Rather Be Fishing, page 1
Rather Be Fishing
Tales of a Reluctant Monster Hunter
Lucretia Stanhope
Rather Be Fishing: Tales of a Reluctant Monster Hunter
Copyright © 2016 by Lucretia Stanhope
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2016
ISBN: 978-1540730930
Acknowledgements
As with all magical creatures, (well maybe not all, but many, a lot, more than a few, probably enough to make it a norm) I have a wonderful power of three that keeps me strong. My editors, beta readers and those who make it possible for me to put one word behind the other, commas in the right places, if there is such a beast as a properly placed comma (this is a bigger issue than you might imagine) and to have the faith in myself needed to create from the soul. They also add infinite joy to my life, and chocolate, they give chocolate. So, in alphabetical order, because, seriously, as much as I love these three people, they would wonder why their names were in any other order. That’s why we can’t just do nice things. Andrew, Jamie, and Toneye, thank you from the bottom of my sparkly soul.
Part One
The Hard Truth About Vampires
“I said I was on the way.” I answered my phone without even looking at the caller-ID. I fully expected it to be my dad, wondering why I wasn’t at his house an hour ago.
My tackle box was packed and set by the door. I just phoned my father to let him know I would be about an hour late because I overslept. I know I just said I expected it to be him and that I just called him, but if you knew my dad that would make perfect sense. He has a way of getting antsy. Antsy might be an understatement. If he were ready to leave and waiting on me, it wouldn’t be unlike him to call once every five minutes, just to see how I was progressing.
I’ve tried to tell him that his calling just served to delay me further. His response to that is typically, ‘Don’t be a smartass! Are you ready yet?’
At any rate, I was almost ready to walk out, so I answered eagerly and was a little shocked to hear a soft female voice come back at me.
“May I please speak with Mr. Sims?”
It seemed like she was whispering so that no one could hear what she was saying.
Problem with that was, I could barely hear her either.
I told her it was he that she was speaking with and that she could call me Mike.
I knew immediately it was a work call as all of my lady friends, all one of them, would call me ‘Mike,’ and she had not.
I sat down at my desk, pulled out my note pad and asked her what the problem was.
“I was watching a program on the Discovery Channel about psychic vampires, and, well, I was wondering if you dealt with that.”
Here’s where either I put you to sleep with a long boring story about the family business or you just take it at face value that I now run the monster hunting gig my dad retired from a few years back.
“Yes, ma’am, I do.” That wasn’t exactly true.
I’m not saying that they don’t exist, in fact, a few of my new age friends present some pretty good arguments in their favor. I deal with real monsters. The reason I lied is because the symptoms of a real vampire attack are often the same as that of what is called a psychic vampire. I would go investigate and if I found no real monster, I would recommend one of the aforementioned friends, Star, and be able to walk away, knowing that I looked into the matter.
“I’m so glad. I think there may be one in my town.” Her voice remained an annoying whisper that I had to work to hear.
“In your town?” That was odd. Usually people call me about monsters that attack them personally or drunk accidents they remember as attacks, it’s about fifty-fifty. “What makes you think that?”
“Recently my dear friend was struck with a sudden illness. The doctors know nothing about the cause, but with each day that passed she felt worse and worse. Eventually she fell asleep and never woke up.” There was a strange coldness in the way she talked, still whispering, about her ‘dear’ friend.
“How long was she ill?”
“A little over a week.”
“Has anyone else been ill?”
“Well of course, if not I wouldn’t have called. There have been three more people since. The doctors call it fatigue, but I don’t think fatigue is supposed to be deadly.”
I agreed and ignored her snarky tone. “Other than your friend, have there been any other recent deaths?”
“Yes, sir, but I'm not sure I should talk about it.”
“Well, if you want my help you’re going to have to tell me,” I said, a little frustrated that she would call me for help and then be coy about the facts.
“I would rather we talk in person.”
Paranoid much? I thought, but said, “What area are you calling from?”
“Rivers Bend.”
Immediately I made a judgment and tried to push it away. Rivers Bend is a small, isolated town and other than housing one of the world’s finest, and least known museums, it is so far back technologically, I am surprised they have running water.
For a vampire to survive, it would need a burial that would allow its body not to decay. I just couldn’t see that being the case. I am, however, a professional and couldn’t see not following through.
A vampire could wipe out a town like that in a very short space of time. I agreed to meet her that day, at a halfway point, to discuss the details in person. It was apparent she did not feel comfortable talking about it over the phone.
I t was late in the day when I arrived at the roadside café. I walked in and looked around. The place was relatively empty. At the bar sat two men, apparently just off work and looking to relax a little before going home. This was apparent because of the layer of dirt on their clothes and faces.
