Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: The Varcolac's Diary

by D. C. McGannon

  After surviving another day at school, including an incident- free yet fairly painful dose of Mrs. Pinkerly’s class, Charlie dutifully hoisted his backpack and walked to detention.

  Detention was held in the library, which was on the other side of the school. To students, the library always seemed to be on the other side of the school, no matter which side you were on. Teens throughout the ages had often suspected the school’s designers had purposely laid the library off toward the far end of Limbo. That purgatorial walk to the library‌—‌and detention‌—‌ therefore took on the name “The Eternal Walk of Mortal Penance,” or “The Penance Walk,” for short.

  As Charlie walked along, a hall window caught his eye. He looked, seeing the Towers at Hunter’s Key looming over the clouds. He frowned at the window. It wasn’t helping his day.

  Although Charlie had managed to stay focused enough to avoid the attention of his teachers, only one thing had really occupied his mind today: Hunter’s Key. The possible connection between the mansion and the disappearances was too likely. And what of his dreams, which the Key haunted relentlessly?

  Charlie did not know what it was, but something weird was going on with that place, and he needed to find out. It was more than a curiosity. It was something necessary to life, like breathing. Feeling a little crazy for thinking it, Charlie knew it was all connected‌—‌the Key, the missing people, his insomnia.

  But then again, most people would pass it off as coincidence. Superstition.

  Charlie shook the thoughts from his mind, pulling the strap of his bag tighter, and hurried along The Penance Walk.

  The tall oak doors of the library appeared, and so tired was he of walking, Charlie jogged the rest of the way there‌…‌only to be reprimanded by Mrs. Nutterwicke, the librarian.

  “Charlie Sullivan!” she reproached from behind her desk. “No running in the hall. You should know that, young man!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Charlie said, sheepishly.

  He handed her the detention slip with a smile. As far as the school staff went, Mrs. Nutterwicke wasn’t too bad. She was nice, if a little strict and eccentric.

  “Caught woolgathering again?” asked Mrs. Nutterwicke, peering over her half-moon spectacles. The faintest hint of a smile touched her thin lips.

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “Alright, then. Head on over there. You’ll have company today, at the least.”

  Charlie walked across the creaky wood floor, past rows of bookshelves that stood like somber guardians. He had been here before‌—‌often enough, to his dismay‌—‌and knew where he was going. But he paused when he reached the desk chairs facing the town’s most infamous, most boring brown wall. Someone else was indeed there.

  Tentatively, Charlie chose a seat two chairs away from Nash Stormstepper.

  “Hey,” he said, trying to be friendly.

  Nash turned to look at him, but said nothing. Charlie got the hint. With nothing better to do, he stared at the brown wall.

  Several generations before him had been forced to stare at this very wall. He had heard horror stories about it from his father, and he had lived more than his share of them. Already, the terrible boredom was setting in.

  This is going to be one very long hour, Charlie thought.

  The Chief of Assistants fussed and fumed as quietly as he could manage, hoping the humans walking on the street would not notice. Occasionally, he would peer out from behind the dumpster to make sure no one was coming.

  In front of him, the contents of his sack were poured out in a scattered mess, most unlike any in the Dark Prince’s circle of Assistants, especially not the Chief of Assistants. The leather sack itself he wrung between long, thin hands.

  If you were fortuitous enough to see him, you might say the Chief of Assistants looked like a little, grayish-green devil, nix the horns and pitchfork. He really did not look menacing, except for his razor-sharp teeth and black eyes that furrowed deep beneath a swollen, crevassed brow. A few strands of wiry hair dotted his otherwise bald and beady head.

  And despite his ghastly appearance, he was very regal looking, with his Chief of Assistant robes and a constant air of authority.

  Today, however, the Chief of Assistants was not regal. He was pathetic, beside himself.

  He was terrified, in fact.

  The master’s diary was no longer in his sack. It was lost! It was lost, and he had to find it! And if he didn’t find it‌…‌well….

