This was it, my time to prove myself worthy as a Hunter. However, my mind was clouded with doubts and worries. It would be out of character for me not to be worrying about something. I didn't wanna wake up at all, because I knew at the end of the day, I would be on the road again with my family. I remained curled in a ball underneath the stale smelling bed sheets, wearing an old nightdress that I've owned for about two years and yet it has never shrunk. That has to be more evidence on how much of a runt I am.
"Hey guys, get up!" came a familiar growl, a growl that belonged to my Dad. "Dean, make sure you both shower, then get this place packed and I'll be back with breakfast. I'll be back in ten, so get moving."
My brother vanished into the bathroom, the sound of the shower filtered into my hearing which made me curl into a tighter ball. After all the things I had encountered, why was I feeling scared now. In my mind, it's not right to feel scared. I didn't want to leave. It was strange because I've always hated getting left behind whilst everybody else was fighting and involved in the action, but this time I wanted to be left out.
Stretching my limbs like a cat, I uncurled myself from my shy armadillo position. The bones in my feet crunched as I wiggled my toes, my hips clicked as I shuffled in my position. Several minutes later, my brother appeared in front me.
"C'mon, get your ass up" he said as he shook his wet hair at me, wearing only a towel around his waist.
My eyes screwed up, as my hands defended my face from my big brother's 'wet dog' attack.
"What are you? A Labrador?" I hissed, becoming tangled in the once clean white bed sheets. "Cut it out!"
Dean rolled his eyes at me and took his clothes from his duffle bag, then closed the bathroom door again while whistling to Led Zeppelin. His hair is too short, so he can't pull that move off. There was the one and only master at that attack, and it was Sam. A swish from his mop of wet hair could cause serious damage, like tiny water droplets right in your eyeball.
"Hey, I'm the dude who's gonna save you from that bear who's gonna skin you alive for not being ready, so get up already," said Dean as he opened the bathroom door. "Go take a shower, and later you can sleep in the car, okay?"
I grunted loudly and rolled out of bed, landing heavily on my front on the floor. Ouch! My usual cat like reflexes failed me that time, making me look and feel like a fool.
"Chrissie!" Dean shouted, running towards me. "Are you okay?"
Apart from a slightly bruised ego, I was fine. At that moment, the motel door opened and Dad entered with a bag of food under his arm.
"What the hell happened?" he demanded, the door slamming behind him as he placed the food down on the kitchenette table. "Chrissie? Why are you on the floor?"
I swallowed nervously as I gazed up at my father, who was now standing before me.
"I just fell outta bed," I replied truthfully. "Don't panic, I haven't broke my face or butt."
Dad sighed as he returned my gaze, his dark eyes becoming soft for a slight moment.
"Well, glad to hear that but it doesn't answer why in the hell you ain't ready." Dad answered. "C'mon, you need to get serious now and being a smart ass isn't the way to do that. Dean, help her up and get packing. I wanna get on the as soon as possible."
My brother helped me up, ignoring my disgruntled expression. After my shower, I gathered the rest of my things into my duffle bag. I was wearing a dark red t-shirt over of a long gray sleeved top and my old jeans and converse sneakers.
The smell of my greasy bacon and egg bagel make me feel even more queasy. Feeling too nervous to eat, I kept my head down.
"Dean, we'll take Route 9 til a cut-off about sixty miles in, then it'll get quite narrow, so stay exactly behind me, this way you won't get a flat tire or drive off the road" said Dad. He then slid a large folder across the kitchenette table, towards my direction. "And Chrissie, read this before we get there. Do I make myself clear, young lady?"
I raised a curious eyebrow as I inspected the folder. It contained various old newspaper articles, obituaries and black and white photographs from several decades ago.
"It's research. About our upcoming hunt," Dad replied. "Get your mind clear. Knowledge is the best form of hunting the supernatural."
Was I really ready to jump straight into the action? To be honest, I was scared and to be feeling scared seemed wrong. Especially with my personal experiences and knowledge.
"Dad, she knows," said my brother. "She's just tired."
Man, what's wrong with me these days. What happened to the kid who could floor a large gang of bullies? What happened to the kid who could hold back emotions? Oh, she is still there, but she is probably hiding. I was finally acting my age, an eleven year old girl. Yet, I'm different. Kids my age aren't meant to be fighting against monsters and creatures of nightmares. In reality, I should be in school plays, going to sleepovers and having fun with friends. I can't do these things. In another life maybe, just not this one.
"Don't pout, Chrissie," Dad stated, heading to the bathroom. "It's childish."
Pushing my smelly bagel away from me, I rested my chin on the kitchenette table.
"Are you sure you didn't get hurt or something?" Dean sincerely asked, leaning across the table to press his hand against my forehead.
I swatted his hand away and raised my head. My arms folded across my flat chest as I slouched in my chair.
"I'm fine" I mumbled.
Whenever that statement is said by any of my family members, you know it's an instant lie. My trusty baseball cap was facing forwards, signaling my sullen mood. It's been facing forwards a lot these days. What makes a good Hunter? I've been in the presence of many Hunters, some of them are legends within the Hunter circle. Being the amateur that I am, I felt like it was something I needed to know. When Dean was loading the car up, I confronted my Dad.
