Decker Wyatt was the only son of a Native woman and a descendant of a Spanish conquistador, born somewhere amongst the red rocks of what is now known as the state of Utah; in a small, silver wood cabin, his father's father had built to raise a family in. Like all the men before him, Decker was born with the gift to slay monsters, a scythe for a backbone, and a soul of pure light, or so he had been told. Though it was a familial gift, his father seemed to be on a mission to diminish his pure, shining heart- when the few times he was home rather than roaming across America looking for monsters to hunt, he became a monster of a different kind, his shouting heard across the desert as he yelled at a young Decker for his mistakes in the art of the hunt; a monster hunter, unable to slay monsters, was no son of his. 

Decker’s mother said he simply suffered from having too big a heart, that being unable to smite an innocent monster’s life was not a fault of his, but rather, a strength. He had a conscience and compassion, some things she thought her husband lacked. She warned Decker that his father would try to make a monster out of him, if not by being a slayer of what he called “demons”, then by comparison to himself and all the men that came before. Denver saw the disfigurement in his son; the two-toned eyes, half brown, half blue that should have been regarded as gorgeous, but what his father saw as a sign of the devil within. And Denver Wyatt was familiar with the devil and his demons, a man he hunted across the states, trying to rid this world of his evil. But the scars the devil, the monster that it left on the family and countless others, haunted the family, hunted it.

At first, in thought, the mind made figures out of shadows, crawling from their dark corners to latch onto people and things, making them seem evil in Devnver’s eyes. But as the family cracked, Denver on one side, Decker and his mother on the other, the shadows soon did become figures- real ones, fueled by the hate of the splitting family, the hate of a father. Desperate for a change, a connection to mend the family, Decker’s mother fell pregnant once more; the baby, a daughter, was meant to be the glue that would hold the family together, but it was not to be.

It was the eve of his fifteenth birthday, and excited, Decker forgot about the monsters outside, the ones that, as of late, had come closer and closer to his family home, odd for creatures that were meant to fear his family. In the middle of the night, they became brave, a three-headed creature with the mouth of a wolf and as big as a bear lumbered into the cabin through the unlocked door. It sniffed and snarled as it made its way through the house, a scream let out so terrible it shook the thin, sun-bleached walls. Before one of the greatest monster hunters of the Wyatt family line could react, his home was torn apart, wood and flesh like butter between the monster’s claws. Only a young Decker Wyatt had lived, his eyes seeing, his heart feeling for the monster for what it really was: three children, tortured to death, trapped in a fleshy cage that was so unlike their original bodies, screaming for help and seething with hate-filled rage for their creator who never let them know innocence. They were not the monster, but their father, the one who had haunted and hunted Decker’s father, who had aided in the tearing of Decker's family, a real demon worth slaying. 

For years, Decker ran, both toward and away from his monster, his father’s, and towards others, a circus ring master who made a young Wyatt his slave, a witch that wished to tear his limbs apart, creatures, angered by their state of being, chasing him in their frustration to be set free. Decker could not handle the pressure and disappointment he felt had come from the population, but it was actually whispers of his father’s old sayings that had been embedded in his own beliefs. Years would drag on, and Wyatt would feel stuck, with no leads left to chase, as if his monster had vanished from the face of the earth, and his days would slowly become routine. Decker, a million miles away from his home, had nowhere left to turn to. But nothing really ever vanishes; things that disappear always reappear in places unexpected. 

The big city was one of the last places Decker ever wanted to be. It was claustrophobic and cluttered, and as someone who had been roaming the country for the past twenty years of his life, Decker was used to, and needed, wide open spaces. Regardless, he had to stop by a city every once and awhile to get supplies that he couldn’t come by as easily out in the open plain. Leaving Bolt, his horse, at a secure stable, Wyatt made his way to the train station, the center of the city, to find what he was looking for. A bulletin full of old flyers of shows long since cancelled and restaurants long since opened and closed, Wyatt couldn’t find the map he was looking for, and circled to the other side to see if there was anything more useful. On the opposite side, massive and secured to the middle of the board was a poster Wyatt hadn’t seen in so long. Ripping it from its tacks, Wyatt wondered why it had been left up, its condition perfect for its old age. But as he stared at it longer, he noticed that this was not an old poster, but new; The image of Wyatt had been updated to his current looks, new clothes and facial scars added, and the horse he rode was now Bolt, his bay, rather than the old palomino he used to ride. Deep in thought and a train screaming by, Decker didn’t fully recognize the voice that questioned, “Wyatt?” before being violently spun around, poster still in hand. Overcoming his momentary confusion, Decker Wyatt came face to face with his old boss, Reginold “Ringmaster”, the old owner of the circus he had once been a part of many years ago. The ringmaster made him uncomfortable; he was a large man who towered over Wyatt, with a smile that was less a smile than lips peeling away from large and long teeth. Not noticing, or not caring about Wyatt’s obviously startled and discomforted state, Reginald questioned Wyatt about his life since he had left, or more like, run away, from the circus. Though Wyatt tried to answer the questions, they came at him like a runaway train, Ringmaster half-listening to his half answers as he interrupted Wyatt with an invitation to visit his old place of work. Wyatt was hesitant, unsure if he could trust the man who hadn’t seemed to age, but with the promise of seeing his old friends and the lingering words of “I missed you”, Wyatt agreed, because after some years, people had to change. 

