Don't Open That Door - GoM 1

Anniversary - 5

Alex took Claire across the yard to Bootter's workshop. Claire was surprised when Alex stopped at the door and turned to her with the padlock key.

"Time to learn how to open it, kiddo. In case one day you need to do it and I'm not around."

Claire took the key and inserted it into the lock, but Alex stopped her before she turned it.

"This padlock is bound by a spell," Alex explained. "The only way to unlock it is using the opening word right before turning the key."

Claire nodded with a grave frown. "Okay."

"But you can't say the word out loud, 'cause it's supposed to be a secret, so it won't work. You gotta whisper it."

"Got it. What's the word?"

The girl's serious focus made Alex smile. "Adela," she said.

"What? As in the Hispanic name?"

"Yup. Grandpa it after one of his lovers, a Mexican hunter."

"What?"

"C'mon, Claire. You don't think Grandpa died a virgin, right?"

Alex chuckled at Claire's evident attempt to match her memories of the old hunter's snow white hair, his wrinkled face, with the notion of intercourse.

"All I know is that they met in Arizona, when she crossed the border hunting down a nasty Aztec demon. Grandpa helped her and they spent some weeks together."

"An Aztec demon," Claire repeated. It was better than picturing Old Bootter having sex.

"Just like people, every culture has its own demons."

"Of course."

Alex chuckled again. "Are you gonna open it any time soon? Remember: whisper the word right before turning the key."

"Okay."

The girl grabbed the padlock, radiating determination. She did as Alex had said, but it didn't open.

"What the—?" she grunted and tried again.

No luck.

"Wait," said Alex. "Three wrong tries and the spell will block the lock for good. Let me show you."

Claire stepped back, curious and frustrated. Alex took about a heartbeat to make the padlock click open in her hand.

"Wicked!"

"C'mon in. You can practice later."

Sunlight came into the workshop through the window looking south. Alex preceded Claire in and showed her how to open the safe.

"Jeez! I should take notes," the girl muttered.

"No need. You'll remember everything in time." Alex pushed the heavy iron door open and rested her shoulder against the side of the safe. "Let's see if you can find Grandpa's journal from 1973."

"That's what the numbers he wrote in blood mean?"

"Yes. What we're looking for is in his chronicles from his hunting years."

Claire needed a while to find it, mostly because she was trying to picture Alex back then. Only twenty, the same age Claire was now. Her family butchered, her life torn to pieces, left alone to take care of her ten-year-old niece. Claire imagined her all by herself in the deserted house, inspecting everything to try to figure out what had happened to her loved ones. And all alone in the workshop, trying to find the meaning of Bootter's clue. The girl could picture the pain, the fear, the impotence, the helplessness. How come she had never thought about it?

When she finally found the right notebook, Alex motioned for her to take it to the table. They sat together on the bench, their backs to the wall, and Alex turned the yellowing pages for Claire to see.

"So Grandpa wrote E, seven, three. Meaning he wanted me to know that what had killed them was a creature starting with E that he'd hunted back in 1973." She turned more pages. "Allow me. You can have a good time some other day, reading Grandpa's adventures from when he was a young bold hunter, lethal to demons, evil creatures and women."

"Just like Aidan."

Alex tilted her head. She'd never thought about it. "Yeah, just like Aidan," she replied softly. "Here," she said, showing Claire a page.

On the first line, the girl read: "Batesville, AR, May 1973 - Ertes."

"Let me give you the crash course," Alex said. "Ertes are like cousins with ghouls, because they eat human flesh and can take the shape of those they eat. The big difference is that ertes prey on living flesh, not on dead bodies like ghouls."

Claire recalled Alex's description of what she'd found in the kitchen and a chill of shocked horror ran down her spine.

"That's why people thought a stray pack of wolves had found their bodies before me," Alex said.

"Oh, my," Claire murmured.

Alex wouldn't let her linger on it.

"Some facts about ertes: they're all females. No male ertes. They breed with human men and spawn only baby girls. They live in clans of blood-related groups and always hunt in pairs, usually sisters. They're proud creatures that cherish their lineage. Reaching a certain number of generations and living members increases the clan's status. And the top-ranking clans have symbols to identify themselves. Wearing the clan symbol gives authority to an erte in their society."

Alex turned the page and pointed at what looked like a doodle. Claire stiffened when she saw it was actually the draft of a cross ending in a hook. Alex went on.

"So back in 1973, in Batesville, Arizona, Grandpa hunted down a pair of ertes, which belonged a clan old and important enough to have its own brand."

"Meaning our family—?" Claire mumbled.

Alex replied like talking about a movie, not a very real nightmare she'd had to go through and unravel all by herself.

"Meaning our family was murdered by two ertes from the same clan. The footprints were made by hiking boots, so I think the killers were one or two generations younger than those Grandpa hunted." She anticipated Claire's question. "Ertes live over a century, but they're not likely to follow fashion trends. So no old erte would wear the kind of hiking shoes the killers wore ten years ago." She shrugged. "My theory is that they tracked Grandpa down somehow because they wanted to avenge their elders. And when they found him, they took revenge on his family too, to inflict on him the same pain he'd inflicted on them."