I shot the human host with a gun loaded with silver bullets. Kowalski was right about one thing: religious artifacts only focus the natural gifts of certain hunters.
It takes a “modest gifting,” to use Kowalski’s words.
And the passion of the bereaved.
I’ve written this account to try and document these events, to tell the story from the viewpoint of someone who lived it. My time is limited. I know.
My Book arrived in the mail the other day.
It came in a plain brown envelope with no return address and no sender. I’ve left it sealed inside a safe deposit box at a bank in upstate New York. I haven’t opened the Book. I know what’s inside. I’m afraid I won’t have the strength not to look at the last page.
I didn’t know what to expect, but my father did, damn him. The old bastard must have known all along.
Now, I know as well.
And now a word to you, dear Reader.
You may have occasion to look up from your reading one night, when the moon is full and the wind rattles your bedroom window.
You may hear a howl at midnight, and realize that the Wolf really is waiting at your door.
You may even be lucky enough to meet a man or woman who offers you immortality: an eternity of sunless days and endless nights in exchange for a single kiss. If you do, don’t worry.
We’ll be right behind you.
Between book signings, public appearances and my monthly support group meetings, I still find time for my real job. My partner and I are available most nights and some weekends. I’m the arrogant prick with abandonment issues and he’s a toothless old coot who glows in the dark, but we’re passionate about our work. Hell, I come from a long line of men and women dedicated to saving your ass. My name? That’s easy.
It’s Grudge.
I kill monsters.
Table of Contents
Start
The Revenant Road Page 20