Some Monsters Never Die

by E A Comiskey

  For a split second, Richard was certain The Devil would leap across the chasm and tear his granddaughter limb from limb, so great was the rage written on her features, but then she threw her head back and laughed—a melody so harmonious and appealing, flowers must have burst into bloom somewhere nearby. Roses, by the smell of it.

  The swirling emergency lights lit the world around them in flashing reds and blues. “Well played, hunter. Well played.”

  The chasm sealed shut and the Devil stepped over the seam toward Richard. She leaned in so close he could feel the warmth coming off her shapely body. With a slow, intimate gesture, she slid her hand down his chest and deep into the pocket of the ridiculous sweatpants to pull out her phone. “See ya ‘round, cowboy,” she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek that had a powerful effect on his old, beat up body. That was proof enough that he wasn’t dead yet.

  Doors slammed and boots hit the ground. “What’s going on here?” a tall officer shouted.

  Paramedics raced toward Stanley and O’Doyle.

  The Devil was gone, the earth as solid and unbroken as ever. Burke stepped away from Stanley and let the medics gather over him.

  The young woman in blue coveralls kneeling over O’Doyle called out, “As far as I can tell, this guy is just sleeping the soundest sleep in history.”

  As if confirming her diagnosis, O’Doyle snored loudly and rolled onto his side.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood,” Burke said to the men checking Stanley.

  “From where?” one asked.

  They’d ripped open his shirt. Thick streaks of congealing blood covered the skin all around the smooth, unblemished center of his chest.

  “Are you okay?” the officer asked Burke. “Are you hurt?”

  She blinked up at him. “I bumped my head,” she said.

  His eyes traveled slowly down her filthy, blood-covered body. “You bumped your head?” he asked, incredulous.

  She nodded. “Pretty hard,” she added.

  “Right,” he said. “What about you, old man?”

  Richard puffed up his chest, affronted at being addressed so gruffly, but the act of puffing sent spasms of pain through his body. “I…um…I fell and I think I hurt my…uh...“ He took a quick mental inventory. “Everything,” he said.

  “You hurt your everything?” the officer asked.

  “Sit down,” the woman medic told him. He did as she said, grateful for the gentle touch of caring hands. Please, God, don’t let her sprout wings unless they’re of the angelic sort, he prayed.

  The officer said, to no one in particular, “Take them all to the hospital and keep a guard posted. I want to know what the hell happened here before any of these folks are released back into the general public.”

  A genteel British voice answered, weak and tremulous. “I’m afraid it’s going to be rather difficult to explain. But I can assure you, no laws have been broken.”

  Richard wept.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Finn

  Finn woke in a white room. Crisp white sheets covered him. He wore a thin blue hospital gown and, by the feel of things, nothing else. A clear tube disappeared behind a piece of tape on his arm.

  It’s a hospital.

  He remembered voices outside his home, remembered wanting to live, remembered stumbling out the door. After that, memories turned to nightmarish flashes of images. A man who could have been his twin, just as old and sick-looking as him, with his own blue eyes and crooked mouth. An old bald guy with an axe. Men and women he didn’t know shouted at one another and moved too fast to track.

  Someone stabbed one of the girls and, after that, the situation got truly bizarre. Then he suffered some sort of spell where he couldn’t draw breath. His vision went dark around the edges and then there was nothing but oblivion.

  Now he lay in a hospital.

  And he was starving.

  He fumbled around until he found the little call button and pushed it. Less than a minute later, a nurse entered, a doctor close behind.

  “Welcome back, sleepyhead. I think you might have set a record.”

  Finn rubbed his eyes. Now that she mentioned it, his eyes were gritty. Gritty, but clear. “I can see you,” he said.

  The doctor and nurse exchanged a look.

  “Does that surprise you?” the doctor asked.

  “I…” he trailed off, not wanting to sound like he’d lost his mind. “My vision’s been blurry lately, but you look clear to me.”

  The doctor pulled an instrument from the wall and shot a bright pinpoint of light into Finn’s eyes. “Everything looks fine, Mr. O’Doyle.” He snapped the instrument back into place. “We do have some questions.”

  The nurse reached for Finn’s arm and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around it. He looked down at the wide band as she pumped it tighter. Dark hair peppered his skin. There wasn’t an age spot in sight. He fought the urge to laugh. “I’ll try my best to answer them, but it’s been a weird few weeks.”

  “Weird, how?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well, I guess,” he hedged. “This girl…well…”

  Sara. He hadn’t given a thought to Sara.

  “Has anyone been asking for me?”

  “Half the world is asking about you, Mr. O’Doyle. You’ve got quite a fan following,” the nurse said, ripping open the Velcro on the cuff and tucking it back into the little basket.

  “No, I mean a girl. Sara…”

  I don’t even know her last name.

  “No one by the name of Sara, so far as I know. The folks who came in with you have been asking after you.”

  “Came in with me? The ones who called for help?”

  The doctor gave him a sidelong glance that told him the psych ward was still not out of the question. “You called for help, Mr. O’Doyle,” the doctor said. “You don’t remember?”

