Chapter One; Sarah.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've had this strange understanding that the world was stretching far beyond what most could see, hear, feel, taste, and smell. Embraced in warm fleece blankets, peering at nothing over my Father's shoulder, my grey eyes connected with those of a woman with long caramel tresses and white eyes; Pure white. I did not cry, I did not fear. Infant curiosity followed my inspection as a small coo escaped my parted lips, and the woman's features turned up in an adoring smile. Her apparition faded in a blinding white light, and she rested.

Then, lying in my crib, a warm hand would lightly brush back the soft stray wisps of golden hair from my face. My breathing would speed in excitement, and timeless amber eyes would smile down upon me, bearing a gift of calming serenity that guaranteed a long, fulfilling rest, leaving behind a soft laughter that seemed to fill the room.

As a young child, my best friend and I would play dollies, combing through their hair and babbling on about how beautiful they were as though the small figurines would appreciate and consider the affection. Abby's parents never came to pick her up, however. In the foster home I ended up being raised in, I believed she was my sister. Everybody was rude to her. They pretended as though she never existed.

Imaginary friends- that's what I was told those people were. 'Sarah, you're too old for such idle fantasies. Ignore them and you'll see. They will go away'.

As I lived my life, trying to ignore the many friends I supposedly brought upon myself, those people became more and more desperate and agitated when I met them. By the time I turned twelve, I had finally rid myself of my first imaginary friend.

His name was October, an eight year old native whose home was destroyed in response to a development and construction plan with created the apartment I had then resided in with my foster family, a small boy and his grandmother. The small boy would terrify me, reaching for me in earnest, begging for help in words I didn't understand as the radio or T.V. would crackle menacingly. My family tried convincing me it was an electric failure and I didn't bother telling them what I saw, or what I knew was there. Truthfully, I feared for their safety. I slept with my foster parent Theresa, the elderly woman, telling her I feared the dark.

In October, with his name mentioned regularly, he started being forceful. Grabbing me, yelling audibly, and throwing things at a distinct panel of the wall. I lashed out in terror one night, angrily kicking at the wall where the panel wouldn't remain in place from October's many relentless attempts at getting my attention. A small stuffed toy fell to my feet, limp and dirty. I picked it up curiously and he flickered from existence before my eyes.

"Is this what you wanted all along?"

He pushed the figurine out of my hands, form flickering shockingly fast, and one of its tiny beaded eyes shattered on the let out a sigh of relief, and babbled at me again. October motioned to a lighter resting on the counter, and once I finally realized how to get it to work, I placed the toy on a plate so it wouldn't burn anything else and lit the toy on fire.

Though I was thrown back into the organization for a new family, October ended peacefully.

In total, I've dealt successfully with two dozen 'friends' between having a life with many foster families and my studies. Nobody wanted to keep me around- I think my file must've stated somewhere "Danger: Keep at your own risk". Yet, as I sat in those same rooms for days on end waiting for my file to be changed up and waiting for some kind soul to try to put up with me, all I really wanted was a home.

By the time I turned sixteen and became interested in going to college for psychology and writing, the number of restless spirits I encountered on campus was unreasonably high. I seemed to be a beacon of their interest, as though a light resonating from me that told them I was someone who could send them to the real light. The second I stepped onto the grounds, six young men and two women surrounded me, screaming at me in relief and despair. Their voices were a strange reverberation in the air, like the static of an old television being switched on. I covered my ears, wincing as the sound rose in volume, and went through with the tour, though I was positive that I wouldn't be able to handle all the stress anytime soon.

About two years after that, I could deal with crowds of spirits without hearing the faintest ring of the unbearably high pitched ring spirits held. In fact, as it faded into lower, clearer sounds and not hectic buzzes, each person's voice became understandable to me, and I could talk them through their crisis and avert messy situations.

That's when I became interested in exorcism and met a hunter who taught me everything he knew; Most importantly that they really weren't imaginary friends, but restless spirits who wanted my help to reach the light. I picked up on the hunter lifestyle relatively easily given my upbringing of being forcibly moved around. My gift aided in the finding and expelling of particularly angry ghosts and, eventually, demons looking for peace.

