The Hunting of Malin
by
Sean Thomas Fisher
Copyright © 2017 by Sean Thomas Fisher
Cover design by Melody A. Pond
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Any doorways to darkness this book may unlock, are purely illusory and part of the reader’s imagination. The author assumes no responsibility for injuries incurred as caution is advised.
Read at your own risk.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Books by Sean Thomas Fisher:
Chapter 33
Inspired by actual events.
Prologue
They say there are many ways an unclean spirit can come into your life. The fuzzy image of a deceased relative appears to you in the middle of the night, watching you sleep and whispering in your ear for you to do violent and dreadful things. Things void of empathy and remorse. The soiled can also enter through the doorway of your own hatred. A hateful heart is like a milk bucket with a hole in its bottom that cannot be filled. The impure seek out those who harbor hatred because such individuals will often commit acts of predatory violence. Prisons, like the one I am on my home from now, are full of these people. As is the daily news. The unholy like to reach out when you are in a difficult place in your life and vulnerable to attack. It may promise to solve your financial problems or health complications if you agree to go with them at the end of your days. It may also want you to promise over your children and, in the end, that choice is yours alone to make.
These abominations would like nothing more than to sweep across the Earth and destroy all of Mankind. An indisputable account of a wretched is found in Mark 5:1-20, where Jesus came upon an unkempt man who wore no clothes and lived in the tombs by the sea in Gadarenes. Not in his right mind, the man wept day and night, cutting himself with jagged stones for no apparent reason at all. The evil in the man knew who Jesus was and begged Him not to torment him. Jesus asked the unblessed, “What is your name?” It replied, “My name is Legion; for we are many.” When He commanded the demon out of this man, the thing begged to be sent into the pigs feeding nearby, and the Savior obliged. Then, without hesitation, the pigs ran to the cliff, fell into the sea and drowned.
Unfortunately, sometimes we must save ourselves from the abomination staring back in a fogged over mirror. From the dark faces pressing against the rain streaked glass. And, other times, from the precious ones we love the most. This was my task and, looking back on it now, I can see just how miserably I failed. When man gives in to his lower being and sinful desires, it will take more than a village to stop the darkness from blooming into bedlam. A village will never be enough. This I now know.
They say there are many ways an unclean spirit can come into your life.
My name is Luna Waterhouse.
For I am few.
Chapter1
Roxanna’s face brightened when Malin ducked beneath the half open gate and stepped inside Couture Club. Unable to stop a smile, she knew Roxanna was just as excited about tonight as she was and that meant a lot. True friends were like that.
“Girl, I hope you waxed.” Dropping a pair of jeans onto a table of shorts, Roxanna folded her tattooed arms across a tiny black dress that couldn’t possibly be any tighter. “You know Sylar’s going to want to go down on you tonight.”
Laughing, Malin went around the bank of cash registers. “Sylar,” she said, locking her purse in a drawer. “Why do I always get stuck with guys who have the worst names? Why can’t I ever meet a nice Brad or Paul?”
“Because Brad and Paul suck in bed, that’s why.” Roxanna leaned against the customer side of the counter, watching Malin sign in to a register. “I once dated a Mike and the guy literally just laid on his back the ENTIRE time. I had put a finger in my own ass.”
“You poor thing.”
Cheerful whistling drew their eyes to the entrance where one of Wolf Creek’s finest strolled past. Tipping a state patrol-style hat to them, the tall drink of water shot Roxanna a coy wink, hand resting on the butt of a nine-millimeter riding his hip. “Mornin, ladies.”
“Hi Cliff,” Roxanna sang back, coiling a blond lock around a finger.
“Not stealing any of those fine jeans today, are we?”
She smiled warmly. “You know I only steal shoes.”
Grinning, he disappeared around the corner of The Cheesecake Factory, crop dusting the place with the sweet scent of Drakkar.
Her smile crumbled. “Oh, my God, I had a dream last night he was nailing me in the storage room.”
Malin stopped tapping at the touch screen and looked up. “What!”
“Yeah, I was trying to reach a box of TOMS on the top shelf when he came up from behind, lifted my dress, pulled my panties to the side and put it in like he owned the damn place.”
“You are so full of it.”
“Oh, I was too, May! It was so big and hot, I had to wake up Wade and made him fuck me silly.”
“Okay, way too much info.” Malin came around the counter and checked her long black hair in a three-way mirror, considering throwing the whole thing in a ponytail. Saturdays were busy and she didn’t want bangs hanging in her face all day but she was having a good hair day and wanted to see it through to tonight.
Sylar!
“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. He is slammin.”
Malin screwed her face up at Roxanna in the glass. “Wade?”
“No, Cliff the mall cop!”
Biting back a smile, she pulled her black tank top up by the straps, corralling her C-cups. “I have never thought about it.”