It was an odd feeling as the massive red and yellow tent came into view, peeking over the last buildings at the edge of the city. Ringmaster, which was what Reginald liked to be called, was not only forgiving and chatty, but the circus seemed to be the same as the day Wyatt had left it, not a single change made. Ringmaster joyfully chatted with or talked to Wyatt as they made a tour of the old grounds, pointing out all of the new things, unabashedly admitting their prices. It was only as they came around the corner of a large pile of building materials that Wyatt finally stopped, fully tuning out Ringmaster. A woman stood with a rifle, aiming it at different cans, bottles, and odd pieces of junk, stalking past them slowly before turning around again and assuming her original position, she shouldered her weapon, about to shoot when Ringmaster called out “Cassidy!! What did I tell you about being out in your new dress, it’s-” but as Cassidy had turned to give her attention to the older man yelling at her, her eyes fixated on the much shorter Wyatt.

Cassidy’s mouth dropped open and screeched “WYATT?!?” before carelessly dropping her weapon and running towards her old friend at full speed. Wyatt caught her as she threw her arms around his neck, both laughing as they spun around in happy circles. Wyatt set her down with a small peck on the cheek as she laughed and pushed back a long, black braid from her shoulder. They smiled at each other, forgetting their old ringmaster as they jumped into a frantic and excited conversation, Cassidy commenting on how big Wyatt had gotten over the years and Wyatt complimenting her beauty. Cassidy and Wyatt had been like brother and sister back in their old circus days, Wyatt secretly fantasizing that Cassidy was what his unborn sister would have grown up to be like. 

Holding her by an arms length, Wyatt felt a pain of guilt strike his heart. He hadn’t thought of her in years, hell, since the day he vanished from this god-awful place like the wind. He didn’t mean to forget her, really, he didn’t, he just felt so bad because she hadn’t forgotten him. He tried to shake himself of the sour thoughts, instead of how young she looked; she should be in her late twenties or even thirty at most, but she looked as though she could be seventeen, a big difference to Wyatt, who could be mistaken for forty. Wyatt didn’t get to think on it for too long, though, as Cassidy started to wriggle excitedly in his grasp, as she had as a child, trying to point at her gun that still lay on the grass. “I shoot with that thing now, it’s part of my act. I’m a great shot, might even put you to shame-” she said with a teasing grin, “I can show you if you want, finally have our rematch!” 

Wyatt smiled, about to agree when Ringmaster, who had watched the duo intensely, interjected, “Now, now, Cassidy,” Ringmaster interjected, reminding the pair that he was there, “what did I tell you about shooting in the open?” Cassidy deflated slightly, as Ringmaster’s lips curled back in a smile. “Plus, we only have about an hour till our next show. You should get cleaned up and prepared. Right, Cassidy?”

She answered with a simple “Yes,s Sir,” and said no more.

Ringmaster turned back to look at Wyatt, that awful smile still stretched across his face, “You should stay for the show. I don’t think you’ve ever been in the audience, huh? You should come.”

Wyatt felt that same feeling as he had at the train station; he wanted to say no, but his words and letters twisted in his mouth to produce a “Sure.”

“Excellent, excellent! Cassidy, why don’t you take our Wyatt with you? I’ll meet you in an hour, Wyatt, don’t be late!” and with that, he turned on his heel and marched towards some tents behind some pastures. 

Wyatt stood still for a moment, not exactly sure what he had agreed to before he was yanked out of his trance by Cassidy, who was leading him to the stable to show him her pony. They held hands as they walked, Wyatt mostly asking questions about the circus. How many acts still ran? How many of the original cast were left? Was she the only one? Cassidy shook her head and told him that quite a few had left; it was mostly a new cast, a few from the original acts remained. Wyatt was glad to hear that Ringmaster had stopped taking in children. The youngest performer he had now was twenty. “Good,” Wyatt stated. Not only had he hated the child acts, but he also hated most of the cast. In fact, they were nice to Cassidy, treating her like the princess she was pretending to be. But behind the tent curtains, they bullied and berated her for any little thing they could find wrong with her, even the color of her skin. Wyatt became a protector for her in a way; they only listened to him because he had a lighter skin tone than hers. “That reminds me, what happened to Austin?” He was one of the few who treated her like a decent human being. He and Wyatt used to have an act together before Wyatt’s monster-hunting solo dominated and obliterated it. They acted as cowboys, wearing similar outfits to those that Wyatt wore now; the only difference was that Austin had always worn a hat.

“Dead,” she said simply at first, but after hearing Wyatt’s sigh, she explained, “He got sick quite a few years ago. He hid it for a while, but it eventually got him and weakened him to the point that he couldn’t work anymore. He passed soon after that.” 

