I supposed that I should have let someone else take this case. I had more pressing matters to attend to at the safehouse, and my team mates were both injured from our last expedition, leaving me as a lone operative. It was nice to have some alone time, though. That was a rarity in this line of work.

I adjusted my sunglasses as I passed the city limits sign. Deep River, Population 2731. The windows were down, my thick onyx hair whipping around me. The thundering engine vibrated the 1965 Camaro, the silver paint glittering in the evening sun.

Immediately I located the gas station, pulled into a parking space and turned the car off. I thumbed through my purse and found the phony drivers license and matching credit card that I had been issued. I needed to grab a bite to eat, and I could use a cigarette. My nerves were shot.

Exiting the vehicle, I quickly took in my surroundings. One pick up and a station wagon parked in front of the store, and one to the far left where I assumed employee parking was. The vehicles were older and had seen better days. The truck's deep orange paint was chipping around the bottom of the vehicle. The door handles were tarnished silver and the hood was dented in several places. The station wagon was a faded turquoise, a strip of wood paneling running along each door. The employees minivan was white, dried mud caking the sides and wheels.

When I entered the building, the door chimed and the young attendant greeted me in a disinterested tone, not bothering to look up from her cell phone. I mumbled a thanks before heading to the cooler. Snatching up a soda and bottled water, I was then approached by a teenaged boy who grinned confidently at me.

"Ain't seen you around here before." He ran a thin hand through his messy dark blonde hair. He had notable acne, and fluoride stains on his two front teeth. I faked a smile.

"Just passing through on business." I closed the door to the cooler as his brown eyes raked over my body. I suppressed the urge to slap him.

"Now, you look too young to be on a business trip. You can't be older than seventeen," he mused, as I ground my teeth and hoped it went unnoticed.

"Twenty four, actually." I stared him in the eye as he squirmed.

"What kinda business?" he inquired. I could smell his breath and took a step back. Removing my fake badge from my breast pocket I flashed it at him. His eyes grew wide.

"I'm here to investigate the murder of Benjamin Hopkins. The folks back home think that it may be connected to some activity they've experienced recently and they've sent me to check it out. Anything you could tell me would be greatly appreciated," I urged. He looked at his feet.

"Benji was a good guy," he told me, eyes darting across the dingy tan tiled floor. "No one would wanna hurt him. I don't know much else." I could tell he was hiding something.

"So I take it you knew the victim. I'm sorry for your loss. I didn't even catch your name," I prodded softly. "You can call me Liza." Fake names came with the territory. Sorry, kid.

"I'm Arnie," he said. "Arnie Wilkes. It was good talking to you, miss. Good luck on your investigation." His quick nervous speech was a dead giveaway. He knew more than he was saying. I watched as he quickly left without buying anything, tearing out of the parking lot in the orange truck. I made a mental note to try and locate him again. It couldn't be too difficult in a small town like this.

After grabbing a barbeque sandwich and chips, I flashed my ID and the attendant retrieved the pack of menthol cigarettes I asked for. I paid the attendant and rushed outside, smiling as I leaned against the hood of my car to eat. After a long swig of soda, I checked my phone. No new messages or missed calls.

Once the food was gone and I was no longer dizzy from hunger, I climbed inside the car. The charcoal gray leather of the seats bordered on burn-inducing, the cool air no match for the sunlight amplified through the glass of the windows. I rolled up the sleeves of my black button down shirt and started the engine before swiftly leaving the parking lot and heading north towards the small cabin I had rented.

It was a 35 minute drive from Deep River, though the lack of buildings and houses made it seem much longer. The trip was only made quicker by the lack of stoplights and traffic. Fields of cotton and sorghum were disrupted by the occasional abandoned dilapidated farm house or barn before a thick collection of leafy trees took their place in the landscape. Their boughs were adorned with foliage in hues of fire and the sight was quite stunning.

