“Welcome. Are you here for a sermon? Our next one will be in the evening,” says the priest.

Quickly, Caspar adapts. If there's one thing he’s good at, it's Southern politeness. “No, I’m sorry. I just saw the doors were open. Is it okay if I sit down for a while? My AC is acting up.”

“Of course! Take a seat.”

Caspar sighs gratefully, wiping his brow. “Thank you. It’s hot as hell out there—oh, sorry.”

The preacher laughs, sitting beside Caspar. “Don’t sweat the small stuff. God is too busy saving souls to care about us having a chat. What brings you to town? Vacationing?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah?”

Caspar rubs the back of his neck. His heart pounds in his chest. Lying is always the hardest part. Best to keep as close to the truth as possible. “I had a fight with my mom and she kicked me out. I’m trying to make it to a friend's house until I’m on my feet.”

“Oh, God bless. I’m sure you will reconcile soon.”

Caspar sighs, running his hand through his hair. “I hope so. Would it be okay if I parked here overnight?”

“Oh, son, you don’t want to be out in this swampy weather stuck in a tin can. Do you have anywhere else to stay?”

Caspar swallows nervously. Letting a stranger stay the night so quickly does paint Douglas as suspect. As much as Caspar wishes it wasn’t true, people are rarely kind without some hidden agenda. 

If his hunch is right, then Caspar is their next target. It’s risky to walk into the wolf’s den like this, but it's the best chance he has of finding his family. He can only hope he’ll have the element of surprise on his side. “I don’t have anywhere else, no.”

“We have beds and a mess hall here for folks down on their luck. Would you like to stay?”

“Yes, thank God. I wasn’t looking forward to cooking in that RV all night.”

“Sure thing. I’m Pastor Douglas, by the way.”

Caspar shakes the man’s hand. “Caspar Shaw.”

“You’re free to check out the mess hall on the right. We usually have some folks stick around after service for donuts and coffee, but it seems everyone’s off to enjoy the weekend. Help yourself and after, you can go down the hall and find the bedrooms. There's a key on the nightstand in the first room on the right.”

“That sounds great, thank you, Father. God bless.”

Douglas smiles kindly. “I’ll let you get to it. I have some duties to attend to.”

As the pastor leaves, Caspar immediately begins investigating. He leaves the main chamber and heads towards the mess hall. It’s a humble affair, just a few tables, chairs, and plates offering snacks. Caspar longingly eyeballs the donuts before heading toward the hallway at the back.

The walls are a sickly yellow here, ancient wallpaper peeling from the decayed wall glue. Caspar tries the first door on the right, finding a small room with a dingy twin bed and a weathered lamp in the corner. This is the room Pastor Douglas offered him. 

He shuts the door, heading to the next room. Another bedroom. 

Next room, he finds the same. After that is the bathroom, and after that is the janitor's closet. He tries the last door tentatively.

Chckk!

It's locked. 

Caspar looks back and forth, checking the area is clear. He presses his ear to the door. 

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, really. Maybe his mom yelling for help? A snarl from some kind of monster? 

Reverberating quietly on the other side, however, is the voice of a young woman. It’s soft, sad. Like the owner is waiting for something. 

Caspar’s eyes widen. He sits transfixed for a moment. Who’s in there? A member of the church? Someone like him, passing through town?

“Hello?” a voice calls out. 

Caspar flinches away from the door with a gasp. He rushes away until he’s safely in his borrowed room, heart pounding as he leans against the door. He looks up, taking a moment to catch his breath. 

What the hell? What was that? 

He looks down at his shaking hands. Even when dealing with the freakiest of monsters, he’s never reacted like this. Is he losing his touch? Or is his gut telling him something is very wrong here? 

“Fuck!” he suddenly yelps as his phone vibrates. He looks down.

Incoming call, Jacob Freeson.

Caspar smiles weakly, answering the phone. “Hey, Jake.”

A laugh on the other side echoes in his ear. “Look who’s back in the game.”

“Yeah. I just need to do this one last job. Have you got any time to help me?”

“If I could, I would. I’m in New Mexico right now. Me and my crew have been hunting a lamia dusk to dawn for three days straight. It's got at least twelve people in its den at the moment. Hopefully, we can catch it in time. We can head down as soon as we wrap this up.”

Caspar cringes, imagining the sharp fangs and ugly maws. Lamias are nasty. He can only hope it fed recently so it's slow and clumsy. “I understand.”

“Melissa did some research in her free time on your podunk, though. You see any missing posters over there?”

“I haven’t had a chance to. I’m already in. They offered me a room to stay in.”

“Be careful, Caspar. All the missing people reported in that town were vagrants. I wouldn’t rule out some monster picking off humans they don’t think will be missed.”

Won’t be missed? Sounds like Caspar alright.

