Confessions of a Monster Hunter 1: The Veil of Innocence

By Eric Guindon

Am I the Avenging Hand of Korandos? F**cked if I know.
What I do know is that I'm not like the rest of you. Not anymore.
You're helpless before the monsters that secretly rule our world, but I'm not.
You might not know it, but I'm doing all I can to keep you from being just a pawn, or a meal, to these creatures.

These memoirs are my confessions, my diary. I'm not proud of everything I've done, or of all the decisions I've had to make, but I stand by them; nothing in here is sugarcoated.

This first volume covers my beginnings. From my first hapless confrontation with a monster to my efforts to destroy the foul veil of innocence; it's all in here.

This ebook is a novella (~36k words)
Contains strong language.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Guindon
• Release date: Dec 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311029584

Eric Guindon

Eric Guindon is an IT professional who consumes much more fiction than he produces. He's working to change that.He is supported in his work by his lovely wife, Kathryn Norman, and his son, Luke.Some of his favorite authors include Neil Gaiman, Neil Stephenson, George RR Martin, Octavia Butler, Gene Wolf, Roger Zelazny, Brandon Sanderson, and John Scalzi.Eric and Kathryn keep an improbable amount of pets, including a very large Doberman Pinscher, Thor, three cats, three snakes, and two geckos.His ramblings can be read at: http://chimericwhimsey.com

Book preview

CONFESSIONS OF A

MONSTER HUNTER

Book 1: The Veil of Innocence

Eric Guindon

Copyright © 2013 by Eric Guindon

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This ebook 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.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Melancholy Stegosaurus Press

14-29 Rockway Crescent

Ottawa, ON K2G0M3

Canada

www.chimericwhimsey.com

Chapter 1

Life’s a bitch, you know?

Just when you think you’ve got a handle on things, it dumps a bucket of new shit on your head for you to deal with. That’s what happened to me on the day everything went from boring and mundane to completely insane.

Don’t get me wrong. Looking back, my life was pointless before that day. I was a drone in an office, pushing pencils and juggling numbers. Corporate accountant sounds like an exciting job to . . . no one. But I hadn’t been looking for excitement; I’d been looking for stability. That’s the guy I was. Did my job make me happy? Was I fulfilled? Fucked if I know. I don’t think I ever thought about it; I just did what was expected of me.

I had a plan: get a good job, get settled, find a nice girl, get married, pump out 2.3 kids, grow old, retire, travel, and eventually die. I guess that’s an all right life, for most. I think I could have been happy with that, but I couldn’t go back to it. That sort of life seems like living death to me now. Once you’ve fought for your life, felt the high that brings on, it’s impossible to imagine going back to the office and returning to being just a cog in the wheel of capitalism.

But for me, the change wasn’t a choice.

To say that I was chosen sounds fucking pompous: I wasn’t. I drew the short straw, metaphorically speaking. If you’re hit and killed by a toilet seat from a de-orbiting space station, were you chosen by the toilet seat or were you just the guy too dumb to take two steps to the right when you saw a bright light coming your way from the sky?

For me there was no light, no warning, and no stepping aside, but the point still stands: what happened to me wasn’t destiny, it was luck -- good or bad depends on your perspective. Some would argue that my name points to this being fate. They say, Hunter Black, that’s not an accountant’s name, but it’s the perfect name for a monster hunter.

To those people I say, Fuck you.

Seriously though, I had that name for twenty-seven boring years before it became appropriate to what I do.

You know, sometimes, coincidences happen. Stop reading too much into my mom choosing a trendy name for her kid. And Black is a pretty common last name . . . .

Besides, do you think everyone named Logan grows up to be a bad-ass? I knew a Logan in my old life: he was in asset management. Exciting, right?

For most of my life, my name was ironic: the fiercest thing I hunted was embezzlers. Now, it’s literally my job title. I hunt the things of nightmares. Things you don’t even know are feeding on you every day, things you don’t even believe exist.

Why am I writing this? It’s not for my own enjoyment; I’ll tell you that. I’m writing this because I was told to do it, by someone I respect.

But that all comes later: I was telling you about the day things changed for me. That’s the first relevant day I should chronicle. Everything before that day was balance sheets and trips to Ikea.

It began with me taking the bus to work — saving the world one commute at a time, I liked to think. As far as I could tell, it was an ordinary day like any other, but unknown to me, I was done with ordinary. This was the first day of the rest of my life. Most people say bullshit like that as some sort of inspirational masturbation, but for me that’s what that day really was.

The bus was almost full; only a few seats were left. I sat near the front, beside a university student who was knitting on her way to classes. I thought she was cute, but was too shy then to have ever made a move. Really, I was too shy to even look at her -- I really was a disaster back then.

