon lurking out there and she’s still grieving the loss of her family. The last thing she needs is some arsehole throwing accusations around and scaring her.”
“Alright!” Drifter yelled. “I’ll shut up about the demon thing!”
Catherine’s story sounded legit, but Drifter remained skeptical. Normally, demons were reckless and arrogant, luring the ‘stupid humans’ into an obvious ambush, or hid themselves perfectly like professional assassins, but this situation was hard to quantify, leaving Drifter incapable of drawing any solid conclusions.
He looked back at the photo and on closer inspection there was one small, noticeable detail. A tiny white cloth, just barely poking out of her hat. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he took note of it, just in case.
“I’ll be okay.” Catherine assured. “I’m just... gonna go make something to eat. A nice meal will help take my mind off things.”
She headed into the kitchen.
Drifter followed after. “Think I’ll help.”
“You fucking serious?”
“I’m just keeping an eye on her.”
Dale snickered. “Alright, but keep it in your pants.”
His laughter was immediately cut short, via a cushion flung directly at his face.
“Annoying faggot.”
Drifter found Catherine opening her microwave, about to shove in her premade dinner.
“That’s your idea of a nice meal?” He scoffed.
“Shut up. I’m running low as it is. I can’t exactly go shopping with that thing out there.”
“What even is that?”
“It’s… er….”
Catherine wiped the freezer frost from the container, revealing the name underneath.
“Mac an’ Me, Cheese in Me? What the fuck, Grandpa…?”
“You didn’t know what it was?”
“What!? Does that make me a demon now!? Because I couldn’t remember the name of the mac and cheese!?”
“It’s a little suspicious.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
She slammed her dinner into the microwave and angrily set the timer.
“You gotta poke holes in the film first, so it doesn’t explode when cooking.”
“I knew that!” She cried, opening the door, stabbing the film and shoving it back in.
“If you and Dale are hungry, there’s some other shit in there too.”
“It’s not poisoned, is it?”
“What the fuck? It’s frozen! How could I poison it!?”
“I’m sure you’ve got some bullshit demon magic at your disposal.”
“What? The magic to lace microwave dinners?”
“I�
��ve seen weirder.”
“Are you dumb?”
“No, just cautious.”
“Well, could you stop!?”
“That sounds like something a demon would say.”
“What!?”
At this point, Drifter didn’t even care if she was a demon, teasing Catherine was a reward of its own. She was like a stubborn child, flailing at the smart older kids, too stubborn to know when to walk away.
“Are you laughing at me!?” She accused.
“N-no.”
“Yes you are! I can see your dumb grin through your dumb hair.”
“Grin?”
“Have you been making fun of me this whole time?”
“I refuse to comment any further.”
“First you scare the shit out of me and now you’re mocking me!?”
The microwave dinged and Catherine immediately grabbed her food and stormed out of the kitchen.
“You’re an asshole, Drifter.”
The three soon gathered in the living room with their meals. It may have been cheap microwave dinners, but food was food. Still annoyed by Drifter’s immature behaviour, Catherine turned to Dale for conversation instead.
“So, Dale. You’ve been outside the town, has the mist spread very far?” She asked.
“Uhh…. I don’t think so.... We did see a whole bunch of police barricades, though.”
“Fat lot of good that’ll do. Why did you come here in the first place?”
“Drifter got curious and sensed a demon was here, so we came to beat it up.”
“O-oh… okay…”
A surprisingly straightforward answer, as if the two of them weren’t strange enough already. Catherine had never heard of vigilantes going around hunting demons, especially ones with odd powers themselves. She was starting to question their sanity.
“Sounds a little reckless.”
“Hero’s have gotta be a little reckless, sometimes.”
“Hero, huh?”
“Well, I’m still new, but it’s better than my last occupation.”
“What was that?”
“Being homeless.”
“Homeless…!? In the crisis we’re in? How did you survive?”
“In small hotel like rooms, squashed together with other families. Emergency Accommodation, I think they called it. It was cramped, loud and everyone was always fighting over what little resources we could spare.
It got so bad I just ran away from it all. I’d rather risk living on the streets than put up with another second of that constant stress and noise.”
“What about your family?”
“Don’t have one. I spent most of my life being tossed around different care homes. You know, until I eventually left.”
“I see. Guess that makes two of us now.”
“Your grandparents were your only family?”
“Pretty much…”
She mindlessly stirred the remainder of her dinner around on her plate, as a veil of depression fell over her.
“They took me in when no one else could… and now they’re gone… what am I supposed to do now?”
“You’ll be fine.” Drifter suddenly interjected. “You’ll survive on their inheritance alone.”
“That’s not the point! What am I supposed to do, now that they’re gone!?”
“Well, if you don’t think of something, you’ll end up like me.”
“God forbid that ever happens.”
“Exactly. If you don’t get over this, you’ll be trapped in your depressing little world forever. Never making progress, aimlessly whiling away your precious time, until you wake up one day and realise it’s too late to turn back.
The world’s moved on and doesn’t need you anymore.”
“That sounded a little personal. Did you lose someone?”
“I've lost lots of things.”
“Is that why you use that fake name?”
“Who knows?”
“Wait, is Drifter your alias?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know? A straight answer would be real nice right about now.”
"I don’t really remember anything from before the past few years.”