  He felt his master begin to enter his mind, encroaching upon his thoughts. It was like having someone open your skullcap and rummage through your brain.

  The Chief of Assistants scrunched his eyes and mentally recited ancient words, beating his head against the wall in concentration. The resulting headache only made things worse.

  Suddenly, the master’s presence in his mind left abruptly, and the Chief of Assistants collapsed onto the ground. There would be repercussions, of course, for keeping secrets from the Dark Prince.

  But it would be much more horrible if he could not find the diary.

  The Chief of Assistants stood up, sack still wrung between his hands. His face a mask of abject horror, he stared at all of his tools scattered before him, not really looking at them.

  He had to find the diary. The master’s plans hinged upon it. And now, the Chief of Assistant’s life depended on it.

  Thinking quickly, with the intense motivation of self-preservation, the Chief of Assistants retraced his steps. He had come from the woods, right beside the old Hunters’ castle and into the town.

  Next had been the human gassing station, where humans filled their metal carriages with that acrid liquid. The Chief of Assistants had trouble deciding whether to mark the tall man human with the giant truck-thing or the woman human with her metal carriage-load of human friendlings.

  From there he scouted the single radio-wave tower for tomorrow’s Collection. Then he had watched humans go in and out of the convenience store, which was also some sort of food-place, he knew.

  The master’s appetite had been increasing with the rituals. Humans were acting more suspicious, which made the Chief of Assistant’s job all the harder.

  Lastly he had gone to the school, where children had just started to arrive. The idea of marking a fledgling sickened the Chief of Assistants‌—‌even if it was human‌—‌but he dared not disobey the master. His master needed a young one’s blood for the Ritual‌—‌the final and most important step of the Ritual.

  And then he had come to the middle of the town area, when he had realized that the master’s diary wasn’t with him.

  The Chief of Assistants dried his large eyes on his robe and, sniffling, repacked his sack with great care. He clambered up on the dumpster-thing and climbed onto the roof of the building, setting off in the direction of the gassing station first. He had completed his official task for the day, and Hunter’s Grove would soon be a few degrees colder for it. Now he had to find that diary‌…‌and quickly. His master would be calling soon.

  After ten minutes, Charlie couldn’t handle it much longer. And he was supposed to sit there for an hour?

  He glanced over at Nash, who had his arms crossed, leaning back leisurely in his desk chair, the front legs a few inches off the floor.

  “So what did they get you for?” asked Charlie.

  “What?”

  “You know, detention. What happened?”

  Nash’s jaw muscle twitched, but he didn’t answer.

  “I saw you in Adams’ office. Looked like they had the wrong guy.”

  “They did have the wrong guy,” Nash said, setting his chair down roughly. “And if goody-two-shoes Darcy Witherington had kept her nose to herself, Wickles would have been mashed to a pulp, and I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  “So Wickles started the fight?”

  “Uh,” Nash faltered, “yeah. Well, I threw the first punch actually. But he deserved it.”

  Charlie raised an eyebrow.

  “
Wickles was loud-mouthing off about‌…‌well… He was talking about the missing people. You know.”

  “I do.” Charlie nodded slowly and sadly. It was one of Donnie Wickle’s ways of getting attention‌—‌or a fight.

  Nash continued. “This time, it was about Bobby Muldor. Saying he was just another dim wit who got lost in the woods. And then he started talking about Mrs. McBranson.”

  He did not need to elaborate. Most people knew Nash Stormstepper helped Mrs. McBranson around town from time to time. They went to the monthly pay-per-view Mixed Martial Arts fights televised at Tavern’s. He would help her with everything from groceries to repairing her old house. In return, she taught him martial arts. She was an odd woman, with tastes odder still, which made Nash love her all the more.

  “Oh. You were friends with Mrs. McBranson, weren’t you?”