The spiritual sector of the supernatural is where I've professionally exerted my particular talents since then. As of a week ago, my expedition called for a field trip.

Down a rain painted, deep grey, gravel road I walked, my muddy, worn ankle-high leather boots hitting the pavement with dull thuds. A harsh breeze blew through this ghost town of Georgia, fiery autumn leaves bowing under the force, and I felt my cheeks brighten at the brisk stinging cold. Taking a deep breath and feeling tired as hell, I turned into a coffee shop, not bothering with the busted door but stepping through the shattered glass of the broken shop window, rubbing my hands together once I was deeply inside the walls and the breeze had toned down a bit. All of the machinery still seemed to be in working order, save for a broken wire, so I began rewiring the boiler to fix myself a warm cup of coffee. Everything was so dead silent, I hardly wanted to move. There weren't even lost souls. The town was just as it appeared; Empty.

The silence, so thick, shattered with the glass in the streets as sparks flew from my attempt at rewiring the device in my hands. This caused me to bristle and quickly brandish my beloved dagger. Made of silver, finished with iron edges, this blade could fatally injure a great variety of monsters. Engraved in the silver were many runes and emblems, including a tiny devils trap at the middle that once piercing the demon renders them captured and powerless, and anti-destruction charms. More shattering pursued the first, the ground rumbling in its wake, and I walked out cautiously. Before I reached the centre of the street to see what approached me, I blinked and stared into the sky with slack-jawed bewilderment.

Light bulbs, shop windows, car windshield's, and even a town clock showered shards down onto the streets, as through a great force was barreling towards me. Amongst this impressive power, a higher pitch than I'd ever met screeched at me, though behind it somehow I could comprehend a male voice speaking, searching for survivors.

"I-I am here," I offered hesitantly, calling up into the distance. The destructive path halted, whispering to me soothingly, assuring my safety. I sheathed my dagger into my belt carefully, never looking away from the silvery cloud lining above me. The ringing did not stop, and I winced against the power, giving me something of a migraine with its fierce power. The screech steadily continued to clear as my power reached a new boundary, becoming much easier for me to interpret. "What's your name?" I asked, and the power whispered to me kindly, asking me a favour.

"Write what you hear as you hear it." He requested.

"Will I see you again?"

"Soon." The word hung in the air as the cloud flashed upwards and out of my sight, disappearing from the town. My blond hair rose and fell with the wind brushing my lips gently. Just as I pushed it gently behind my ear, my phone began to buzz in my pocket. I snapped it open.

My voice shook slightly, my mind still reeling with bewilderment. "Hello, Jennifer Casey, how may I help you?"

"Sarah, it's me." A familiar joking voice, always sounding full of sarcastic humour, corrected my name.

"Oh, hi, Rufus. How's it going on your end?" I asked kindly, smiling slightly.

"Not too badly, I've picked up reports of lightning storms and population thinning around the area you're at now. I'm going to go out on a stretch and say you've found just about as much as a preacher reading from a bible for the three hundredth time."

"Don't crack on religion; It's rude." I scold. "But you are right. There isn't a soul here."

"Have you inspected the rest of the shoe yet?"

I snorted and covered my eyes with a groan. "You didn't."

Abrupt loud laughter filled the phone line and I couldn't help but grin a little. "I'm just outside Alabama, but it's getting pretty late. Make your way into Atlanta and I'll pick you up in the morning. We're going to Dakota to visit a friend of mine. Old man probably needs my help."

"Okay. See ya."

"Yeah, yeah." The line disconnected, and I close my phone with a resounding snap and throw it into my backpack which I pulled safely over my shoulders while I found and mounted my borrowed Honda Evo6, bringing it to life and leaving the abandoned town behind with dust in the wind.

A few hours past when through the darkness of the night I spotted what I believed would be a safe location to rest. It was called Hilton Garden, with many rooms and windows that was easily very occupied. Unlike most hunters who liked to live alone, in rooms they knew wouldn't be checked by many people, I liked to reside within large crowds and blend. Plus, with this weather, I would definitely appreciate a properly heated room.