Wyatt’s heart broke slightly for the man he hadn’t thought of in so many years, “He was a good man,” he said softly. He, Austin, and Cassidy had been like a trio: two brothers and a sister.

“One of the best!” She smiled as she let go of Wyatt's hand to open the large stable door they now stood in front of. Once inside, Cassidy showed off her new pony, a paint named Truce, to Wyatt as she got ready for her show. They spoke more of the old times and of Austin, bringing back all of the memories, good and bad, for Wyatt. “Say,” she said after a time, her horse ready for her show, “if you want to remember things, I think I might have just the thing to show you.”

“Oh?” Wyatt asked more with his eyebrows than his words as he was guided by his hand again, from the stable out towards the plains. “Where are we going?” Wyatt asked as Cassidy started to slow down.

She gave him a grin over her shoulder, Wyatt noticing that there must be little bells on her costume with the way she jingled with every step.

They came to a stop at an old, beaten-up caravan. It was painted sky blue, long ago faded. Wyatt cautiously crept closer to it, as if it might come alive and bite him. He held his hand up, slowly inserting his fingers in the gashes in the wood. The scythe really was a dangerous weapon.

“I thought you might want to see this place again-” Cassidy finally nervously answered. “If you don’t want to, though, we can go back.

“No, no. I wanna look. Is it unlocked?”

The door opened easily; it didn’t even squeak in protest. Wyatt walked in first, giddy with excitement and nerves. He was quiet as he stood in the small space, letting Cassidy saddle up next to him. His head turned this way and that, trying to take in everything. His toy horses were still on the shelves, along with silver-framed pictures and pretty rocks. Wyatt looked through drawers and cabinets, amazed that everything had been left as it was twenty years ago. He found a pair of gloves, ones he once used in shows to protect his hands from certain monsters. He was surprised they still fit, slipping them on his large hands. They had once been too big, but now they were perfect. 

Cassidy smiled as she watched him stare in wonderment at all his old things. She let herself snoop too, holding up outfits Wyatt had once worn to make him blush. After both of them had gotten their fair share of looking at Wyatt’s old things and had put everything back as neatly as possible, they were both drawn to the photos that sat on a crowded desk. Wyatt picked one of them up, an extremely old picture of the two of them both on Wyatt’s old horse, Micha. He was sad to have left him- he remembered how much he had loved wild flowers.

“Whatever happened to him?” Wyatt whispered, not sure who he was directing his question to.

“He lived quite a while after you left. Austin rode him for a time, but once he got too old, he became mine. He really was a sweet horse. Died a sweet death, don’t worry. Peaceful. We buried him way out there, with the flowers and stuff. He rests well.” She smiled at the photo, and so did Wyatt. 

When he put the framed photograph down, he turned his now gloved hand to look at the gray dust that should’ve rubbed off onto the leather. He was surprised when the upturned gloved fingertips were clean.

“What…”

“He comes in here often-” Cassidy said, noticing his confusion. “Dusts and cleans in here. I think he’s trying to preserve you. He misses you-” She put her hand lightly on his shoulder, “We missed you.” 

Wyatt smiled at her, trying not to say anything dumb. They looked at the other pictures, pointing and sometimes even laughing at some of the photos. At some point, she said it’d probably be a good idea to head back, so she didn’t miss her call time and get in trouble. Wyatt agreed, lingering only a minute longer to ingrain the image of his old room in his head, taking the photograph of Cassidy and him out of the frame and pocketing it before heading out.

Wyatt and Cassidy returned to a very angry Ringmaster, his whip cracking in the air as he yelled at the stable hands. With his back turned to them, the pair thought it best to keep silent till they were noticed, knowing how he could be. Noticing them minutes later, he charged at them with rage, shoving a finger in Cassidy’s face as he screamed that she should have been ready to go, complaining that her rifle better not jam as it had last time. Cassidy simply ducked in an almost bow, scampering off like a frightened little girl to test the trigger, leaving Wyatt to deal with Ringmaster alone.

The ringmaster turned on him, eyes ablaze before, oddly turning calm again, fixing Wyatt with that same, strange smile. Taking Wyatt by the hand, a much more forceful one than that of Cassidy- Ringmaster led Wyatt to a private balcony for him to watch the show, tying a balloon to the railing as he left. Wyatt sat quietly as the bleachers began to fill with the audience. There were a lot more people than he remembered, and they cheered even louder and more wildly as the first act began. Wyatt clapped politely for the trick riders and lasso and roping tricks, and cheered wildly as Cassidy and Truce made their appearance, laughing as she popped the balloon Ringmaster had left for him with one of her bullets. Wyatt had been under the impression that the show was over, and was interested when the Ringmaster announced that there was a new, second part to the show. He stood, leaning over the railing to get a better look- and that’s when the world went black as he was yanked backwards by his neck.

It took Wyatt a few moments to fully register where he was, the lack of vision and air messing with his head. Only after Ringmaster's face came into view did Wyatt realize he was lying on the stable floor he and Cassidy had been in not only an hour or two before. Ringmaster stood before him, his arm wrapped around Cassidy’s small waist as he looked down at him pitifully. Cassidy didn’t meet Wyatt’s two-toned eyes at all. “Why-” Wyatt questioned, rage building as tears formed in his eyes out of anger.

