American Demon Hunters_An Urban Fantasy Supernatural Thriller

by J. Thorn

  He recognized the mistake long after it was too late to do anything about it. He turned to apologize to Fred and Martha, but the Gaki was already moving, brushing Hank aside and knocking him to the floor. A gash opened in the side of his head. The world shuddered beneath his feet as his head felt as heavy as a cinder block.

  Lisander took a swing at the Gaki with the baseball bat she had leaning against the wall. The creature took the blow on the side of the head and laughed. It sounded like the frantic bark of a rabid dog. The Gaki swatted at Sonya, connecting with the side of her face and knocking her to the ground, then stopped in front of Fred and Martha while Corey remained frozen.

  “This is our realm and you will surrender it to us.”

  Fred pushed Martha back in an instinctual, defensive move. The Gaki’s razor-sharp teeth were into Fred’s neck and blood spurted before the old man had time to cry out. He turned and extended his hand to Martha, sealing the pact they made the day before. Martha’s eyes met Hank’s as the Gaki’s mouth ripped her skin open next. As Fred and Martha lay on the ground, facing each other with blood pumping out around them, the Gaki bent down and licked at it. It stood up, its face covered in blood.

  Corey’s face twisted and he closed his eyes, hoping to erase the image of his grandparents dying on the floor. He shook his head, trying to forget the way his mother turned into a hellish fiend. Corey stumbled backward until he rested against the wall. He shot a glance at the portal, hoping Dr. Singleton would return with a weapon to kill the Gaki forever.

  Hank stood and the Gaki turned. The demon approached him with long, loping strides. Hank shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium while processing the violent scene before him.

  “And now our time has come,” the Gaki said.

  Hank swayed, a trickle of blood running down from his hairline as if he were sweating life’s precious fluid. Corey stepped over Dr. Lisander, who was unconscious on the floor.

  “Wait,” Corey said.

  The sound of his son’s actual voice helped keep Hank from passing out. He smiled, his eyes rolling up into his head before he reached out with both arms to catch his balance.

  “Don’t you take my dad.”

  The Gaki, no longer a shred of Michelle inside it, turned to look at the boy. The blood-caked grin was still on the demon’s face, but a flicker of doubt crept into its eyes.

  “I take whatever the fuck I want to take.”

  “Not tonight. Not from this Order. I’m the new hunter.”

  “Corey, dear. Listen to your mother,” the Gaki said, its voice soft and measured.

  Corey tilted his head sideways, the words a strange mix of attraction and revulsion.

  “That’s not your mom,” Hank said. “That’s not her.”

  “I love you, Corey. Come here and give me a hug.”

  Corey stepped forward with his arms dropped, his eyes glassed over.

  “Don’t. God, please don’t,” Hank said, the words caught in his throat like cotton on barbed wire. He wanted to reach out and grab his son and keep him from walking into the arms of hell. But Corey kept walking as if mesmerized by the Gaki’s evil aura.

  “That’s it, honey. Come here.”

  Corey took one final step bringing him face to face with the Gaki. He paused, closed his eyes and mentally communicated with his father. Corey’s voice reverberated inside of Hank’s head as if it were broadcast from a loud radio.

  I got this, Dad.

  The Gaki reached with both spindly arms to grasp Corey’s neck when the boy ducked. He came up with his right hand, a twelve-inch hunting knife in his fist. Corey lunged upward and felt the blade slice into the spongy, soft belly of the demon. The creature roared and tried to pull back, but Corey shoved the knife deeper until his elbow was buried inside of the Gaki’s guts. The slimy blood on his hands and the smell of rotten, raw fat made Corey retch.

  Hank stumbled backward. Sonya raised her head in time to see the Gaki fall to his knees. Corey yanked the blade free and then drew it across the demon’s neck. A thin line appeared and dark, syrupy blood oozed from the wound.