“Liar!” Checking her watch, Roxanna stomped across the narrow store and shoved the gate all the way up, allowing two teenage girls clad in slippers and sweats inside. Following them like a hawk, Roxanna swung one black boot in front of the other, eyeballing the girls up and down.
“When did these come in?” Malin asked, taking a black choker from a fully stocked rack.
“Yesterday. Guaranteed to get you laid too. Try one on.”
Turning to the mirror, Malin held up her hair. Bangles slid down her wrists in a clatter as she draped a black choker around her neck and studied her reflection for a moment. “I love it.”
“Me too. Throw it in your purse before Sherry gets here,” Roxanna said, diving into her cellphone.
Malin smiled and went back to the registers. “This day is going to drag forever,” she said, ringing up the choker.
Coming behind the counter, Roxanna crossed her arms and studied Malin for a long m
oment, looking her up and down.
Malin shifted in her combat boots, self-consciously tucking her bangs behind an ear. “What are you looking at?”
“What’re you wearing tonight?” Roxanna asked, tapping a toe.
Looking down, Malin’s blue eyes skimmed the skinny jeans strangling her long legs. “This,” she said, not intending for it to come out as a question.
“No, you look like you’re going to a Slipknot concert.” Squishing her lips into the side of her face, she grabbed Malin’s hand and towed her across the store. “We’re going to try out that new club on Court tonight so let’s find you a new outfit!”
Malin glanced at the two girls perusing the tables of stacked jeans and shorts. “Now?”
“Now.” Roxanna stopped at a rack of red summer dresses. “Here, try this one on.”
Sighing, Malin whisked the hanger into a dressing room and peeled out of her clothing before slipping into the silky material. Twisting in the mirror, she imagined Sylar lifting the breezy fabric from behind and throttling her hips with strong hands.
“How we doin?” Roxanna said through the door, jerking her from her deviant thoughts.
Malin came back out and did a quick spin, the hem blooming just above the knees.
She chewed on a red-painted nail. “Wow.”
“Wow, it’s really bad? Or wow, it’s good?”
“Excuse me?”
Turning, Roxanna smiled at the taller teen with blond pigtails and a tiny t-shirt exposing a belly ring. “One second, sweetie.” She looked back to Malin and put a finger to her lips. “Absolutely amazing,” she whispered. “You really need to wear more color.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
“Excuse me, ma’am, do you have this in a size two?”
Roxanna whirled on her heels, fire burning in her eyes. “First of all, Pippi Longstocking, I’m busy helping somebody else right now. And second of all, I’m not your mamma so don’t call me ma’am.”
Slowly lowering the hanger supporting a shiny green top, the girl’s eyes shifted to Malin. “But she works here.”
“So?”
Grumbling, Pippi stormed off, tossing the top onto a table of sandals.
“Oh, and thanks for dressing up for us today, sister friend,” Roxanna shouted. “Love the pajamas!”
Dragging her clone out of the store, pigtails flipped the bird without looking back.
“Twat,” Roxanna muttered under her breath, returning her attention to Malin, who simply arched an eyebrow at her.
“She’s lucky she caught you in a good mood.”
“Tell me about it.” Roxanna pointed at the red dress. “That’s a keeper. Now go stuff it in your purse before Sherry comes in, and don’t forget to remove the security tag.”
Malin rolled her eyes and paid for the dress, removing the tags before hanging it in the office to keep it from getting wrinkled. Lethargy rolled in after lunch and if she had a nickel for every time she checked her watch, she’d have over two bucks by now. She was in the home stretch of a busy shift and the last few hours were always the longest. If she closed her eyes, she could almost taste a brandy old fashioned on her lips. Feel the bar music massaging her muscles. Hear Sylar whispering sweet nothings in her ear. The kind that made a woman blush and grin.
“Hello,” someone said, setting a pair of jeans on the counter and pulling Malin back to retail reality.
Dialing the pretty soccer mom into focus, Malin fought the flush of heat between her legs and forced a smile. “Great choice. I have a pair of these and love them,” she said, clearing her throat and popping the security tags.
Laying a platinum credit card on the counter, the woman spoke in a confessional whisper. “They make my butt look small.” Her lips thinned. “Well, smaller.”
Malin laughed and, in a paralyzing burst of light, fell against the cash register to keep from faceplanting. The image of a blond girl’s mutilated body was so real, it felt like Malin was there with the crickets chirping in the bushes and trees. The gruesome picture flickered in and out, making it look like the dead girl was moving. But she wasn’t. The woods around her were just as quiet and dark as the fear nailing Malin’s combat boots to the tiled floor behind the counter. Flies buzzed around a jagged gash in the blonde’s throat and Malin could almost feel the warm, sticky blood on her fingertips. Could almost hear the girl’s frantic cries for help just before death stole her last breath. Skin cracked and bloated, it looked like something had been gnawing on her legs in places. Something carnivorous. The bloody noose cinched around her neck devastated Malin from the inside out, and the twisted look etched into the girl’s ashen face was something she would never forget. A frozen snapshot of unadulterated horror. Malin wanted to yell for help but couldn’t find her voice. Everything was stuck. A gust of wind swept through the treetops above, exposing the silhouette of a water tower looming in the distance. Her heart thrashed against her ribcage, breath uneven and fast, a sliver of recognition coming and going with the moonlight flickering through the leaves. Malin was as helpless as the dead girl staring back through unblinking eyes and terrible things like this don’t happen in Cottage Grove. Legs turning to rubber, her mind raced. What is happening? And what happened to this poor girl? So much blood. Flies landed.
