Twisted Skin

RETURN TO WOLFVILLE

When the last fight was over and the LaMort manor naught but a pile of bodies and stone, Mary Elena had hoped that she would never need her hunting supplies again. She had hoped she would never have to go back to that house, to Wolfville, to the place where her family had been ripped apart and devoured by beasts banished only to nightmares in the modern day.

Until now, that was.

It was 10pm on a Sunday and she was strapped into her Prius, gunning full force down the highway while her wipers squealed and struggled against the downpour. Usually she would be curled up on her sofa with a big glass of wine, an episode or nine of RuPaul's Drag Race, a tray of discount chocolates, and a head full of regret. Not tonight. Not after that call.

"Mary? Mary, is that you? Can you hear me?"

"Dad?"

She still couldn't get his voice out of her head.

The man had been dead for nine years.

"They're here. They're here, and they're coming for me. We didn't kill them that night, Mary; we just kicked the hornet's nest."

Mary Elena's grip tightened upon the steering wheel. Her foot pressed down a little harder on the accelerator. In her rear-view mirror the lights of Halifax were swallowed by black water.

"No matter how many we sacrificed to stop them, they never truly died."

Never should have gotten in the car until the shock had passed, but she couldn't wait around; not with her father's life hanging in the balance. She wouldn't lose him to Hell's Horde a second time. Not now she was strong enough to do something about it.

"I know it's been a long time, and I know how hard this might be hard for you to hear, but you're my last hope," he'd said, choked by the lump of tears in his throat, desperate, frightened; all things her father had never been. "Gather your gear and hurry to Moonblight."

Only it was not so simple as all that. After the fight was done and the battlefield cleared of man and monster, Mary Elena had locked her hunting gear in a pretty pine box and buried them beneath her father's favourite apple tree. There they were still, in that garden of death in Wolfville, nestled among what parts she had found of the man himself. She was not keen to retrieve them, to take them up again and acknowledge that their fight was for naught, but tonight had left her without a choice.

She was to return to those ruins where she had left her past to die. She was to live as one of Hell's Hunters from here on.

*

When her car pulled into Wolfville, Mary Elena slowed it to a crawl only long enough to take a quick look around. Could just about make out shadows shifting through the rain. Could just about make out lights in the night, and smiles on the faces of townsfolk huddled under umbrellas.

"Still looking safe enough."

She breathed relief. First good sign was that there were people out at all. Second was that the pavements were still clear of blood smears. Death's hand had truly relinquished the town to its rightful owners, and now they had only themselves to fear.

She moved back up to third gear and breezed through the criss-cross tapestry of roads that led to the ruins of the LaMort manor. Wolfville's face-lift was quaint. The council had done a good job in rebuilding all they had lost, but Mary Elena knew the difference. It was too bright, too sleek, too contemporary and stylish. It had moved on. Everyone had. Dazed drivers forgot all the road's rules in their haste, lights flashed, children screamed, and friends chatted noisily in litter-strewn streets. Doors were thrown open to let soaked walkers hurry in, and from them wafted the most popular songs of the season. The streets thrummed always with music, be it from building or car.