  Corey stepped back and let the Gaki fall face first to the floor. Hank scrambled to his knees behind Corey, near Sonya. The portal flared, producing a yellow flash. Hank recoiled from the light. It felt like warm, raw sewage. An unseen force grabbed the Gaki by the feet and dragged it back through the portal. It then contracted, closing like the iris of a gigantic eye embedded in the wall of the observatory. With a final burst of yellow light, the portal closed, leaving only the wall and its death maps.

  Corey dropped the knife and bent down to check on Sonya and his father. Hank winced and wiped blood from his face while Sonya put an arm around Corey. She pulled him in tight and kissed the top of his head.

  “You’re a brave young man,” she said. “You saved us.”

  “Not all of us,” Corey said.

  Hank’s eyes went white and wide.

  “You spoke,” he said.

  Sonya put a hand on Corey’s shoulder and then nodded at Hank.

  “Son. I don’t know what to say.”

  Corey ignored his father and looked at the bodies of his grandparents, the spreading pool of maroon beneath them. He turned to the wall where the portal had closed, taking Dr. Singleton and then the Gaki into another dimension, some other world.

  Hank slid over and put his arm around Corey and Sonya. “We did the best we could. I should have never—”

  “Don’t, Dad. You did what you did out of love for me and for Mom.”

  “And I got others killed doing it,” Hank said.

  “Those in the Order know the risks and they accept it,” Sonya said.

  Hank nodded and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath.

  “Now what?” Hank asked.

  “We need to gather our things, pay honor to the bodies of Fred and Martha. We have a long night ahead of us,” Sonya said.

  “What do we do first?” Hank asked.

  “We stand up,” she said.

  Corey stood and helped the doctor and his father to their feet. The three of them stood beneath the dome. Hank looked up into the sky where the Orion constellation stood guard over the heavens. As if hearing an unspoken question, Corey answered.

  “The Gakis, the demons. They’re all gone,” he said. “There won’t be any more coming through this portal tonight. I don’t feel that power any longer.”

  Chapter 45

  Six Months Later (June 11, 2015)

  Sonya pulled the tape dispenser across the top of the box, sealing the dinnerware inside. She stacked it near the door. Hank walked over and placed the box in the back of the moving truck.

  Corey, who was unfolding the moving blankets, wiped a bead of sweat from his face.

  “How many more, Dad?”

  “Sonya?” Hank asked. “How many more?”

  “Maybe another ten or eleven,” she said.

  Hank relayed the message to Corey and paused to take a sip of his iced tea. He didn’t think it would be possible to sell Fred and Martha’s house and empty it. They had so many memories and mementos, each one more difficult to pack or throw away.

  Hank saw Michelle everywhere and when he didn’t, he saw Fred and Martha. It was not an easy decision, but they couldn’t stay in Cleveland and there was nobody else to close up the Siszak’s estate.

  Although Sonya was cleared of the drug charges, thanks to the security camera footage implicating Johnny Jackson, Hank did not get his job back at the university.

  What few boxes weren’t being delivered to the estate sale would end up with them, on their way out of state and to a new life.

  “Whatcha thinkin’?” Sonya asked. She appeared next to Hank while he daydreamed and caught him off guard.

  “Nothing,” he said, putting his arm around her and kissing her on the lips. “Nothing worth talking about, doc.”

  She punched him in the arm and smiled.

  “Are things set here?” Hank asked.

 
; “Yes. I’ve contacted a few of George’s colleagues and they’ve already started regular surveillance on the observatory. They’ve also confirmed that our clothes and weapons have been cleansed by the Order and then buried.”

  “Corey said those physical items were tainted,” Hank said. “He felt like it was important to make sure nobody ever touched them.”

  “I know. Its just weird leaving everything. I guess we can’t destroy the portals or ensure they stay closed forever, but we can guard them.”

  Hank winced as a pang of guilt hit him in the stomach. They had not heard from Singleton. By all accounts, he was gone.

  The university didn’t pursue it and the police never investigated. Hank thought George must have left secret instructions on what to do if this type of thing occurred during a summoning.

  The local press never knew it happened.