In a back booth, I could see gray hair over the top of the seat. I assumed that was my lady, Linda, as she had described herself to me. I walked back to the booth and as I stood there I extended my hand and said, “Linda?”
She nodded.
She reminded me a lot of the typical Hollywood-type grandma. Her hair was a perfect and consistent shade of gray that had an odd tinge of blue, not a curl out of place. She dressed impeccably in a god-awful, blinding, bright blue pantsuit, adorned with gaudy, gold jewelry.
I slid down into the booth. When the waitress came over we both ordered a cup of coffee, black. There was silence until the coffee was served.
“I think we might have a real vampire, Mr. Sims,” she said, causing me to swallow too much coffee and burn my mouth.
“What do you mean?” I wondered what she knew about real vampires.
“Well, I couldn’t say it over the phone, but all of this happened after the curator’s death, and I think he comes back from the grave every night and sucks the blood of the townspeople.”
“How long has he been dead?”
“You don’t want to tell me that there are no real vampires?”
I wasn’t about to sit there and try to convince the woman that everything she knew about vampires was probably wrong. One thing I've learned about old people is that they can be very bullheaded. Instead, I decided to play along. I am a monster hunter, after all. It’s not my job to get rid of misconceptions, just to get rid of the monsters.
“Ma’am, I hunt vampires, often. If they weren’t real, I wouldn’t have a job. Now, if you don’t mind, there are a few things I need to know.”
Judging by the look on her face, she was among the many who thought my people skills needed some help. Not that I care. When I’m not working, I’m fishing and I prefer to do both alone or only in the company of my father.
“About two months.” She paused to sip her coffee.
“Was he a bad man?”
“That is a matter of opinion. A lot of people liked him, but I knew him and he was a nasty man. He ran the museum, which is also used as a school. Lots of people liked him because he was the biggest employer in town. You either worked for him or starved.” Her tone indicated she was not at all an admirer.
“You worked for him?”
“Yes, sir, I was the nighttime maid. I came in after the last class to make sure there was toilet paper in the bathrooms, and other such tasks he thought an old lady like myself could handle.” She looked away and took in a deep breath.
“Is there a reason you didn’t like him?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Well?”
“He was a Devil worshiper.”
I knew right then we might have an actual case of vampirism. Anyone who plays with magic, if they know what they are doing, can train themselves to become a vampire. I know that sounds odd, but part of being a vampire means training your spirit not to move on. One of the differences between ghosts and vampires is that one does it on purpose, and the other is stuck here quite by accident.
The time frame was hopeful. For the first forty weeks of their life, vampires are a blurred, featureless mist, which is tangible, but soft to the touch. It is during this time that its victims stand the most chance of survival, should they seek out my help. At this point, it will take several visits for the victims to die. To die this way is horrible and drawn out. Just by its presence hovering over the sleeping person, it absorbs energy slowly over many nights until the victim simply d
“Do you know where he is buried?” If she did know, it would be a quick in-and-out job.
“See, that's the thing. I overheard that he donated his body to the school. It was his express desire to be mummified. I think it’s a cover and he has a coffin in there,” she said, and smiled.
There was something about her tone and look that seemed almost playful, and to get a playful look like that from an old lady is always quite discomforting. However, hearing this left little doubt in my mind that what she feared was true. We had a vampire to kill. Not for one second did I doubt that he was actually mummified or that he was into some sort of meditative magic.
All who study real monsters know that vampires made their start, well, most documented start, in Egypt. There are three elements needed for a vampire to be created and thrive, a body disposed of in a way that it won’t decompose, the skill to keep the spirit attached to the body, and the discipline to move that spirit around to collect the energy needed.
Take a look at your history books, folks, and fill in the blanks. The Egyptians had a strong belief that their souls lived on and they gave offerings to the dead, offerings to help with the longevity of the souls. Stone and soil both serve as great etheric insulators. It was a perfect system and apparently one this man stumbled upon in his studies.
I told her to stop by the grocery on her way home and get as much garlic as she could stand. The neat thing about this myth is it is not only well known, but it works. There are a few myths that are true and quite useful to me. Vampires can’t endure garlic, the light of the sun, or cross running water, and can be killed or wounded by sharp metal objects. All of these have to do with the etheric nature of vampirism and make perfect sense when held in that light, as they are all etheric erasers and will drain the energy from the vampire.
There is one myth that is true, but not quite the way people think. Spreading seeds can distract a vampire. Not because they love to count. Sprouting seeds contain a high amount of etheric energy and the vampire will certainly be distracted by the free lunch, but I digress. Boring facts and I promised tales of monster hunting.
She readily agreed to get a supply of garlic, and walked away with a modicum of security.