  Nash nodded silently. Today, they would have been going over kickboxing. He stared at the brown wall as if it had suddenly become very interesting.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” said Charlie. “You know why Donnie talks about the missing people like that?”

  “I know why. Doesn’t make it alright, though. I just shut Wickles’ mouth for him, since he wouldn’t. I guess this is worth it,” he added, gesturing vaguely to the wall and the desk chairs.

  “Can’t say I blame you.”

  “I just wish I knew what happened to them all,” Nash continued, half to himself. “It’s not like a kidnapper could hide out in Hunter’s Grove. Too many people like to talk in this town. And who would want to kidnap Mrs. McBranson?”

  Charlie stiffened in his seat. He thought again about the Key, thought about sharing his theory. But he did not want Nash to think he was a crazy person. Or, worse, superstitious.

  He coughed. “Well….”

  Nash eyed him. “What?”

  “There is one way to hide in Hunter’s Grove.”

  “Yeah? How’s that?”

  “Hunter’s Key.”

  Nash frowned and nodded for a few seconds, chewing over this theory.

  “Hunter’s Key. That actually makes sense….”

  “There’s a black car that drives up there. I’ve seen it, always coming from Certifus street and turning onto Frederickson. And it’s not the mayor’s car.”

  Nash sat back, and for a moment there was silence. Then he stood.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “We’re in detention,” said Charlie.

  “I’m in detention because of an idiot and a brat. I’ve got better things to do.”

  “Well, what’re you going to do?”

  “I think you might be right,” Nash said with a sigh. “About Hunter’s Key, I mean. So I’m going to check it out.”

  “Well then,” said Charlie, standing up, “I’ll go with you.”

  Nash crossed his arms. “No.”

  “It was my idea.”

  “You can’t go with me. I’m always in trouble with someone, whether it’s my fault or not. You hang around, the same will happen to you.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in detention, too. Look, I need this‌…‌I need to know what’s happening in Hunter’s Key.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Charlie rubbed his arm. He wasn’t about to reveal his reoccurring nightmares about the Key. “It’s just something I need to do, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go with me.”

  “Fine,” said Charlie. He was a little hurt, but he tried to hide it. “Then I’ll figure it out on my own.”

  The two stood there awkwardly before Charlie nodded, and then they went separate ways.

  This is a library, Charlie thought, there should be some books on Hunter’s Key somewhere.

  He tried to ignore Nash walking away as he found the direction he wanted to go, and took the first step to learning the truth behind Hunter’s Key.

  Desperation was starting to set in. The Chief of Assistants had gone from the gassing station back to the radio wave tower, which had been difficult in broad daylight. His master’s diary was in neither place.

  Now, he skulked thoroughly around the roof of the food-place, looking around the small metal chimney. He even tried to look into the chimney, but nearly had his face burned off from a sudden poof of hot steam.

  (Tavern was at this moment preparing for the small dinner rush, and knew nothing of his roof-dwelling guest.)

  Scratching at his bald head with long fingers, the Chief of Assistants whimpered and surrendered to the fact that it wasn’t there. Only two more places to search. He looked around the horizon for the next stop, finding the school’s steeple.

  The sun was sinking. Sick with worry, he began to run.

  Charlie scoured the bookshelves, very careful to stay away from Mrs. Nutterwicke’s desk. He kept a close eye on his watch, praying he would get back to his seat before she came to announce detention was over. If he was caught sneaking around the library now, Principal Adams would suspend him for sure.

  Still, this was something Charlie had to do.

  The library was full of newer, more modern books like fiction paper backs and hard covers, but it also had classic literature‌—‌required reading for several classes. Then there were other books, books that Charlie had never paid attention to before. This was the section he was looking for: the Hunter’s Grove history and records section. He dove into one aisle and started searching, trailing his fingers along dusty spines.

  These bookshelves were old; he could tell by rough, aged wood. Most of the books had cracked leather covers, though some were so old they didn’t even have covers anymore. What books he took off the shelves came out with a trail of stagnant dust following in the air behind them.