Dad knelt down at my level when I approached him. Even though I'm eleven years old, I'm a few inches smaller compared to all other kids my age. That sucks ass. He sighed as he removed my baseball cap with one hand whilst the other cupped the side of my face.
"I guess you being tired isn't the reason for your silent treatment," he said as he gazed into my eyes. "I really wanna get on the road, but I need to know what's eating you. From past personal experience, I can tell you that keeping crap inside will only eat you alive. Stress isn't something fun to keep inside, so you gotta let it out. Just talk to me. Okay?"
It always amazes me that people can have faith in me, but I struggle to find faith within myself.
"Can I ask you something?" I questioned. "It might sound stupid."
Dad cocked his head at me as he stroked my cheek. His eyes soft and caring. Damn, I have the ability to turn people into Care Bears due to my kicked puppy dog expression. I doubt this ability will last long, I'm getting old.
"Sweetie, you can ask me anything, anytime," Dad stated. "Although, I can be a bear at times, please always tell me what you're thinking."
How was I gonna say it without it sounding incredibly dumb? To Hell with it, I'll just come right out and say it.
"What makes a good hunter?" I asked my father, my puppy eyes working their magic.
My Dad probably thought I was worrying about something else, as I usually have a long list of anxieties.
"Well, first thing is to do your research. Then get organized and know what you're up against," replied Dad. Then he paused for a moment and tilted his head slightly. "What do you think makes a good hunter?"
I sighed heavily, whilst tugging on my left hair braid gently.
"That's the problem, I don't know," I answered. "You have to know how to shoot a gun in the right direction, I guess? You gotta be strong? Is that it?"
Pfft! Lifting heavy objects is a challenge for me, and just last week I was battling with the lid of a jam jar. I'm hardly the Hulk when it comes to strength. I forced spinach down my throat when I was younger and still nothing happened. Yet, I've always been blessed with speed and agility, which makes me think that I musta been a cat in my past life.
"Well, yeah. Physical strength is necessary, but mental strength will always be number one," replied Dad. "If you're mentally prepared, then your physical stamina will take over. This has nothing to do with you being a female, okay?"
I sighed as Dad stroked the side of my cheek, planting a kiss on my forehead. My aging baseball cap was returned to it's rightful place on my head, I then grabbed my bag and ventured outside to join my brother in the car.
The beginning of the long car journey with my brother was very silent, to the point when it got boring. I sat with my head down, my nimble fingers playing with a thread that dangled from my long sleeved shirt that was underneath my t-shirt. The answer that Dad gave me was a very valid point, yet it didn't seem to have enough information. I was searching for a true answer that spoke to my mind. My eyes briefly drifted up towards my brother, who was following Dad's truck.
"Hey Dean, can I ask you something?" I asked. "It might sound silly though."
He removed his sunglasses, a stupid ass grin on his face but his expression gave me a warm reassurance. The only reason he was wearing sunglasses was he claimed it made him look badass and cool. In my opinion, he looked like a Men in Black wannabe.
"Sure thing, kiddo," smiled my big brother, glancing down at me whilst keeping his eye on the road ahead. "What's up?"
I tilted the tongue of my baseball cap, bringing my eyes out of the shadow that the cap cast over them.
"What makes a good hunter?" I quizzed, my expression radiating curiosity.
I'm pretty sure my brother was expecting me to ask him something more weird, and that way he could make up some bull shit answer.
"Well, first you need a six foot one, good-looking guy with green eyes and tons of muscles," Dean chuckled, raising his eye brows as he smirked at his own joke.
I gave him a blank stare, followed by a raised eyebrow. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I rolled my eyes at my brother.
"Yeah, not the answer I was looking for," I remarked, continuing to fiddle with the thread on my sleeve. "I'm being serious, dude."
My brother cleared his throat, his gaze focusing on the road and Dad's truck ahead of us.
"Uh, sorry. Basically a good hunter is someone who takes the time to research the demon he or she is after," answered Dean. "Then do everything in your power to stop that son of a bitch."
My nose tickled, causing it to twitch. I dunno why, but ever since I could remember my nose has done that whenever I'm either very curious or very confused. Makes me look like a rabbit.
"What if it isn't a demon?" I questioned. "It could be some big ass swamp monster or something? Hell, Big Foot might even be real, and we have to take him down. What would we do then?"
My brother smirked at the statement and rolled his eyes at me. I sighed yet again before slouching back on my seat, my arms folded across my flat chest.
"Baby, where is this coming from?" asked my brother, briefly glancing down at me. "Does this have something to do with Dad?"
Dad has put a lot of faith in me, a matter which I'm nervous about. What if I fail? I can't fail!
"Do you think I'm ready?" I wondered aloud, chewing on my bottom lip nervously.
It was very obvious that my brother had doubts of me getting involved in the hunt. Dad musta spoken some harsh words to him the previous, as he was now acting like his second in command again. Even though he wasn't aloud to speak out against the matter, Dean knew better. In his mind, I was still a child. He was right, even though all eleven years olds hate being referred to as a child. The car journey continued in a still silence, until I was allowed to play my mix tape and Queen started blaring throughout the car.
