“Come on, man!” Damon protested. “I asked off for tomorrow night!”
“I know, but Zach was supposed to be your fill-in, and nobody’s seen him for two days. Like he fell off the face of the earth. Surprised he lasted this long.” Mr. Corman smirked, his eyes inscrutable behind thick spectacles.
“My dear Jean-Luc, this is an essential part of the holiday,” Victor clapped me on the back, steering me past hay bales and piles of pre-cut pumpkins, heading deeper into the patch. “We select a pumpkin, then carve a design into it, and display it on the front stoop.”
I scowled and stared out over the field of orange and green.
Back in my day, we didn’t have so many blasted cryptids running around in the woods. When I worked for Game and Fish, I took my job as cryptid hunter seriously, and I kept nasty beasts to a manageable level. But things changed after I retired, and hunters started using a “holistic cryptid management approach.”
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When I heard about our scientists’ mutation experiments, I laughed. When I saw their results, I loaded my guns.
Tranquilizer guns, of course. As the lab’s lead animal caretaker, only the pistol on my holster was deadly.
“Don’t you have anything that’s not dangerous?” I asked Dr. Jantz, our lead geneticist.
I was but a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old, the summer I worked grounds crew at Camp Sand Lake.
Sand was a given, being smack in the Mojave Desert, and it would’ve been omitted altogether in an alternate universe where “Camp Lake” made good branding. The eponymous lake, however, was a mystery. How deep was it?
The most terrifying day of my life was humid and hot—the type of weather that either makes people love summer or wish for winter. I stood in front of Rimlain Canyons, casually scanning the uneven cliff walls with Mr. Krinkleton, a librarian and fellow adventurer. Rumor had it there were riches to be found here, yet many who went searching for them never returned.
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There is one thing about having six ears: sometimes, you overhear comments that weren’t meant for you. Even though I was still snoozing on Hades’ bed, I heard Artemis addressing my master in the living room.
“Do you know what day it is?” I could picture the sly look on Artemis’ face as she posed the question.
“Gerald, did you know I was top of my class at law school?”
“Oh yes, sir, you have it on your business card.” The boatman held up Vincent’s card that he’d given him earlier that day. A fit man in his late fifties, Gerald’s bushy red beard was only just starting to betray a few gray whiskers.
I knew the dangers of stopping for a stranded traveler, so I often passed them without a thought, praying for someone else to help. I had lived in Michigan all my life and experienced April snow squalls that formed from nowhere. Such is the way with the Mitten State in spring.
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When I opened the Book of Madness, lightning streaked outside the mansion’s window.
Thunder bellowed.
My flashlight illuminated scribblings on the faded pages as I traced my finger along a paragraph, skimming with eyes squinted, mumbling the Latin translation of ancient text. I flipped a page, propping myself against the reading table.
I had always lived for darkness. No other time were gargoyles permitted to come alive and feast upon delectable, cursed things. The hunt was all we knew—all we desired. Each night atop my cathedral, I approached twilight with the same anticipation, blissfully unaware that one evening held the power to alter my destiny forever.
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“I’ve got a good feeling about you, Planet 77.”
My heart thundered with the anticipation of facing the water-hungry nightmare that had buried our planet. Our ship slowed as we breached the skies of Earth.
“Don’t forget the cloaking device.” Jones reached over my shoulder and flipped a toggle. “I’d rather not be deified this time.”
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