“Sorry, Wyatt boy-” Ringmaster said calmly, eyes unblinking, “but you belong here.” Wyatt spat saliva and blood on the ground, trying to show his displeasure not only with his situation but also with what he thought of the people who held him there. His displeasure turned to a blinding rage, however, as a scream made him crane his neck uncomfortably, his horse, Bolt, kicking and thrashing as men fought with ropes to hold the powerful beast down. “BOLT!” Wyatt screamed before turning back to his old ringmaster, “What have you done with my horse?!” he asked through clenched teeth, eyes wild as the blue in them started to become more apparent. Ringmaster moved to reach for him, but Wyatt fought, and he knew he was trapped. Ringmaster had a way of making sure people never left. He had been lucky the first time in his escape, but he knew his chances now were slim. 

Picking him up with one hand, fingertips burning into flesh, Ringmaster brought Wyatt up to his eye level, the monster hunter’s feet left dangling. “For months, I’ve heard that you’ve been wandering around here. I’d heard whispers in the streets that the great monster hunter was back, and I couldn’t let you get away this time. Now, you will get on that unruly beast of yours and perform, OR I’LL SHOOT YOU IN THE LEG AND TIE YOU TO THAT WILD BEAST MYSELF!!!” And with that, they dropped Wyatt on the floor like a sack of trash. Wyatt glowered at him but got up slowly, taking note that Cassidy was now nowhere to be seen.

“Fine.” He spat; he’d have to plan his escape later. Calming his horse, Wyatt saddled up slowly, all eyes on him as he sat erect. He could almost see Ringmaster’s eyes glow with greed. That’s all, Wyatt and everyone were to him, a path to money. 

Wyatt sat in the alleyway as Ringmaster made the announcement to the unruly crowd that, yes, their monster hunter had returned! Returning “home” was the word he used, and Wyatt felt his guts churn as his cue was given to run from the alleyway into the arena. Something like instinct turned over as he rode underneath the bright spotlights, smiling and waving at the crowd as he performed old saddle tricks he knew, hoping Bolt would understand these foreign signals. He was unsure of what exactly his performance was, but as gasps of horror and delight came from the crowd, Wyatt and Bolt slowly turned to face a monster that Wyatt hadn’t seen in so many years. With the body and head of an armadillo, tail of a porcupine, and spikes of an unknown creature, the Spiny-Bush-Rattler was surely a horrible sight to behold. It was a monster that a young Wyatt had never been able to slay, so much bigger and deadlier than anything he’d ever fought before. Without warning, the thing jumped in the air, balled up, and rolled towards the horse and rider like a crazed wagon wheel. Wyatt and Bolt skittered out of the way, avoiding rather than chasing the awful thing, but this wasn’t the way this should be done. He needed confidence; he could not run. Reaching behind him, Wyatt let his middle finger trace the gnarly scar on his spine, before pushing inward, feeling the heat pour out of him as the scythe emerged, feeling its energy cast a light upon his back that mirrored the heavens opening up to the earth. For a split second, Decker Wyatt looked like an angel. 

The moment didn’t last long, however, as the rattler barred its fangs and bounded towards the cowboy once more, feeling Wyatt for what he really was. It soon became a daring game of quick, shallow slashes as Wyatt and the monster circled each other, wide arcs of the scythe being used instead of the up close maneuvers Wyatt once used. Wyatt could feel the energy drain from the monster; he knew it was almost finished. He and the creature could soon be free. But monsters, captive ones at that, are much smarter than they seem, and this one sensed his intentions and had learned his tricks.

As the scythe neared for a final, spine-slitting blow, the rattler ducked and rolled on its side, its powerful and spiked tail smashing into Decker, who only had a moment to veer Bolt out of the way so he’d suffer the least damage. The monster-hunting cowboy skidded across the dirt, leaving a dark trail of freshly turned earth behind him. He lay there unmoving for a moment, unblinking; he couldn’t feel a thing. Then he did. The pain was agonizing, ripping through the muscles in his back like liquid fire. The crowd gasped in horror as they watched Decker writhing around on the floor, dark patches of blood slowly staining the back of his jean jacket. Every old scar felt like it was a fresh wound; he was losing his mind. He gulped in air, trying to forget the pain, but if anything, the movement of the inhale and exhale made everything ten times worse.

He seemed almost dead to the crowd, his face turned away from them, giving them a good view of the bloody horror of his back.

I’m going to die here. Wyatt thought as he tried again to gasp for air, he couldn’t tell what hurt the most anymore. I’m gonna die in this wretched place. My body will be on display like that damned Bush-Rattler. Wyatt closed his eyes in a long blink. How was he going to make it out alive this time? There was no way out.