Parking, I quickly jumped off and rushed into the main entrance of the establishment and paid for a room, giving a partial tip for not setting up a reservation, and received the key, quickly walking to the elevator and going to my room on the third floor. Maybe it should have bugged me that I'd just lied through my teeth without batting a lash to the ones that were gracious enough to allow me to sleep in one of their rooms, I thought. Oh well. When I entered the room, I scanned and cleared the place and then set my bag at the foot of my couch, curled up in my clothes and passed out there, having not slept in two or three days.

My sleep was unusually deep, but as fitful as usual. Everything was black, dark . There was nothing but nothing, until the ring from earlier invaded my senses, seeming to make my whole head vibrate and cause my skin to crawl uncomfortably. Louder, and louder, and louder- but then there were voices. Beautiful, high and deep simultaneously, unflawed perfection, spelling out Latin phrases I repeated blissfully, the words dancing on my tongue and then etching into my brain.

Suddenly, a harsher voice rose above the pure beauty of the others, making me jump and flinch, and when the whispers climbed in volume, a deformed face with bloody teeth flashed before me. The man's eyes scared me the most though they were amazingly, humanly normal for such a monstrosity. Behind them was cold, empty, dark and filled with an evil; One that could not be hidden- not even within measly human irises.

"Soon."

I shot upwards blindly, reaching for my knife instinctively, poised on the couch as though ready to strike at the chandelier. Gasping in fear and forced deep breaths to calm myself down, I settled back into the cushions. "Well, I need a notebook."

Leaving another healthy tip on the coffee table while I left the safety of my hotel room, I slung the backpack over one shoulder, the contents settling familiarly. The grey bag included a spare set of clothes, my Grandmother's rosary which she had blessed when she was a little girl, a typed document filled with Latin poetry and chants, intricately designed so that to the untrained eyes it seemed just a beautiful composition of writing, and a holy bible that my Father had given to my Mother before I was born. I needed nothing more, and I brought nothing less than the backpack. I kept my wallet in my jacket pocket.

On my hurry out of the hotel, I passed through the door and leaned back to look at the front desk. "Good morning- could I borrow that notepad?"

"Certainly, Miss." The woman behind the desk- A young woman of maybe twenty-five with her brown hair back in a tight bun and sharp features- tore one page out of the book and offered it to me. In return, I took the notebook and allowed her to keep the page as I walked outside.

While eating a rather fattening breakfast in a nearby dinner, I opened the book to begin writing. It was a dollar store type book, with a picture of a kitten playing on the front. I shrugged and began to write in neat handwriting the Latin phrases I had heard during my dream, silently translating in the back of my head all the while.

"Excuse me," An almost overbearingly amplified voice, filled with its usual joking nature filled the café, stirring the attention of all the early risers who'd been happily eating their food. "I'm looking for a little blonde girl, slightly anti-social. Have you seen her?"

I smirked, still looking at the paper and scribbling down the last of the short story, leaving ellipses for emphasis of the incompleteness. "Well-"

"A hole in the ground with water in it." Rufus answered with a straight face as he sat down at the other seat at my table. "What's with all those scribbles, Sare?"

I sighed and put the notebook into my backpack, "Long story for on the ride to your friends. You gonna eat? My treat."

"Wouldn't mind if I do~" He happily called the waiter, shamelessly flirting with her. She laughed, catching my eye and I smiled for her benefit while she left to get his breakfast.

After he'd eaten, looking quite content and fulfilled for the moment, we departed from the cafe, me with an iced coffee in my hand, and drove off out of Atlanta, heading for the border. My bike was secured in the bed of the truck and I glanced at the tarp waving in the wind every so often while watching the sun rise and set in the sky, burning the skyline on fire and making the once clear trees only black etches tearing darkness into the burnt skies.

Well on our way there, I sighed, "So, Rue, who's this friend we're visiting."

"His name is Bobby."

I look at him, expecting him to continue. When there was nothing more, I shrugged, biting the inside of my cheek. "Alrighty then." I slipped in my headphones, blaring Theory Of A Deadman as we sped down the interstate on our way to South Dakota.