He sits on the bed, dismissing the defeatist thoughts. He tries to ground himself, focusing on the texture of the worn quilt beneath him. If they’re hunting so carefully, that narrows the list of suspects down a bit. “So, what do you think? Witches? Fear Feeders? Vamps?”

“Sounds like a couple of vamps.”

“Hopefully not a coven.”

“No. There’s not enough homeless for them to feed on. They’d starve waiting for new victims.”

“That's what I was thinking. It’s gotta be the priest, he was way too eager to offer me a place to stay. There’s someone in the last room. I think it’s a blood bag. She should be able to confirm if we’re right. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Oh, will you now?”

Caspar frowns. “What?”

“You really think I wouldn’t find out that you’re trying to leave again?”

“Why do you care what I do?”

“Why do you think? We need as many hunters as we can get. You can’t just run away.”

Caspar goes red in the face. "Maybe I would be more motivated to hunt if you kept your promise and let me join your crew. Instead, I only ever hear from you when it's concerning my mom and her batshit plans.”

“How can I let you join my crew when you have such a history of being a flake? Every time, it’s the same with you. You have a fight with your mom, you try to make it as a civvie, you fail, and then you come crawling back to us. To hunting.”

“Fuck you. Let me live my life.”

“This is your life. Time to be a man and take on the mantle your mom raised you to. Are you really going to let these monsters win after what they took from us? Our dads are both dead because of monsters. You owe them—”

Caspar ends the call, slamming his phone down. He climbs onto the bed, staring up at the lazily spinning fan above him. He balls his fists, covering his eyes. 

Caspar takes a deep breath, desperately trying to ignore the burning in his eyes. It’s bad enough to be a fucking coward, he can’t also be a little bitch who cries over a spat with a former friend. Maybe once this case is over, Jacob will see Caspar cares. Maybe his mom and his uncle will, too. 

Caspar opens his eyes. He stares at the ceiling fan. His eyes follow a blade, looping in circles. 

This will be his last mission. Then he’s out. He knows it won’t be enough to prove himself to them. Nothing ever is. Maybe he should make a mistake, let himself go out honorably. His mom has gone missing before and come back before. 

Does she even need Caspar? Is there any point to hunting her down when Jacob is right?

He groans, raking a hand over his face. He can’t give up yet. At the very least, he needs to try. Uncle Duncan would never forgive him if he knew Caspar was thinking of abandoning his mom. 

Exhaustion tempts him to give in to sleep, but Caspar opens his eyes. He stares at the ceiling, determined to stay awake until nightfall. 

Hours pass by. The room slowly dims as the sun sinks lower and lower on the horizon. The dark comes quicker than expected. 

Shortly after the last dying light of the sunbeams through his window, Caspar leaves his room.

The church was unsettling already in the light of the day. Now, cast in the cold colors of nightfall, Caspar can’t help but feel like he’s intruding somewhere he’s not meant to be. He peeks out of his room cautiously. 

A flickering light of a fake sconce illuminates the hallway. The coast is clear. 

Quiet as his footsteps allow, Caspar sneaks out. His plan is to investigate the main hall first, but a niggling instinct causes him to pause. Despite his fear, he looks down the hallway. The door he encountered earlier is still shut. He creeps close.

“Hello?” a female voice calls out. 

Caspar’s nerves are going haywire. “Hello? Are you okay?”

“Please, help,” she whispers.

“I’m going to. It’s okay. It’s going to be all okay.”

Caspar readies his knife. This could be a victim, but it’s always better to be prepared. Too many monsters use the “helpless damsel” trick for him not to be wary. 

The hilt is sweaty in his grip as he retrieves his lock-picking kit. Delicately, he attempts to shift the pins. It’s awkward with the knife in his hands, but the inconvenience has saved him a few too many times.

“That won’t work. Look, on the doorframe,” the woman whispers.

Caspar looks up. His eyes narrow as he realizes that someone has pasted a script of unreadable letters in something decaying brown—there must've been a glamor on it, hiding it from view. So witches are at play? Or at least, someone who knows basic witchcraft. Careful not to touch it with his bare skin, Caspar wipes the sigils away with his sleeve. 

Chck!

The door unlocks. Caspar pushes his way inside. The darkness is nearly impenetrable, and an unsettling scent of rust and decay hits his nose.

“Hello?” 

Caspar opens the door a little wider. A sliver of light illuminates the room. There's no furniture in here, just a dirty, bare floor. 

Wait.

Something is in the middle of the room. Caspar comes a little closer—

He gasps, blood going cold as he realizes there's a woman here, sitting squarely in the middle of a pentagram. The yellow glow of the hall casts a sliver of light that slinks down her body, over soft curves and pale skin, none of it clothed. She’s kneeling, but her expression is anything but submissive. Her eyes lock onto Caspar with a cold look of determination. 

They stare at each other. The seconds stretch until finally, she breaks the silence.

Her eyes flash a vermillion red, pupils contracting into inhuman slits. “Will you help me, Caspar?”