“Get up.” The voice made Wyatt’s eyes fly open. “I said, GET UP!” Wyatt lifted his head, the sun blinding him. As he squinted upwards, a form started to take shape. Is this heaven? “Dammit, boy, I say GET UP!!! Do you think a monster is going to wait for you?” It was the voice of his father. His snarling face came into view seconds later, now blocking the light.

“But, it hurts-” a small, seven-year-old Wyatt squeaked out on the verge of tears, sitting on his knees. His white shirt was ripped open, soaked with blood. Beneath lay a nasty gash; it was a miracle that his guts weren’t spilling out onto the red soil.

His father's face was grave. Not like that of a father worried that he may lose his son, but a face of disappointment. “Do you think the monster will wait for you?” He repeated once more, “This is its opportunity to kill you, so I say-” He lifted the small Wyatt by the shirt collar, enough to bring his knees a few inches off the floor but not enough to bring him to his feet,t “GET UP!!!”

Denver Wyatt had acted like it hadn’t been an accident, that it had been all Decker’s fault. He had been training him that day to hunt larger monsters, ones he would now consider small. His father had been demonstrating on a bale of hay how to maneuver the scythe to get one clean cut, a killing cut. Wyatt had moved closer to get a better view, to memorize the move so he wouldn’t disappoint. But when the scythe sliced through the hay bale, it sliced through Wyatt as well, leaving him in this very situation.

“You can either sit there on your knees and die, or finish the monster and have a chance of getting to a doctor. It’s your choice, not mine.” And even then, Wyatt knew his father would leave him there to rot if he did nothing. “Get up.”

Wyatt’s eyes opened up back onto the brown dirt of the arena floor. He hadn’t died. Yet. Either the blood loss or the monster would finish him off if he didn’t act soon.

Get Up. The voice was loud in his head, bouncing around to the wounds in his body. The words started to become like a chant, Decker’s own weak voice joining along as he, slowly, impossibly, picked himself off the ground.

The monster sat huddled on the other side of the arena. Like an armadillo, it dug, looking for a way out of the awful place where it was trapped, with nowhere to go. If he didn’t kill it, it’d get shoved back into whatever pen it had come from. Wyatt grimaced as the monster rolled its body to shovel more dirt. He could see the deep gashes from the scythe; he knew how much they hurt.

And that was his connection. 

He could feel the monster's heartbeat- it was rapid, showing its state of panic and anxiety. Wyatt had to be careful; this was his last chance.

He remembered the anger in his father’s voice when he had been in pain; the screaming and yelling had done no good for the scared little boy. He knew the monster felt the same. He would not scream or be mean. Grabbing his lasso, Wyatt approached the monster slowly, quietly, being as gentle as possible as the loop soared through the air and secured itself around the thing's neck. The Rattler screamed, balling up again to roll away once more, but Wyatt wouldn’t let it. Launching himself onto its back with the help of the lasso, Wyatt held his scythe high before driving it home. The monster crumpled into a massive heap, Wyatt barely dismounting as a soul seeped from its wound and raced towards the open sky. 

The crowd cheered as it had never cheered before, and Wyatt, now reminded that he had an audience, took a bow. As he came up to meet the dazzling smiles of a hundred people, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he too crumpled to the floor.

He came to as the lock clicked into place.

It was too dark to see anything, at least at first. Wyatt could tell he was on something soft- softer than the mat he usually slept on anyway- but it was cramped, and his body was scrunched in the fetal position.

At first, he just lay there, unsure of where he was and what situation he was in. The pain in his back had lessened; that much he could tell, feeling the lumpiness of bandages beneath his shirt. But where was his jacket? Wyatt slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and realized it was only so dark because he had been facing a wall. With a grimace, he turned over onto his hip, now facing the opposite direction.

Light from the moon shone through a barred window; it was evident some time had passed since he had killed the monster, but how long? Hours? Days? Wyatt tried to focus on the room he was in, his eyes still slightly fuzzy from the previous events and from sleepiness.

Wyatt gasped when he realized he was in his old caravan. He had been locked in.

The room looked eerie in the moonlight, the light from the metal bars casting strange shadows across the floor. Glass and other shiny objects winked in the silver light, freshly polished. Right. This room was less of a room and more of a museum or shrine. 

Wyatt leaned back against the wall, bringing up his knees and tilting up his head to stop the tears. He was surprised he wasn’t chained to that very wall- this place was a prison, and nobody except the cast knew. Through his sorrow, Decker Wyatt failed to realize the shift in the room. The light began to dim even though the moon was still high in the cloudless sky. When he looked up from his knees, he gasped at the sudden darkness. Was this another memory? Wyatt rose, unable to tell if this was a dream or reality, enveloped in darkness; he could barely tell what was up or down, left or right. It seemed as if everything was shrouded in a darkness that was almost blinding. Wyatt reached out to grab at something, anything; a chair, desk, table, or trunk. Instead, he was met with a tingling feeling at his fingertips. Wyatt reached out again and was successful at finding what felt like a shelf.

Then the whole caravan shuddered.