I drove home and got some rest. I knew I would be leaving early in the morning and may not be sleeping for the next few days. I gave her ways to protect herself, but I’m more interested in destruction. If one person manages to ward off a vampire, it will simply move on to a new victim.
The surest method, the one I choose most often, is to simply ascertain where the vampire is buried, dig it up during the day while it rests in its body, and have the remains cremated.
Of course, the big problem with this is tampering with the dead is a felony in most places, and telling a judge the body was that of a vampire might earn me a few years in a padded cell.
Before I left I called my dad and told him that I had a first stage vampire case. He gave me the standard caution and wished me luck. I could tell from the tone of his voice that he really wanted to be the one going. A few years back, the doctor told him that his heart couldn’t take any more excitement and so we decided that I would take over the business.
What was left of it anyway.
The drive over seemed longer than it should. This was perhaps due to the fact that I was eager to get there in enough time to look things over and get started before the sun set.
When I arrived in town it was almost two in the afternoon and Linda was getting anxious. Apparently, one of her friends was starting to show symptoms.
I asked her if we could go over there and take her lunch.
She agreed.
We went to the local grocery, which reminded me more of a vegetable stand than a grocery store. I picked up a frozen pizza from a horribly dilapidated freezer in the back corner, and some extra garlic.
The guy at the checkout, who was also the owner and apparently the only staff, looked at me rather oddly. Thing about small towns is, even though you are trying to save their backward lives, they still don’t like outsiders.
“Who’s he?” the man asked Linda, ignoring the fact that I was standing there in front of him and could hear him.
She gave me one of those looks that was either an apology or a, what can you do, look. I wasn’t sure which.
“Mike,” I said, extending my hand, “I’m here to do some research on Egyptian history.”
He nodded as if to dismiss me. “What do you know about him?”
Linda smiled. “He’s married to one of my cousins and they recommended the museum as a great place for him to start.”
The guy seemed to lighten up. Now that I was family of sorts.
I was quite impressed by her at this point. Even though I felt she really wanted me to just kill the beast and leave. This worked for me, because I was missing prime fishing time.
When we got to her friend's house, she showed me to the kitchen, and left me to go see her friend.
I unboxed the pizza and dowsed it with garlic before I placed it in the oven. It was a gas stove, and a very old one at that. I was never really comfortable with the way gas stoves worked, but I was particularly hungry and when I turned it on, it seemed to be working just fine.
As carefully as my not-so-delicate hands could manage, I peeled a few cloves and popped one in my mouth. Can’t be too cautious.
When I walked in the room, I felt sorry for the lady. She was lucky I was here. Her pallor was awful. A few more visits from the vampire and she would have been dead.
She reached out a weak hand and I shook it gently. Linda had told her I was a new age doctor and she was excited to see me.
Now I’m guessing at this point you might be wondering why I seem to have no problems with lies. Growing up, my father taught me it was better to perpetrate a small lie in order to save the life of a client, than to tell the truth and have them die because they can’t believe you. It made sense to me then and still does today.
So, for this lady, who I came to know as Ann, I was a witchdoctor of sorts.
It made my life easier that she was very willing to eat the raw garlic. I also convinced her to place some in her pocket while she slept. I know that the protection from just eating the garlic would last quite a while, but in her weakened state I didn’t want to take any chances.
I asked Linda to join me in the kitchen so we could speak alone. Okay, what really happened was, I told Linda I needed help with lunch. I didn’t want the lady to worry about what we were going to be saying.
“Is she going to die?” Linda asked as I pulled the pizza from the oven.
“Not if we can make sure she takes steps to prevent another attack,” I said.
“What are you going to do about the vampire?”
“Kill it,” I said, “But first I need to find out where the body is. I need to stay here and follow it back to its resting place.”
She gave me an incredulous look as if to say, yeah right, and turned her attention to the pizza. The smell of garlic filled the room and probably the rest of the house.
“When it comes, and it will, as they stick with their victims until either they are dead or they are protected, it will go in search of a new victim and then back to its body after feeding.”
“Oh dear. You’re going to watch it hurt someone else?” she asked.
“Well, no. It can move through walls and I can’t. But I can follow it and wait outside.”
“My God, what about the person it attacks?” she asked, picking up a piece of pizza, smelling it, and wrinkling her nose.
I smiled. “This is our protection. And after only one visit, whoever it chooses will only be slightly tired.”
That answer seemed to placate her. I say seemed to, because then her face filled with a look that could best be described as worry. It was hard to determine if she was worried about a new person being attacked, or eating the pizza. My guess was the pizza.
“You can’t sleep here. The town is small, the rumors, I just can’t allow it,” she said.