  Hank looked past Sonya to see what Corey was doing inside the truck.

  “Corey,” he said.

  “What, Dad?” Corey asked.

  “You almost ready for dinner?”

  “Yeah, almost.”

  Hank turned back to Sonya and could not look away. She had her hair bunched on top of her head and her tank top and shorts revealed a tan, tone body. Hank didn’t think he’d ever love another woman after Michelle. It was not easy for him to bury his wife and he mourned the Siszaks like his own parents. He knew it would take years of therapy before he could deal with the emotions surrounding their deaths and the role he played.

  Sonya helped, but Hank knew their romantic relationship changed their doctor/patient one. Six months was barely enough time to begin the healing and there were many questions left. But Hank wasn’t quite ready for that yet. For now, he’d accept Sonya into his life and hope she could help heal Corey too.

  “Good. We’re going to head out and get some dinner. Might be one of our last times in Cleveland. Maybe Little Italy?”

  “You two go,” Corey said. “Bring me back something. I want to text a few of my friends tonight.”

  Sonya tugged on Hank’s arm.

  “C’mon. Let Corey say goodbye to his friends.”

  Hank smiled and walked to the passenger side of Sonya’s car.

  COREY WAVED AS THEY drove down Mayfield Road toward Presti’s, their favorite Italian restaurant. When the car turned the corner, Corey sat on the porch and pulled his phone out. He flipped through his apps, went past the text messenger and tapped the maps app.

  Corey knew he had chosen the right city. Their new home was close to another portal. He would need to set up an Order and establish a core group of guardians. Using his intuition and his emerging special abilities, he felt the portal probing, seeking another place to open and exploit. It would appear again soon. Corey hoped a portal would never open again. But he knew better.

  Epilogue

  Hank turned on to a gravel drive with no street sign or marking. His maps app had taken him deep into the countryside, his phone signal now barely powerful enough to get him to the cabin. Once he drove beneath the massive oak trees dangling over the driveway, the remaining bars on his phone disappeared.

  Sonya wanted him to talk to someone in the Order and Corey had gone along with the plan. The two had cornered him in a booth, in a diner somewhere east of Harrisburg on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Sonya brought it up, and Corey nodded. Hank didn’t need telepathic abilities to know the two had been talking about him.

  But they were right. The ordeal at the observatory—Fred and Martha’s passing, the disappearance of Singleton into the portal. It had all left Hank hazy as if he was trying to maneuver through a foggy landscape while everyone else went on with life beneath a crystal-clear sky.

  The early summer day had yet to heat up, forcing a shiver from Hank when he stepped out of the rental car and stepped up to the front porch of the cabin. Moss grew on the wood shake, and the single window to the right of the door had been glazed over by cobwebs and neglect. He raised his hand to knock, a force of habit when the door opened.

  An old man stood before Hank, a John Deere ball cap on his head. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a rolled newspaper in the other. The man’s filthy skin matched the encrusted dirt on his overalls.

  “You must be Hank.”

  “And you must be...” Hank trailed off, realizing he had never been given a name. “A Hunter.”

  “Ha,” the old man said before taking a sip from his cup. “Been a long time since I did any of that. C’mon in.”

  Hank entered the cabin, and the warm aroma of fresh ground coffee hovered just above the stench of rotting wood. Stacks of newspapers lined the walls, leaving a single opening that led into a kitchenette. Two armchairs and a coffee table sat in the middle of the room.

  “Coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” Hank said. The coffee smelled incredible, but the look of the room turned his stomach upside down. Hank thought he saw something gray and fuzzy run into a corner. “When are we going to start?”

  “We already have.”

  The old man walked to one of the chairs and sat down, blasting a cloud of dust mites into the room. Hank wrinkled his nose before sitting in the chair opposite of the old man.

  “So?” Hank asked.

  “Sonya is worried about you. She thinks you’re fragile.”

  Hank raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I’ve been through a lot lately.”

  “All of you have.” The old man chuckled and leaned in. “But only you are here.”