It shivered as if Wyatt’s hand was made of ice, like it was alive. Wyatt felt as if he had swallowed a brick- he had seen this before- Some sort of spirit possessing the very structure of a house-

There was a dry chuckle behind him, forced. It sounded as if a cat had a cough. Wyatt spun around towards the darkness and froze as he realized that it seemed to be just a black hole behind him. There was no outline, no shadow, not even a hint of light, the darkness seemingly swallowing it whole. Wyatt slowly backed up, hand searching like a nervous spider for something else that was sturdy enough to grab onto.

“Wyyyaaaatttt~” The voice was a cross between a man and a woman; if anything, it sounded like two people saying his name at the same time. “Whh…aats wrong.. Wya..tt?” The voices sounded like they were fighting each other to be the dominant one, the words coming out scrambled and incoherent. Wyatt stood as still as a statue, too afraid to even breathe.

“Wyatt?” It was a man's voice. “Wyatt, is that you? It sounded more feminine now…

“WYATT!” Wyatt banded his head on the bars of the window. It was no longer the inky black it had been seconds before; it looked like it had when he had woken up. “WYATT!” he jumped and turned to face the window. “WYATT! I asked if you were okay?”

Cassidy’s arms were hanging from her barred window, her face half shrouded by shadow; she got no light on her side.

“Just fine,” Wyatt chidded, tightening his jaw and slowly crossing his arms. Had he just imagined all that?

“That’s good,” She was either oblivious or ignoring his anger, “I hope I didn’t wrap the bandages too tight. I wanted to stop the bleeding but didn’t want to stop your breathing.” She giggled slightly, and Wyatt’s heart softened. Had he done his bandages? But why?

“I managed to save a spike for you- I know it’s not big or anything, but I know your ritual is important to you.” 

Spike? Wyatt turned back towards his room and became aware of the bundle on the trunk. It was his jean jacket, and wrapped in it was a small spike from the Spiny-Bush-Rattler. Wyatt believed that by returning a piece of the monster to the earth, both its spiritual and physical body could finally rest. It was something his father had always made fun of him for, but something Wyatt felt with his whole body that he had to. “But why?” he asked softly. He wasn’t sure if she could hear him.

“As I said, I know your-”

“But why?” 

She was quiet for a second, not sure how to respond. “You see how he treats us…  tries to keep us as we’ve always been-” Wyatt hated the pain creeping in her voice. “And I wanted to help- but I couldn’t. He has too much control.”

Wyatt knew she was right, but still, he was angry with her. What could have been said or done that she wouldn’t save her big brother?

She answered for him before he even asked the question. “He said if you stayed, I’d get to leave. I’ve been here all my life, I just wanted to be free-” She broke off with a quiet sob, tearing her face from the window, sliding her arms back inside. Based on their situation of both being locked up, it was evident that Ringmaster had not kept his promise.

“Oh, Cassidy…” Wyatt spoke softly, letting the wind carry his whisper to her.

“I don’t want your pity-” She said in a small voice, small but firm. “I want your help.”

“My help?” The conversation had definitely taken a turn.

“Yes, your help. You’ve escaped from here once; you can escape from here again. Take me with you. Just to the next train station and you’ll never have to see me again!” That wasn’t what Decker wanted-

“Cassidy, a woman can’t be on the run. Especially one like yourself.” He hated that he had to say it. “What would you do? Where would you go?” There were very few opportunities for her in the world.

“I don’t know. But anywhere is better than here.” There was a building fire in her voice, an ember that Wyatt knew so well, and one he knew he could not put out. “I NEED to get out, Wyatt. We both do, and we’ll never get out if we don’t try now!” Wyatt agreed. If they didn’t escape now, when Ringmaster expected them to be at their weakest, they may never have a chance like this again. The duo quickly made a plan that required speed rather than stealth, as Cassidy’s gun would be needed in order to break the lock on Wyatt’s caravan door. Once broken, the entire camp would be alerted, and they would have a limited amount of time before Ringmaster and his cowboys were after them. Cassidy was expected to run as fast and as far as she could on foot towards the mountains at the edge of the plain, and Wyatt would bring their horses, and they would run however far they had to till they could be considered free. But as Bolt and Truce came to a screeching halt suddenly, Wyatt felt his heart drop into his boots, the scene before him making his blood boil. 

Ringmaster had his arms around Cassidy, squeezing her so tight that she couldn’t squirm to get away or fight back. “Why would you leave me?” He cried. “Why would you leave your master like that? Do you not love me?” His hand smothered her, making her unable to answer. It was a gross act, really, but Wyatt didn’t know what to do. “And YOU!” Ringmaster yelled, now only addressing Wyatt rather than both of them, his yellow-brown eyes wild, he no longer looked put together, his hair and mustache tousled. “YOU! YOU MESS UP EVERYTHING! I LOVED YOU, YET YOU GIVE ME NOTHING!” His anger made him squeeze Cassidy tightly. Wyatt was worried her ribs might break. 

“Let her go-” But his voice came out shaky.

“NEVER! IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU, I’LL JUST HAVE HER INSTEAD!!!” Decker Wyatt fully realized what type of fear made her lie to him. The attention on him brought it off her. It had probably lifted a million weights off her shoulders when she saw him that day. 