As I pulled into the driveway, I immediately sighed. It had been a long 9 hours in the car, and I was glad to be somewhere I could get out and stretch my stiff legs for more than fifteen minutes.

Once I was parked, I found the key in my purse and hesitated. While Deanne had booked this cabin ahead of time from someone she claimed to have hunted with before, I knew better than to trust an empty house in a town full of possible monstrosities. I quickly found my black duffle bag in the back seat and rummaged through it until I found my .9 millimeter and my warded knife. I slipped the silver knife blade into my right boot, the carefully crafted golden and silver hilt displaying it's intricate carvings as they shone eagerly in the setting sun's last bit of light.

Approaching the cabin was nervewracking. I had no idea what I was dealing with here and blessed bullets and warded knives may not have been able to stop this thing if it was waiting for me. I did a quick once over of the cabin.

The log exterior was well kept, with a matching wooden door. The windows were small and allowed no view into the cabin. Sheets of tin formed the roof, looking out of place. The thick grass was a healthy green. Removing my sunglasses, I prepared myself.

I slowly climbed the 3 steps to the porch, both hands gripping the gun by my side. I took the key out of my pocket and attempted to quietly unlock the door. The hand gripping my gun tightened.

Once the door was unlocked, I swung it open wide and checked the building. The living area was clear and quite nicely styled. A maroon leather couch sat opposite a large flat screen television to the left. The end tables had matching lamps, the bases appearing to be made of thin, twisted bronze and the lampshades were the color of desert sand. The hardwood floor was shiny and smooth. Behind the couch to the right, on the back wall, sat a desk and office chair, a bankers lamp illuminating a phone book and a container filled with writing utensils. Dried flowers in frames hung on the walls, ranging from Indian paintbrushes to buttercups. I repressed the urge to sigh. I wasn't out of the woods yet.

Directly ahead was the small kitchen. The walls were the same coffee and cream color as the living room, the hardwood floors adorned with rugs in front of the stove and sink. The refrigerator was old, the typical turquoise color that reminded me of advertisements from the '50s and '60s. It held several of my favorite sodas, bottled water, a jar of dill pickles, condiments, and a take out bag that had a stickynote with my name on it. The stove was gas, and a shiny black. There was a dishwasher next to the sink and a door that I assumed led to a pantry. A quick check showed it To be empty, not counting a box of microwave popcorn and a bag of chips. To the right of the kitchen were two doors. I quietly approached the first, drew my weapon and held my breath before opening it.

It revealed a bedroom. The headboard and footboard were cushioned in soft black fabric, silver flatheaded pins creating a repeating diamond pattern on the headboard. The blanket was a cream colored goose-down comforter, with matching pillows and pillowcases. A few black and burgundy throw pillows were nestled there, the same color palette as the microfleece throw blanket on the foot of the bed. There was a large dresser with a vanity mirror and a recliner with a tall lamp in the corner, next to a tall oak bookshelf covered in dusty tomes and scented candles. I cleared the closet, which was empty save for some mothballs.

Next was what I could only assume to be the bathroom. I quickly opened that door, ready to be done and get my things inside.

The large bathtub was beautiful, an old cast iron claw tub that had been painted an off-white. The faucet was thin and the knobs were the four spindled type, each with a curly letter H or C announcing the water temperature that each knob controlled. There was a silver multi-level towel rack a few steps away. The floor was black tile, and the walls were a deep red. The countertop was a beautiful black marble with swirls of gray. The sink was the same color as the countertop, with brushed silver hardware. A large mirror with vanity lighting was affixed to the wall above the sink. New candles were placed around the bathtub and along the counter. They smelled like a mixture of vanilla and lavendar, with small hints of sandalwood. There was a wooden cabinet in the corner, doors opening to reveal soft, fluffy red and charcoal gray towels and washcloths and a gift basket full of spa-type items.

