“I know you been doing this for a little while, but I can see why Colton’s looking for new help. You gotta be prepared, right? Covert ops? Surgical strike? Get in, get out, get drunk, get laid, that’s how Big D rolls. You think I’m diving into a nest of, a nest of, um. You know, a nest of… Say, what are we hunting, anyway?”
When Dallas is recruited by an ancient order of monster hunters, he's more than happy to sign up. The self-proclaimed Hero of Trappersville did kill a bloodthirsty vampire, after all. As far as Dallas is concerned, monsters are monsters, and they have no place in Wisconsin.
Or do they? And does Dallas really get to choose which side he's on?
Even though it was faint, he recognized the smell. Taking a few tentative steps, he caught it again. Fixing it in his mind, he continued forward, slipping through the underbrush, stepping over fallen logs, and crouching under low-hanging branches. As he moved, the scent became incrementally more pronounced. He was passing by an old, crooked ash tree when his nose pulled him to an abrupt stop. Leaning in, he smelled a handful of leaves sprouting from a low branch. Beneath their leafiness, he smelled sweat, deodorant, maybe even cheap aftershave?
“Randall? It’s Randall. Son of a bitch, that’s gotta be him.”
Dallas swung around in a slow circle as he searched for traces of the scent. It didn’t take long to find it on another branch further into the trees. Soon, it was like a neon trail had been lit up just for Dallas. Every branch and leaf Randall had brushed against was emblazoned with his scent. Unquestioning, Dallas followed his nose.
Fixated on following the smelly trail, he almost forgot his original intent. Fortunately, a voice coming from just past the next rise brought him to his senses.
“… not much. I cast around for a bit, but I don’t think we gotta worry about a wendigo. And that ‘squatch scat was a least a week old. No fresh tracks, so it’s probably up in the Michigan U.P., maybe even Canada by now. Damn things got territories bigger than John Wayne’s balls.”
Scott lives in the Midwest with his wife and their boxer-pitt mix, Frank. He’s a horror, urban fantasy, and dark comedy fan, and also enjoys beer, bowling, karaoke, and rooting for the underdog. After not nearly enough consideration, he decided to write about the things he enjoys. The result was the Monsters in the Midwest series.
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