“Let her go,-” he said again, silently. 

“NO!” Ringmaster began to grab at her throat. It was so small it wouldn’t take much to break it. 

“RINGMASTER!” His head snapped up like a wound-up animal. Wyatt slowly got off his horse, sliding off the saddle and easing into the grass.

“Wyatt-” Cassidy could barely whisper. 

Decker Wyatt walked right up to Ringmaster, and with shaking knees said, “Ringmaster- I’ll be yours. It’s what you always wanted, right?” Without missing a beat, Ringmaster dropped Cassidy and grabbed Wyatt. His face was so close, breathing down Wyatt’s neck. He wanted to cry, seeing the joy on the older man's face. What had he done? It was like he had made a deal with the devil himself.

And that he had. Ringmaster’s yellow-brown eyes turned into an inky black, his skin becoming a deathly pale. He began to laugh, clutching Decker’s biceps. “Why, hello, Decker Wyatt. So nice to finally- see you. Meet you.” His eyes, now empty sockets, twitched, taking him all in. Decker Wyatt realized he’d heard this voice before- it was the one from the caravan. Wyatt didn’t know what he was looking at. He didn’t understand what was happening. Surely this was the Ringmaster from his past… right?

“Wyatt-” A female voice had joined in. It was no longer that of Cassidy but of the female voice from before. 

“Casidy- WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH CASSIDY???” Her eyes were blacker than the night sky.

“Oh Wyatt-” they said in unison, sounding like the distorted voice from before, fighting over each other from before. “She died a long time ago. They all died a long time ago. Austin wasn’t the only weakling. They all faltered. You failed them. You failed her. You failed your sister, AGAIN!” Wyatt was struck with realization like a lightning bolt. 

“You’re- You're the one that killed my family- IT’S YOU!” Ringmaster, or the actor, began to laugh, the male voice taking over. Wyatt felt a mixture of emotions he had never felt before in his entire life; fear of the being clenching his arms, but overjoyed that he had found his monster once again. He writhed; he needed his scythe to banish this monster, once and for all, like he did the Spiny-Bush-Rattler. But as he fought, the shadow figure's face came closer, a bullet whizzed by, and the creature disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Wyatt wanted to scream, but as another bullet just grazed his ear, he realized that the cowboys he had been worried about before were real, or at least, still a threat. Going through with what had been part of his and Cassidy’s plan, Wyatt and Bolt ran towards the edge of the plain, the cowboys finally giving up their chase as they slowly realized there was no ringmaster to follow and instead, turned back, looking for him.

 Following the shadows of the mountains, Wyatt traveled by the dark of night until he found the nearest train station. There,e he asked if anyone had heard of Sin City Circ, to which he got the same response:

“Sin City Circus? The place has been closed down for years!

Wyatt would continue to travel, putting as much space between him and the big city of Sin and its circus, like he should’ve done all this time. Stopping one night, Wyatt finished his ritual by burying the Spiny-Bush-Rattler’s spike, its body part, and the scars it left on Wyatt’s skin, the only proof that the events at the circus had been real.

With the last push of dirt, Decker Wyatt vowed to find his monster and put a stop to him once and for all. He wouldn’t get away so easily this time. The hunt was on.

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

The town was called Red’s, or at least, that’s what Mr. Spencer called it; the town had no official name yet, thanks to what the hotel and saloon owner called the “good-for-nothing” mayor. Wyatt had stumbled upon it accidentally, as he had many other peculiar places, and before he had met any of its inhabitants, he knew that there was a monster there. He could feel it in his chest, like a fishing line hooked on his heart, reeling him in. It was easy enough to find the one most affected by the monster, his body practically taking him into the saloon owned by Mr. Spencer, leaning against the bar, waiting for a drink. 

He could hear the whispers travel across the saloon, tried to ignore them as he waited for his whiskey, but it was harder to ignore the excited bartender who approached him not with his drink but with a message from the owner, and soon he was whisked away to the upper levels of the building, where the office was. Before he could even fully enter the door that was held open by the unnamed bartender, Decker Wyatt was yanked in, his arm shaken in an excited aggression by a balding older man.

“Honey, if you shake his arm any longer or harder, you’re gonna pull his arm off,” said an older female voice from the back. With a laugh, the older man let Wyatt’s hand go and stepped aside to let him fully in, letting Wyatt get a look at the woman whose voice he had heard, a gray-haired woman in a purple dress and glasses, sitting atop a cabinet that sat against the wall.

“Sorry, sorry,” the older man laughed, apologizing as he sat at his desk chair, “it’s just that I grew up with the stories of your ancestors as a boy, and here’s another man from the Wyatt family name, in the flesh!” The statement made Wyatt chuckle, and he gladly accepted the whiskey that the man, whom he came to know as Mr. Spencer, offered. Getting right down to business, Mr. Spencer explained that the town’s monster needed to be eradicated as soon as possible. He explained that this town, which he called Red’s, was brand new, and he and his wife had set out to make a name for themselves, opening up many different businesses, their greatest enterprise, the grand hotel and saloon at the top of the hill called Red’s, was going to have its grand opening tonight at the mayor’s carnival. People from all over the county were expected to come, if not for the hotel and shops, then for the rides, games, and food that would be at the fair. The issue was that many had heard of the monster that stalked the hotel grounds, and were reluctant to come for fear of the monster and the area it seemed to haunt. 