  “No.” He frowned, trying to piece together the events. “No, I don’t remember.”

  “How do you feel?” the doctor asked.

  “Like I’m about to starve,” Finn said.

  The doctor nodded. “By the sounds of your digestive system, you haven’t had a proper meal in some time. You were quite dehydrated, as well. Have you been using any kinds of drugs? Prescription or otherwise?”

  Finn shifted. Of course, that’s what they’d think. It made sense, didn’t it? Maybe Sara had been slipping him something? If so, he’d never be able to tell them what it was. He settled for the easiest answer, “No. Nothing like that. I mean, I smoke, or I did. I’ve quit now,” he announced, startling himself. He liked the way that sounded. It was a good plan to stick with. “I’ve been really sick for a few weeks, but I feel fine now. Really. Just very hungry.”

  The two examiners seemed to accept that. “Very well. I’ll let you order some soup and crackers. Keep that down and we’ll go from there.”

  Finn agreed without complaint.

  “As far as I can tell, aside from the lack of nutrition, you’re fit as a fiddle, Mr. O’Doyle. I’d like to keep you overnight for observation. If there are no complications, we’ll have you back home in twenty-four hours or so. I’ll be back in the morning to check on you. If you need anything in the meantime, just press the call button and a nurse will be right in.” He headed toward the door, too busy with people who actually needed his help to worry about an author who didn’t eat properly.

  “Doctor?”

  The man paused and looked back. “Yes?”

  “You said something about people who came in with me?”

  “Yes, two elderly men and a lady about your age. They were treated and released.”

  “Who were they? Is there any way I can get in touch with them? You know, to thank them for their help?”

  The doctor shrugged. “I’m not sure. You could check with the police.”

  Finn nodded his thanks. The two left the room and he lay back against the bed, so wide awake it felt like he might never sleep again.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

&n
bsp; Richard

  The three of them sat around a table in the O.K. Cafe. A woman with hair as red as a fire engine stood over them with a pad and pen.

  “Wha canneye getcha?” she asked around the wad of gum in her mouth.

  “Two eggs, over medium, with bacon and toast,” Burke said.

  “I’d like to try your fried chicken and waffles with some of those famous fried cheesy potatoes,” Stanley said when it was his turn.

  “Can I just get a grilled chicken breast and a side of applesauce?” Richard asked.

  “Sure thing, hon. Anything to drink?”

  “Do you have prune juice?”

  “Sure. That all?”

  Richard smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took their menus and weaved through the crowded restaurant toward the kitchen.

  “A rather bland meal, old chap,” Stanley said.

  “I’m overdue for some bland and boring,” Richard retorted. “Too danged old for all this adventure and wild eating. My insides were stuck in neutral ‘til that nurse at the hospital gave me something. Don’t need to go messing up what’s been set to rights again.”

  Stanley chuckled and sipped his coffee. He was pale and his hands shook, but he had assured them repeatedly that he felt as fine as ever.

  “So.” Burke leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table. “Seems like Chief Suspicouspants can’t find a proper crime to pin on us. The famous author called and sang our praises, promising to dedicate his next book to us. What do we do now?”

  Richard stared at his hands, folded on the table. What did they do now? He was tired. His body ached everywhere. He still had a room at Everest with an adjustable bed and an electric heating pad. Still, the strigoi had been there. Would he be able to sleep in a place where something had tried to kill him?

  “I don’t want to go back to Everest,” Stanley said. “I only ever went there to find Richard.”

  “Where did you live before that?” Burke asked.

  The question made Richard look up with interest. He’d not given much thought to Stanley’s life before they met.

  “I moved around,” Stanley said. “Hunters aren’t much good at settling down.”

  The waitress came with the prune juice. Beautiful, angelic, wrinkled old waitress. Richard sipped the blessed beverage. No fine wine had ever tasted better.

  “We could go back to my place for a while. Hang out, you know. Get healed up a bit before we make any decisions,” Burke suggested.

  “You would take us in?” Richard asked. The idea astounded him. His own daughter had never offered anything of the sort. Decades had passed since he’d lived with family. It sounded sort of nice.

  “Of course. We’re a team now, right?”

  “I’d be honored, Mrs. Martin,” Stanley said.

  Burke nodded. “Okay. That’s settled. We’ll rest and heal. Maybe learn a hobby or something. Relax for a while.”

  “Toast to it,” Richard said, lifting his glass. Something about the word relax picked at his mind, but he pushed it aside and forced a smile.

  The juice glass and coffee cups bumped together with a satisfying clunk.

  Two young men passed the table. A snippet of their conversation caught Richard’s attention.

  “...coven in San Diego. If we get there before Solstice, we can…”

  Burke and Stanley sat very still and straight-backed in their chairs.

  “Probably just kids being stupid,” Burke said.

  “Most likely,” Stanley agreed.

  A vague scent of sulfur wafted in the wake of the boys.

  “Where’s your house again, Burke?” Stanley asked.

  “Michigan.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “It’s nice there in the spring. Quite green.”

  “Very,” she agreed.

