"Oh for fucks sake" I said as I felt someone land behind me, I spun around sword in hand, the sharp blade already dripping in blood. The creature was damn near invisible, all I could make out was a rough outline, I took a chance and lunged forward swiping my blade across where I hoped the neck would be. I felt it connect and there was a high pitched winning noise before the shadow like creature collapsed to the ground, shortly followed by the head it used to have. The cobbled stone ground was already littered with invisible corpses. I cleaned the blade on my jeans before sheathing it on my back. I grabbed my bag that I had thrown on the ground when I saw the first movement and took out a tiny notebook. It contained all I knew about the…others.
Under the title 'ghosts' I wrote;
Travel in large packs, if you attack one they all attack you. Near invisible can see movement but no distinctions, vary in size and shape but vaguely humanoid. No seen weaknesses or strengths.
I put the book away and, as I always do after a fight, complemented my life's meaning. I vaguely tried to remember my old life, before I discovered the sub culture that lived beneath my feet. An image of a cold hand, separate from the body and surrounded with ruby blood filled my mind. I can't think of the night I found out, I still can't deal with it, 10 years on.
I walked out of one of the many alleyways that filled the London streets and carried on down the road, before catching site of myself in a shop mirror. I vaguely wondered why no one had stopped me before I looked at my watch and realised it was three in the morning. My face was splattered with blood, I dampened my coat with my spit before trying to scrub it away, when I looked vaguely human I combed through my long red hair, straight and thin, with my dirt covered hands. Now I looked like myself, now I could recognise my straight jaw line had high rise cheekbones that looked pinched from hunger. I had wide green eyes that seemed to sparkle in the moon light. I was sort of pretty, I guess if you ignore my giant Julius Caesar nose and non-existent eyebrows. I rubbed my hands together, trying to regain warmth and feeling before moving on down the road. My bright red dr. Martians pinched at my toes, since I'd long out grown them, but they were still clean and hole free. My long black coat brushed against my knees, sticking out from the ripped jeans that I wore underneath. They didn't begin ripped. I traced the hole in my jeans on my thigh as a memory flashed through my mind.
A wolf with huge mannish arms grabbed my sword and turned against me, pushing me to the ground. I kicked up knocking the weapon from his hands where it spun and caught my thigh. Blood immediately began to ooze from the wound… If I learnt one thing from my monster hunting days, it was that bleeding only made things worst.
I tightened the belt around my waist as if it could keep the memories out, of course it couldn't, but then again…these days you never do know.
I dislike the term. Monster hunter. I need to think of a new name, something cool and edgy. Something that I maybe wouldn't feel so bad about calling myself. Protector of the people? POP for short? I snorted and the man on the other side of the street glared at me for disturbing the streets silence. I carried on walking; I didn't actually have a place to go, but the bright lights of the shops comforted me and that was what I needed right now. A bright neon sign caught my eye, BOOKS! It read. It had been years since I read a good book. I peered in the window but all that was there was the new twilight. Erg. I hated twilight. It was just that the very idea of a vampire or a were wolf having feelings, or a personality, was almost repugnant to me. They were empty mindless killers. Little did they know that somewhere, someone was fighting back against the secrete onslaught of death.
I just had to hope I wasn't the only one.