Author's Notes: So, I've officially decided I DON'T like FictionPress. Its structured the same way as FanFiction but I couldn't format any of my pieces inside the website and I don't really know the site that well. People aren't as friendly there as they are here. Anyways, I'm just going to post these shorts here and be done with it. The world of this collection of shorts was inspired by Supernatural and Buffy but it is its own as are the characters. Perhaps the only thing stolen was the word "gank" and "Hunter" cuz I can't imagine a demon-slaying world without those two words in them.
This is Part 1 of the Demon Days series.
Chapter Rating: T (Blood, violence)
Disclaimer: These characters and this world actually are mine. Please don't steal. It wouldn't end well.
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Thursday Night
The faucet gurgled for a moment before water came pouring out. Cold splashing gobs before a steady stream and Mal stuck her hands underneath to wash off the blood. Fingernails were a bitch because the blood would dry and stick no matter what.
Jacket rolled to the elbows, dirt crusting the sleeves, Mal's dark hair hung in front of her eyes as she continued to scrub. The lights from the motel bathroom were dim and the edge of the mirror in front of her cracked. The faded tile floor had a trail of mud leading up to Mal, her steel-toed boots caked in the stuff. At least it had stopped raining outside.
Decapitations took a lot of effort.
Mal turned the handle and stopped the water, yanking a cheap towel off the bar to dry her arms. Rough cloth moving over old scars. She stalked out to the bedroom and threw the towel over her shoulder so that it hit the ground with a damp plop. On the bed lay a black duffle bag that had been patched several times with a dark heavy duck tape. Along the side read a worn and scratched gray patch with White Star High '04, the mascot next to it buried under tape.
Mal reached in and pulled out her Colt .45, dirt encrusted in the edges and handle cracked. She would need to clean and fix it before the gun could be used again. Clicking her tongue, Mal emptied the gun before tossing it onto the bed and watched the dirt flakes from it cover her squeaky mattress, stains from a previous tenant creeping across the corners. Mal paused as she stared at the gun and found herself sinking onto the bed, her knees shaking. She pressed her forehead against her hands and took a deep breath. Another. Breathe out. The shakes passed and the trembling finally stopped.
Mal looked over to the nightstand where her father's rosary lay. Red glass and wooden beads, the cross made of a sterling silver. All that she had left.
The alarm clock beeped and signaled the time was 4 AM. Time to go. Memories were for the weak and the fortunate.
Salt, lighter fluid, stakes, hunting knife, shotgun, and holy water all seemed to be fine and Mal zipped up the bag and swung it over her shoulders. Her backup Taurus PT38 .38 lay taped behind the cheap television stand and Mal ripped out, clicking the safety on before shoving it into the back of her jeans. As she turned to leave she stopped and swung around and snatched up the rosary, wrapping it around her right hand and swallowing her doubts. One demon down for the night, two to go.
A cold fog was brewing in the January night as Mal stepped outside, her breath misting before her. The garish neon lights from the motel sign cast everything in a weird glow and gave the shadows unusual colors, flickering at times as they died and came back. The air silent and still, smelling of dank earth and rotten trash. Her skin prickled. Hunting. Hunter. Prey.
Faded blue steel reflected her image as Mal walked to her old '76 Ford Mustang, restored from a wreaked heap and now a constant companion, sometimes the only one. Mal threw her duffle in through the open window to the back seats before popping open the door and sliding in. Roy had his seat leaned back and slept in the passenger seat. With a bang and sputter the engine started for Mal and Roy jerked up with a snap.
"Mornin', sunshine," Mal said. "Got us more demons to gank."
Roy gritted his teeth and looked down at his watch. "Well that didn't take long." He glanced back up, eyes sweeping over her. "Are you alright? You took a beating back there."
"There's something different about these." Mal admitted and her grip tightened on the steering wheel. "I wasn't sure before, but these could lead us to The Alpha."
"One day you'll explain what this alpha did," Roy said. "One day you'll stop being so angry."
"Yeah, yeah and one day I'll die." Mal shrugged, her grip still white on the wheel and shoulders tense. She smiled but it felt fake and plastic.
"Fine. Keep pretending." Roy scowled and pulled his hoodie over his eyes before laying back in his chair and rolling over. Mal steered out of the motel lot before peeling away and making for the edge of town where their second mark could be found. The streets were empty and the fog thick but Mal made good time. Speeding calmed her down, made it so she didn't have to listen to her heart pound in her ears.
The brittle barn was aged, dilapidated, and the perfect set for a Hollywood horror. So cliché it almost hurt. Mal ditched the car a few hundred feet away in the tall grass and Roy went to the trunk to get his own stuff. They circled the building, slow and steady. The almost-full moon shone down, the world soft in it's light while the ground felt sharp and hard, uneven in places with the old gravel road. Mal and Roy were making too much noise with the crunch of boots and rocks. It would give them away. Fog could only conceal so much.
Mal flicked her wrist and Roy's footsteps vanished. Mal crouched low as she pulled out her gun and checked the barrel. Light as air she ran for the door, the night wrapped around her, and with a crash she split open the door and rolled in. It was immediate, the inhuman shriek that made Mal's bones throb.
She thrashed and moved to cover behind a crate as the rafters above shifted and creaked. A slither in the air. The noise broke and Mal sprang forward, aiming. One—two shots rang. Wood splintered. Yellow eyes from the darkness glowed.
Nothing pretty or graceful could be said about the way they fought. Sweat, blood, oil, sulfur, broken skin, bruised flesh, grunts, and smoke. Mal smashed a bottle of holy water across it's head and it burned through the skin in a white steam. The air vibrated with the demon's screams and the stink of burnt hair and rotting corpses filled the barn, but nothing had died. Adrenaline still flooded Mal's senses.
A click and spark.
Fire rose from every corner of the room, blossomed into the air and light came from darkness. Roy stood with a lighter in hand and a painted symbol on the wall behind him, dark red and sticky. He smiled and the mark glowed, the creature reared back in fear, trapped by the flames. Mal acted, she drew her blade and leapt, sinking it into the demon's back.
Blood, black as the night, gushed from beneath her and the long spine arched and shook. Mal slipped, the liquid coating her hands, weakening her grip, and she tumbled through the air. The ground rushed to meet her with a painful crash and the world danced in front of her eyes. Stars shone where there should only be dark shadows and the fire laughed.
Lightening cracked and Roy's voice called out.
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A/N: So as this is original work, feedback is most certainly appreciated and encouraged. Thank you very much for taking the time out of your day to read this.
-Sakura