  The waitress brought their food. They all tucked in, carefully avoiding eye contact with one another.

  Richard forced himself to remember the weeks between his admission to Everest and the strigoi attack. Anger had ruled him. He’d embraced it. Anger, as tough and bitter as it may be, was far more palatable than soul-crushing loneliness. It was easier to swallow than admitting your days had no purpose. Easier to spend time being angry than doing nothing in the name of relaxation.

  “You know, just having family, us taking care of each other, that ought to be enough,” he said.

  “That’s true,” Burke said. “Loving each other gives our days purpose.”

  “Indeed,” Stanley agreed.

  Richard picked up his fork and poked at the bland chunk of chicken. “I’ve never seen the Pacific Ocean,” he said.

  “Really?” Stanley grinned at him. “And all these years, living so close to it?”

  “We could make a little side trip,” Burke offered. “On the way home, I mean. Just to check it out. It would add a few days to the drive but, really, we don’t have any reason to hurry back, do we?”

  “None that I can think of,” Richard said. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed. “Hear there’s a good zoo in San Diego.”

  Stanley nodded. “I’ve been there. It’s fantastic.”

  “We should go,” Richard suggested.

  Burke’s expression grew serious. “Grandpa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you sure you’re up to…you know…the zoo. That’s a lot of walking. Who knows what conditions will be like. You know…with all the…um…creatures… that could be there.”

  “Hospital gave me a new walker and a bottle of pills that seem to do the trick. Think I’ll be all right.”

  She looked to Stanley. “And you? We came close to losing you twice in the last week.”

  He waved away her concern. “I’m told close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Besides, I haven’t seen Death in ages. Last I knew, he had a condo in Manhattan.”

  They both stopped eating and stared at him.

  Stanley swallowed a bite of his cheesy potatoes.

  “Are you serious?” Burke asked.

  “I know, right? I asked the same thing. He could have gotten a place twice as big in Jersey for half the rent.”

  Richard scowled. “Don’t be yankin’ my chain, you old fart.”

  Stanley laughed.

  The joyful vitality of the sound warmed Richard’s heart. “California then?” Richard asked.

  “California,” Stanley agreed.

  Burke’s smile was radiant. “California or bust.”

  ###

  Take a sneak peek at the next book in the Monsters and Mayhem series

  Some Legends Never Die

  EA Comiskey

  Kill the monster, not your mother

  Ornery octogenarian Richard, his associate Stanley, and his granddaughter Burke are world-class hunters of all things supernatural. They've faced monsters of every ilk, even overcome The Devil Herself, but now they face the most frightening challenge of all—spending the holidays with family.

  Richard's daughter is determined to return him to the safety of a senior care facility. She wants to send Stanley with him, and she has plans to make a match between Burke and a young IT engineer she ran over with her car. Little does she know that hunters are invariably led to the hunt.

  There's a rogue monster in the neighborhood and Burke's blind date lands her in the middle of a battle between two powerful gangs of supernatural creatures. Now Richard and Stanley need to find a way to rescue her and stop the battle before it grows to truly galactic proportions, but can they do it with a meddling daughter and her quirky neighbors watching their every move?

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Coca-Cola

  Little Anthony and The Imperials

  Shelby GT

  Paul Anka

  Oreo

  Cadillac

  Chapter One

  Cobwebs dangled from splintered windows that dotted one side of the rusty trailer. Screams emanated from behind the thin, poorly constructed walls. Near the front door, a tall, thin man in a dar
k tailcoat shouted above the joyous rumble of the crowd, “Come one, come all. Take a journey through the afterlife. Mingle with spirits, dance with monsters, but don’t stay too long, or you may forget your way out of the Tomb of the Dead.”

  Richard rolled his eyes at the carnival barker. Kids spending an hour’s income of their parents’ wages for the privilege of three minutes of being scared by plastic skeletons and rubber spiders. Little brats had no idea what really peered out at them from the shadows at night. How could they? He hadn’t known. For more than eight decades he’d gotten along just fine, more or less, thinking humans ruled the prime spot in Earth’s food chain. Then Stan friggin’ Kapcheck, his neighbor at the Everest Senior Living Facility, got him mixed up in monster hunting and he hadn’t trusted a dark corner since.

  Today, though, he clung to his determination to enjoy the moment and ignore the world of monsters. He tuned out the nonsense going on at the carnival “fun house,” and focused his attention upon the masterpiece before him. That particular corndog rivaled anything ever created by some over-bred, high-falootin’ French chef, and he’d go to the mat to defend that opinion with anyone who dared tell him otherwise. This lumpy, slightly misshapen masterpiece bore no resemblance whatsoever to any factory-made frozen food-like product. He’d watched the kid with purple spiked hair jam a stick in a hotdog and dunk it into a clear plastic tub full of creamy batter before dropping it into the basket of bubbling oil. When it came out, golden crust gleaming like the life-giving sun, Richard knew he’d won the culinary lottery. The kid then proved he was a genius in freak’s clothing when he scooped a handful of fried onion petals into a paper basket and laid his creation upon that glorious bed of grease.