The bus stopped to pick up a new passenger at a little-used stop and, when I saw the woman who boarded, I nearly jumped out of my skin. She was wearing the most elaborate, best executed, Halloween costume I had ever seen. Ever. Even counting TV and movies. I stared at her as she slithered up to the bus driver.

She didn’t have legs!

Instead, she had a long snake’s tail. It looked so real!

No one else seemed the least bit interested in her impressive get-up or, like me, wondering why she was wearing a Halloween costume in the middle of March.

To the driver she said, I don’t need to pay, do I, dearie? Her voice was like that of every clichéd Hollywood snake person you can imagine: all hisses and sibilants.

The man nodded, his eyes looking glassy, and the serpentine lady made her way down the aisle, closely examining each passenger she passed with her snake’s tongue. It flicked out to taste the air as she went. I couldn’t believe no one was reacting to this freakish display. Fuck, she was making my skin crawl! Why was nobody objecting to her flicking her tongue at them, even if it was fake?

I didn’t know why at the time, but I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach that only grew more pronounced as the snake-woman got closer to me. It was a bit like needing to vomit or gag. I thought it might have something to do with how disgusting the woman looked in her getup. Her whole skin was painted in different shades of green, representing scales. Her breasts were shrunken, shrivelled up, empty folds of skin.

I found her repulsive. I remember thinking that if this was her aim, she had achieved it in spades. Mostly though, I wanted her as far away from me as possible. I respected the arts but I thought this performance was going too far.

When her act reached me, I looked right at her and said, Er, nice show. I lost my nerve. I’d been about to tell her to get away from me, but when I saw the costume up close, it was too real. Her eyes had vertical slits for pupils, and I saw them open wide in surprise when I spoke to her. She opened her mouth to speak, and I could see then that she had impressive fangs, like a cobra’s. They dripped with a viscous liquid that couldn’t be saliva. I began to think she might, as unbelievable as it seemed to me at the time, really be a snake-woman. The rational part of my brain tried to reason out how all the effects could be done with modern cosmetic surgery, a fake snake tail, and teeth prostheses, but her words stopped me cold. They convinced me she was no ordinary person at all.

You can see me, Meat? she asked. My heart raced. Her eyes held deadly intent as she scrutinized me.

Er, yes? I wanted to run from the creature. She tried to keep eye contact with me, but I only had eyes for her fangs.

I was scared shitless.

The girl beside me stopped knitting and looked at me quizzically. Are you talking to me? she asked.

I pointed at the monster in the aisle, and the student’s gaze went right through and past it.

What? She seemed irritated.

I don’t know how you see me, but we’ll have a little talk about it somewhere more private, yes? The snake-woman managed to meet my eyes when she said this. I was so scared I couldn’t look away. I must have whimpered because she decided I’d answered in the affirmative. She turned and went to the bus’ rear exit, pressing the button to signal a passenger wanted to get off at the next stop as she went by it.

The monster looked back at me, motioning for me to follow.

If I stayed on the bus, refusing to go with the snake-woman, she would kill me there. I was sure of that. In that cramped space, I had no chance to get away from her.

On the other hand, if I followed her off the bus, I could try to make a run for it. How fast could a snake run anyway?

My courage bolstered by this string of bullshit logic, I got up and moved on shaky legs toward the exit.

The snake-woman was waiting for me a few metres from where I stepped off the bus. She was so sure I’d follow her that she’d turned her back to me and was heading toward an alley.

I had no intention of following this creature anywhere. The moment my feet hit the pavement, I started running for my life in the opposite direction.

Three steps.

That’s how far I made it before the monster’s tail wrapped around my legs and lifted me off the ground. People were walking on the sidewalk not two metres away from me, but none of them reacted to my predicament in the least. When I yelled, a lady passing by gave me a dirty look, like I was disturbing the peace.

The snake-woman brought me to her side; my legs still wrapped in her coils. She looked at me with amusement and said, You’re not charmed, are you?

If this happened today, I’d make some wisecrack about her powers of deduction, but back then I was new to all this and had yet to acquire my characteristic Zen insouciance. All I managed, I’m ashamed to admit, was a whimper and a sob. I tried to make eye contact with some of the passers-by, but they looked right through me, ignoring my pleas for help.

They cannot help you, silly morsel, the snake-woman whispered in my ear. I felt her tongue tickling my earlobe. I wanted to vomit more than ever.

She took me into the alley with her despite my continued screams for help.

Shush, the monster counselled me. This screaming is no use. Save your voice for answering my questions.

That shut me up. I saw my end coming soon after the creature’s curiosity was satisfied. I knew keeping my silence was the best way I could extend my life . . . at least until the snake-woman lost patience with me, or interest in