“So, it’s amnesia?”
“I don’t know, I don’t remember.
Sometimes though, I can almost recall some faint memories, but it’s like a subconscious reaction I can’t control, but any friends, family, names and faces, that shit’s completely gone.
Now, I just spend my days wandering the country killing demons. Don’t really have a true identity.”
“That’s… sad… amnesia sounds awful...”
“I’m not so sure it’s amnesia. I don’t know if it’s paranoia or just a gut feeling, but I think someone’s actively fucked with my head.”
“Is that gut feeling what’s kept you going?”
“Nah, I’m just stubborn.
But maybe if I keep moving forward, I’ll finally find something that’ll make all the wandering worth it. Like a purpose.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re memories are so screwed up?” Dale asked.
“Not really. If they’re gone, they’re gone. No emotional baggage weighing me down.”
Catherine looked into her empty plate. She found it difficult to express her feelings towards the strange company she found herself in. Loneliness, misery, a lack of purpose, these were the first relatable people she had met in a long time.
“An amnesiac asshole, a homeless hero and a lost orphan… we’re just a trio of fuck ups, aren’t we?”
In a brief moment of levity, Dale and Catherine awkwardly chuckled to themselves, finding humour in the absurdity of their shared misfortune. Even Drifter smiled a little, until he abruptly became fixated on the window.
With its face pressed against the glass, there stood a tall, skeletal, wrinkled creature, hunched over, peering through the glass. It’s large head with two gaping craters for eyes immediately put Drifter on edge, even to an experienced demon slayer like him, it was beyond unsettling.
Before he had a chance to warn the others of the demon’s presence, the window suddenly burst, as a stream of fog seeped into the room, enveloping it.
“What the fuck was that!?” Dale cried.
“Don’t do anything stupid!” Drifter ordered.
He ran outside to confront the demon, still staring inside the house.
“Finally showed yourself, cunt?” Drifter berated, but to no response.
“Your fart gas might work on most humans, but those cheap gimmicks won’t work on me.”
The demon continued to pay Drifter no mind, leaving him puzzled. Every demon he ever encountered either gained a sadistic pleasure from torturing humans, or were easily insulted children. Regardless, it always ended the same way, their grandiose delusions always lead them to their own demise, but this demon was a disturbing exception.
“What’s this thing’s deal?” He questioned.
Drifter looked inside the house to see what the beast was so occupied with, but all he saw were Dale and Catherine suffocating inside. They didn’t even have the energy to escape through all the coughing.
The fog in the house seemed much thicker than outside, which clued Drifter in, to the monster’s true intent. The demon wasn’t interested in him or his sword. Instead, it seemed to have a sick fascination with watching its victims struggle with the fumes it exhumed, like it was experimenting on how long it would take for the fog to strangle the life out of them.
Drifter jammed a super powered fist straight into the beast’s gut, to try and grab its attention. However, the monster didn’t even notice. Drifter’s fist slipped into its body like it was made of gooey tar. With his fist stuck inside, Drifter quickly flared up his aura to burn the tar off, freeing his hand. The creature’s body reformed with a disgusting, slimy schlick.
“What in the holy hell is this thing?” He thought to himself, having never encountered
a being like it in his life.
The beast turned to face Drifter, standing upright to reveal it’s true, terrifying height, reaching the second storey window of the house. Drifter watched closely, preparing himself for whatever it was trying to pull.
Without breaking its glare, the beast stretched its long arm through the broken window, grabbing the defenseless Catherine by the head. It retracted its arm, dragging her outside and chucked her across the street. Even though Drifter couldn’t see, he heard a loud crash and crumbling debris, she clearly collided with a wall.
Before he could retaliate, the creature disappeared into the mist. With its presence masked by the fog, even Drifter had a hard time figuring out where it was hiding, however he spotted a faint shadow moving away from the house.
He ran into the street, assuming it was going to finish Catherine off, but once he reached the middle of the road, he could no longer hear the beast's movements. It was silent. All Drifter could do was rely on his hearing.
Suddenly, without warning, the beast latched onto to Drifter’s shoulder from behind and with its gaping jaw, bit down like a vice. Luckily, Drifter’s aura always remained active during battle, even if faintly, to protect him from sneak attacks.
The beast tried shaking its head violently to tear off Drifter’s flesh and bone, but accomplished nothing through its struggle.
“Ravenous little shit, aren’t you?” Drifter taunted, as the beast continued to rip into him.
“Alright, fuck off!”
Irritated by the beast’s persistence, Drifter unleashed a burst of white flame from his body. The blast not only threw the beast off his person, but also left half its body a melted mass of tar, leaving it horribly disfigured.
As Drifter was about to deal the finishing blow, the beast hid in the mist once again, forcing him to follow its movements with his ears. It was still hard to envision which direction the beast was scurrying in, he almost lost it completely.
Just when he thought the street had gone silent, Drifter heard an oozing, slithering sound. He immediately realised what was it was doing and swiftly pulled his blade, turned a complete 180 and threw the sword into the ether.
There was a loud, wet thud, confirming he hit his target. Drifter followed the direction of the sound to find the beast with the sword jammed into its back, its spine snapped backwards, facing Drifter from behind. Its cold, empty expression made it impossible to tell if the beast was even in any pain.