After I was satisfied that the house was empty, I allowed myself a deep sigh before moving my bags from the car to their respective rooms. Once the task was finished, I packed my cigarettes and lit one up after making my way to the porch. Shane, my senior partner, would have my ass if he knew I started smoking again. It was a terrible, disgusting habit, with awful consequences. Coincidentally, it was also one of the hardest habits to break. After a few long drags off of the cigarette spent in silence, I knocked the cherry off and laid the remains on the ground before pulling my phone from my pocket and calling Deeane. Went straight to voicemail.

"You've reached Martha Walker. Please leave a detailed message and I'll get back to you shortly. Thanks and have a great day." She was still using fake names on her cell phones. I could hear her now, preaching to me about safety and 'that dadgum technology.'

"Martha, it's Liza. I made it to temporary base. Everything is in fantastic shape and I wanted to say thank you for the food, drinks, gift basket, and the accommodations. Call me later." Hopefully she understood that it was me, Cara, not actually a woman named Liza. If not, surely her husband and my favorite old man, Hank, would remind her. Next on my call list was Shane. I lit the cigarette again and contemplated calling him.

Shane and I had a distant relationship at best. He had been the one that I could never get close to for a variety of reasons and circumstances, until one day I showed up at Deeane and Hank's doorstep and they took me in. Shane was a man of few words. When he did speak, he was gruff and blunt and usually making a snide comment or scolding one of us. But, he had helped me in a myriad of ways, and was a good hunter. And at seven years my senior, we had an odd friendship, but it worked. I gave in and pressed the green phone icon to initiate the call. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hello." His voice was deep and groggy, like gravel slowly crackling underneath tennis shoes on a slow Sunday morning walk.

"It's me," I said softly. "I made it. Miss you guys. How are you feeling?"

"Well, Dee's cooking isn't very good, so I'd say we miss you too." The joke hung heavy in the air, his tone a bit too irritated to be taken lightly. "Hank fixed me up. I'm good as new." He was lying. I could hear it in the way his breath quietly hitched. "I'll be there in three days. Old man is setting me up with some medication for the pain and some antibiotics. Once that's figured out, I'll be there. Don't make any big moves without me and lay low. This is bigger than we thought. I'll explain when I see you. Salt the windows and doorways."

"Well, alright," I said, surprise evident in my words.

"Be safe, kid. Don't do anything stupid." Click.

I tried to call Chris and Marie but neither of them answered. I stuffed the phone into my pants pocket as I stood, flicking the now extinguished cigarette butt into the thick grass. There wasn't much I could do under the radar here. It was a small town with big talkers, so I figured I would make a trip into town tomorrow for some supplies and then hang out in the cabin for a couple of days until Shane arrived.

I went back inside and began to unpack my things. Clothes in the dresser, make up, hair care items, toothbrush, and soaps in the bathroom, weapons and first aid kit in a duffle bag by the bed.

The television in the living room sat on a glass entertainment center, which was filled with various movies and a DVD player. I picked one out and popped it into the machine.

As previews began to roll, I went to the fridge to explore that take out bag from earlier. Deeane and Hank both had been through here yesterday, to scope the place out. Deeane's mind was beginning to go, so Hank had to stay with her at all times and to take her on a hunt would be a huge liability. I would have gone with them but I was stuck in Mississippi, wrapping up a poltergeist case. I didn't get much down time.

They must have retrieved the food from the next town over because when I opened the white styrofoam container, it contained diced steak, fried rice with egg, and mixed vegetables. It was one of my favorite foods. I heated it up in a skillet from the cabinet and returned to my place on the couch to gorge myself and try to ignore everything for a while.

Soon enough my eyelids were heavy, and I clicked off the TV and DVD player and made my way to the shower. I quickly washed myself, dressed in soft pajamas, and fell into bed at a quarter past ten.

That night, my sleep was oddly restless. Perhaps a warning of days to come. Or maybe just nerves. After all, being back in the town where I spent all those summers with my father, where he kept me hidden away and hit me to show me how much he regretted me, that has to do something to the psyche, right?

Regardless, I was hunting a different kind of monster these days.