When we stopped for gas a few hours later, I took the opportunity to sneak into the female restroom. After finding a cubicle, I fished out my cell phone from my jeans pocket. Bobby was the first person I chose to call.
"Jeez, little lady, your call startled me." Bobby wearily replied. "It's still early. What's wrong?"
Sitting on the toilet seat Indian style was not the most comfortable position to have tangled myself in. I cradled the phone to my ear as I swallowed.
"It's my first hunt, Dad says it's a poltergeist," I stated. "Is it okay if I ask you a question?"
Next to my Dad, Bobby was the wisest person I know. Don't tell Dean that though, since he thinks he's some Greek God and has the mind of Einstein. In reality, he's got the intelligence of an earthworm. Again, don't tell him that, because he would beat my ass till the cows come home. Bobby would have the answer, surely?
"Sure, you need some research done or something?" came Bobby's reply from the other end. "Lay it on me, darlin'."
For the third time, I stated my question and hoped for a better answer than what I had heard before.
"What makes a good hunter?" I asked.
The cubicle was decorated in graffiti and it smelt very funky. Then again, toilets are supposed to stink.
"Good hunters are dedicated to the protection of the innocent and they understand the evil they're hunting. They are grateful for the privilege to hunt," answered Bobby. "A good hunter also practices gun safety, and obeys other hunters and thoroughly does the proper research."
Bobby did have a very good answer, and yet it somehow it wasn't really connecting with my way of thinking when it came to the subject. I had already figured that stuff out anyway.
"Do you think I'm ready, Bobby?" I added.
Bobby sighed from the other end of the phone line. He knew as well as I did the amount of danger and horror that was out there. My family was born with bulls-eye targets on our foreheads.
"Darlin', it's entirely you're decision on what you feel is best and right for you," commented Bobby. "But don't go hunting if you're not one hundred percent focused. You'll do just fine, so quit the unnecessary over thinking."
I nodded thoughtfully, knowing that I was over thinking about the tiniest thing. The call ended and a silence hung over the cubicle as I dialed the next contact in my cell phone. I was calling Sam. As soon as I heard his voice, I burst into tears like a complete baby.
"Oh Chris, what did Dad do now?" Sam asked, his tone sincere as he began to believe that some disaster and tragedy had hit us as a result of Dad's actions. "What's wrong?"
The tears that fell from my eyes glided down my cheeks, and the back of my free hand wiped my running nose.
"It's n-n-not D-D-Dad," I wept. "I-I-It's m-m-me."
It was so good to hear his voice again since I hadn't heard from him in about four weeks. We trade secret calls and text messages, something we try to do every two days. Regardless of this way of communicating, I still missed my brother terribly.
"Chrissie, obviously you're upset about something, so just tell me already," Sam stated. "I'm here for you, so nothing you say would shock me. Believe me."
My shoulders began to tremble as I cried quietly in the cramped toilet cubicle.
"D-Dad w-wants m-m-me to h-hunt" I announced suddenly, my sobs causing me to stutter with my words.
As predicted, Sam wasn't happy with my statement.
"God, that man never stops!" Sam huffed. "All he does is eat, sleep, drink and hunt."
Dad just wanted us to be safe that's all, yet I know Sam's point. He can be selfish and cruel sometimes, but he only does it so that he can protect us. He is the only true father we will ever get.
"I n-n-need an h-honest answer to my q-q-question," I gulped, thumbing my tears away with my free hand. "What makes a good h-hunter?"
My mind flashed, an image of Sam aged eleven years old appeared. He appeared to be asking the same question. Then the image suddenly vanished into thin air. Man, my imagination is seriously wild and very weird.
"Well, I can only answer from my personal experience, and that would be human instinct. As long as you have this, everything else will fall into place. Human instinct is what gives us an upper hand on all things evil, since they don't have it," said Sam, generating wisdom and truth from the manner and tone of his voice. "Just go with your gut instincts and you'll never be a bad hunter. "
No wonder he got a scholarship to Stanford. He was definitely the brains of the family.
"I miss you, Samwise" I sniffed, referring to a hobbit character from The Lord of the Rings.
My Sam was definitely not a hobbit, although I was. He probably was taller than Hagrid from Harry Potter.
"I miss you too, every day" Sam replied sadly.
It then dawned on me, like a flicker of a light bulb. I had the guts and growing knowledge to venture out into this frightening world. If any monster came near me and my family, I would rip it's balls off with my bare hands. In the end, it was Sam who gave me the strength to keep calm and carry on. Courage, don't you dare fail me now.
I know it's been a while since I last updated but I was struggling with writer's block. Now thanks to the brilliant kissacazador! Everything should be in full swing again with this story. She helped write the chapter, so give her a cheer too.
If this chapter is meh! then I'm sorry but I promise it will get better.
Thanks for all the reviews so far and for being patient. You guys keep me going!
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P.S
I recently set up an account of FictionPress, if you want then check out BonnieAlba1993 in which I have posted the first chapter of an original fiction story that I'm testing out.