Someone moved.
It was the pretty soccer mom staring at Malin from the other side of the counter. The one desperately clinging to her youth by shopping at Couture Club. Staring through the fog between them, Malin could barely see her red lips moving. What was she saying? Malin didn’t know. She couldn’t feel the cash register beneath her sweaty palms anymore, the one keeping her from falling flat on her face. The only thing she could feel was the panic rising inside like molten lava.
“Miss? Hello?” The woman gestured with the platinum card and it sounded like she was talking underwater.
Malin stared back, unable to make out her features. It was like a funeral veil dropped between them, turning her into nothing more than an impatient shadow. But Malin didn’t have time for ringing up designer jeans that were way too tight for somebody’s mother because the dead girl’s skin was so white from blood loss and Malin couldn’t grab that AmEx if she wanted to. Her body wouldn’t move. It was like she just plugged into someone else’s dream.
No.
Someone else’s nightmare.
The soccer mom’s forehead wrinkled behind the black veil. “Miss, are you okay?”
If Malin could have responded, she would’ve told the lady she was anything but okay because thanks to the bloody noose cinched around the girl’s torn neck, nothing was okay about any of this. Malin couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Somebody help! Flies buzzed and landed, the smell of pennies permeating the air. Someone shook Malin’s arm and the vision was so real, she thought it was the dead girl latching onto her for help, digging broken nails into Malin’s creamy skin.
“Malin?”
Her arm shook harder and Malin wanted to pull away from the corpse’s bony grasp but nothing worked.
“May?” The voice came again from down a long, dark tunnel.
Faintly, she recognized the worried tone in her boss’ voice but Malin didn’t have time for a meeting about superior customer service right now. Couldn’t Sherry see there was a dead girl lying somewhere in the woods? Couldn’t Sherry see the way her legs bent behind her at awkward angles? Couldn’t she see all that blood?
Air rushed back into Malin’s lungs in an ear clearing pop, bringing the color back into her cheeks and the store into focus.
“Malin, what’s wrong?” It was Sherry again and now she had both hands on Malin’s shoulders, steadying her on her feet.
Bubbly conversation and the store’s music grew louder as Malin sipped at the air around her, the veil slowly lifting like a late morning fog, exposing the worried lines pressed into the soccer mom’s face. Malin turned to Sherry, who had the same damn look stamped into her mug. A fly drew Malin’s eyes, buzzing between t
hem and landing on the cash register, spiking her adrenaline. “I have to go,” she said, swiping at a teardrop streaming over the apple on her cheek.
Watching Malin grab her purse from the drawer, Sherry’s managerial demeanor crumbled in a landslide. “Go? Go where?”
Malin hiked the purse strap up her shoulder, bangles sliding down a wrist in a clatter, and steadied herself against the counter. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel well,” she panted, pushing past her boss and rocketing out of the store without looking back. Putting her head down, she barreled through the languid throng of shoppers, second-guessing the move by the time she reached her car on the outskirts of the sunbaked lot. It was scorching inside the Miata, heated by the June sun, and Malin barely noticed. Dropping her face into her trembling hands, she broke down and cried. Panic tightened inside her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She pulled her face away and tried to relax, not seeing any of the meandering cars through the windshield. Instead, she saw a flash of the dead girl’s pretty smile, the one plastered all over the TV and internet. Then it was gone. Blinking back into the car, something registered in Malin’s eyes. The dead girl in the woods with a water tower standing in the distance was the girl they were looking for on the news. This, somehow, Malin knew. Just like she knew what day it was or where to find the best margaritas in town.
“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, starting the car. “Not to me.” Putting the ragtop back, she exhaled a decisive breath. There was only one way to find out if Holly Banner was actually lying dead in Mortimer Woods or if Malin Waterhouse was crazier than a shoeshine in a shit-storm. Throwing it in gear and peeling out of the sprawling lot, she honked at a bumbling minivan before driving south with the late afternoon sun hot on her face.
Chapter2
The bar’s air-conditioning felt good against her slick skin. The air hadn’t worked in the Miata since she bought it from some sweet elderly couple three years ago, and Malin didn’t care. At the time, she was certain the Craigslist ad was an elaborative hoax designed to lure her to her tragic and untimely death. But a 1993 convertible at that price was worth risking her life over. No risk, no reward.
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