#7 Regina Forrestor – Hunter

| November 8, 2011 | 0 Comments

I hunt monsters. Not like one of those Bigfoot freaks, sitting out in the woods at night with their cameras and microphones. No I am not trying to prove that the things that go bump in the night are real. I know they’re real. I’m just trying to kill them.

It’s a family business. My father was the one who taught me, and his father taught him. Mother was really happy about it, but she knew that it was work that needed to be done.

He took me on his hunts, traveling into the woods around our home looking fairies and brownies. Now these aren’t the nice sparkly things you see in the movies. Try six inches of teeth and claws that can become invisible and have an insatiable hunger for blood. Yeah you wouldn’t clap to keep one of these little shits alive. Dad died when a swamp ape broke free of a snare and snapped his neck, very messy. I couldn’t just stop. It would have been an insult to his memory.

So I kept at it. When I lost a hand to frostbite hunting a yeti, I still tracked it back to its lair and killed it with an icicle. A Will o’the Wisp took my eye in Ireland, and I was on the trail of a werewolf in Germany two days later.

This isn’t a pretty job. This isn’t a nice job. But every day, I help somebody and take one more monster out of the world. From where I’m standing, that’s better than most people.

Category: 2011, Horror

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