  Charlie put them back, unsatisfied. None of the books seemed to be about Hunter’s Key, but they covered other aspects of the town’s history. If anything, this told Charlie he was close.

  A shadowy figure passed by the bookshelves, startling Charlie. His heart pumped faster, and what arm hair he had stood in gooseflesh.

  Charlie almost called out. But then, he was supposed to be sitting in detention.

  That, and the unknown figure prowling the library, scared him.

  Charlie inched his way forward until he came to the end of the bookshelves. Before him was a rough stone wall, which meant he could only go right or left. From where he stood, peeking around the corner of the aisle, both directions seemed endless‌—‌endless, silent, eerie.

  Despite his fear, Charlie went left, the same direction the shadowy figure had been going. Immediately, he saw Nash standing in the next aisle over. Charlie almost laughed in relief.

  Almost.

  Nash was facing away from Charlie, shoulders tensed. In front of him stood two figures, dressed in white and black. Charlie quickly noted that Nash and the Vadiknov twins seemed to be in a standoff of some sort.

  “I need that book,” Nash said, pointing to a large, black book that Lisa Vadiknov had barely pulled off the shelf. It was still halfway wedged among the other books, its spine gripped by her pale fingers.

  The twins shared an almost telepathic look before turning back to Nash.

  “Sorry,” said Liev Vadiknov. He carried a stack of books already in his arms. “We need it, too. Not to worry, though! We’ll put it back in just a few days, and you can have it then.” He flashed his whitest, most friendly smile.

  Charlie glanced at his watch. He was running out of time, and so was Nash. Slowly, he approached the others, catching the title of the book as Lisa finished pulling it off the shelf.

  HUNTER’S KEY: The Legendary Beginnings of and Strange Histories of the Castle on the Hill.

  Exactly what he was looking for.

  Lisa saw Charlie first. She squinted her black lined eyes, glaring between him and Nash suspiciously.

  “Hey,” said Charlie, “I kind of need to see it, too. Maybe all of us could s
it down somewhere and take turns?”

  Nash turned, surprised, then angry.

  “Have you been following me?”

  “No! Honest. I think we just had the same idea in mind, which makes me think we should be working together.”

  Nash grunted, unimpressed.

  “So what about it?” Charlie asked the twins. “It’s really important.”

  Lisa tucked the book firmly under her arm.

  “No can do,” said Liev politely.

  Nash took a step forward, fists clenched, but Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. He pointed to his watch, and Nash understood. They were out of time.

  Nash gave in and backed away with Charlie. They nodded to the twins, who nodded solemnly back, before running back to the detention wall.

  The twins looked at each other.

  “What was that about?” wondered Lisa.

  “Not sure. That was Nash Stormstepper, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but who was the other guy?”

  “Charlie Sullivan, I think. He’s the one always getting on Mrs. Pinkerly’s bad side.”

  “Ah. Poor guy.”

  The twins walked back to check out their books.

  “You don’t think they have anything to do with the disappearances?” Lisa asked.

  “Doubt it. They’re just two bored teens. Rather like us, I’d imagine.”

  Lisa frowned at her brother. “Looks can be deceiving. They seemed to know something. Especially Charlie.”

  Liev nodded, scratching his chin on the top book in his stack.

  “We’ll watch them, then.”

  Meanwhile, Nash and Charlie were, not too quietly, scrambling to get back to their seats. Charlie did not know if Nash was close to suspension, too, but by the desperate look on his face, Charlie would say it was a positive bet that Nash was.

  What neither of them knew was that the twins were unwittingly delaying Mrs. Nutterwicke with their large check out.

  So, when Mrs. Nutterwicke did come, Charlie and Nash were sitting at their desks dutifully staring at the horrid brown wall of eye-watering insipidity, with their hands folded on desks like the most angelic students.