  Hank waited, wondering whether the man was making an observation or asking a loaded question.

  “I’m too old to get Hunters in physical shape, but the Order knows I’m still one tough son of a bitch up here.” The old man used a gnarled finger to tap his right temple. “You, your son, the blond woman. You got some work to do for the Order. Some fighting. And I need to tighten up your head, so to speak.”

  Hank sat back and put his hands in the air. If Sonya and Corey felt he needed training, he would oblige for them. But what could this old fart possibly—

  The bolt of energy shot into Hank’s head so quickly that he wasn’t able to finish his thought. The cabin vaporized and left him in a room full of demons. Some had wings and looked like dragons while others wore long, thin faces like the abominations he had already seen climb from a portal. The creatures hissed and spat, and Hank felt his bladder twinge. And then just as suddenly, the demons disappeared and the cabin returned, the old man still sitting across from Hank but now wearing a wide grin.

  “If you don’t spend a few days here with me, training your mind, you’ll never be able to face those things out there. Sonya knew it, and so did your boy. Now you know it, too.”

  Hank nodded and wiped a tear from one eye. He looked to the kitchenette and then back to the old man.

  “I think I’ll take that cup of coffee now.”

  The old man nodded. “A new portal is opening. I think I’d better put on an extra pot.”

  Click here: http://jthorn.net/optin/adh.htm

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank all the beta readers who read an early and ugly version of this story, including The Essay Butler, Jonathan Cohler, Josh, Michelle N Cloud, Warren L., Kelby Jones, Merine Tilloch, Christine Winsor, Jason Primer, Stephanie Needleson, alexmaxs, Denise Brown, Kelvinking, Kimberly Schimmel, Mriga, Natalie K Mintz, Ava Mallory, Jennifer, Niyati Mavinkurve, Hillary, R S Denhere, Mika, and Janet Beckford.

  I would also like to thank the members of the Keepers who also read a draft of the manuscript, including Abbie, Katy, Robert, Mary, Brandy, Bonnie, David, Kat, and Dean.

  I'm thankful to Stephan A. Schwartz for answering my questions about consciousness and non-local perception. I tried to keep my science authentic.

  And finally dear reader, I'd like to thank you for taking this journey with me. If you enjoyed the book please leave a review. It can be brief and written in a few minutes. Authors depend on reviews from readers like you.

  Other wor
ks from J. Thorn

  Get more demons at http://americandemonhunters.com

  Browse the entire J. Thorn catalog at http://jthorn.net/books/.

  About the Author

  HEALED BY THE WRITTEN word

  Want a story that's rooted in a fundamental aspect of being human?

  I believe reading dark fiction can be healing. My overriding mission is to connect with you through my art, and I hope to inspire you to do the same. I’m a word architect and driven visionary. I’m obsessed with heavy metal, horror films and technology. And I admire strong people who are not afraid to speak their mind.

  I grew up in an Irish Catholic, working class family and was the first to go to college. I didn't have expensive toys, so I used my own imagination for entertainment. And then I abused alcohol for entertainment. I spent the first thirty years of my life convincing myself I wasn’t an addict and the last ten worrying about all the potential threats the substances hid from me.

  Anxiety and depression are always hiding in the corner, waiting to jump me when I start to feel happiness.

  I had to break through family programming and accept the role of the black sheep. In my 30s I started writing horror and formed a heavy metal band while my family rolled their eyes, sighed and waited for the “phase” to end.

  I spent years paralyzing myself with self-loathing and criticism, keeping my creativity smothered and hidden from the rest of the world. I worked a job I hated because that’s what Irish Catholic fathers do. They don’t express themselves, they pay the damn mortgage. I may have left my guilt and faith behind long ago, but the scars remain.

  My creativity is my release, my therapy and my place to work through it all. I haven't had a drink in a long time, but the anxiety and depression are always lurking. Writing novels and songs keeps it at bay. I scream over anxiety with my microphone and I turn my guitar up loud enough to drown out the whispers of self-doubt.