“I need it gone before tonight,” Mr. Spencer said with a fire in his voice, “how are we supposed to have the finest hotel in the county if it’s haunted by some beast?” Wyatt thought for a moment. The thing with his line of work is that he couldn’t guarantee a deadline, monsters came and went as they pleased, and he had no control over that. “No,” Mr. Spencer explained, “this thing comes around the same time every night, terrorizing my workmen and killing livestock. I can assure you it will be out tonight, as it is every night.” This interested Wyatt, as most monsters didn’t have a routine or schedule they lived by.

“You said this thing terrorizes your men? I’d like to talk to them, see if any of them got a good look at it. That might help me understand what I’m dealing with.” Mr. Spencer agreed, and Mrs. Spencer and the bartender, who had never left, both walked back downstairs to collect the workmen from their lunch for Wyatt’s interview. Soon, the office was filled uncomfortably with men, all in their dusty work clothes as they shuffled in their spots, uncomfortable in the stuffed room.

“Wyatt, is it ok if I call you that son?” 

Decker’s stomach and heart did a weird fluttering thing at the word “son”. “Yes, boss, that’s fine.” Mr. Spencer grinned, then looked at the men.

“These are my finest workers, and the most loyal. They’re the only ones that have stayed even as the monster trouble has gotten worse.” Wyatt looked over them quietly, curious of the silver-eyed twins that eyed him from beneath their thick brows, and downright stared at the man at the end of the line, a young man who could’ve been mistaken for a Cupid, golden locks and green eyes that seemed to burrow into Wyatt’s soul.

Wyatt looked away quickly, pulling out his journal as he cleared his throat to get the men’s attention. He handed one of the men the journal and told him to pass it amongst him and his crew to see if their monster was one that Wyatt had already encountered, as it was documented in the book. The men huddled around, but after some time of flipping pages and mumbling, the man gave the book back, “No monster in that journal of yours looks like ours,” he said simply. Wyatt sighed. Another monster I need to figure out how to kill. He took the journal back and asked for a description, and the men volleyed off each other as they described the horrible thing that would stalk through the town. 

The descriptions he was given made Wyatt shiver, mentions of a woman’s bent body, blood, screaming, and the thing being able to shapeshift and run as fast as a horse set him on edge. He’d heard of things like this before, but never heard the tale of someone who could kill it, only of the men who had been killed by it. He closed his book with a sigh, putting it on the desk to take a sip of his whiskey, downing the rest of it before standing upright and turning back to the Spencers. “Well, this is something I’ve never dealt with before, but I’ll ride out to the hotel to see what I can do.” Mr. Spencer nodded, wondering what kind of monster his town could have. 

“Take the boys with you,” Mrs. Spencer interjected, not one to dwell on thoughts or emotions. Both the men and Wyatt nodded, and both turned to leave, Wyatt taking up the rear. 

“Wyatt, wait-“ Decker turned around, eyebrow slightly lifted. “Be careful, son.”

Decker's heart and stomach fluttered again, causing him to suck on his teeth. “No matter what, I’ll try my best to kill it. Either that or it kills me.” Wyatt chuckled, but Mr. Spencer grimaced. “Also, my terms are that I get paid half before, half after I’ve accomplished the task.”

Mr. Spencer shrugged and opened a drawer in his desk with a key. “Seems perfectly fair to me.” He counted out a few bills and handed Wyatt the money. Wyatt stared at the cash.

“Mr. Spencer, I can’t take this, this is more than my final cost-“ 

“Take it, son, you’ve earned it.” Decker still stared at the money in his palm.

“Mr. Spencer, I can’t take this-“ Mr. Spencer slowly closed Decker’s fingers around the cash. 

“Keep it. You of all people deserve it.” Decker nodded, a little pressure building behind his eyes.

“I’ll be back soon, with your monster's head in hand!” And he turned and left down the hall.

Wyatt saddled up with the other workmen and was prepared to leave when one asked who was taking the blonde boy, as he didn’t have his own horse. After a moment of silence, Decker Wyatt volunteered, helping the young man up onto Bolt. While most of the men galloped off, Decker Wyatt and the golden-haired boy took it slow, letting Bolt make his own pace because of the extra weight. As warm as it was, Wyatt could very much feel a warmth almost emanating from the young man, and felt it even more so as he put a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder to steady himself. “You got a name?” Wyatt asked, half looking back at the young man, his bright hair almost blinding him.

“Sure, I do,” he smiled, and it almost blinded Decker completely, “names Valentine, Valentine Calvert.”

“Valentine, huh? Pretty name. Doesn’t have anything to do with that mark over your eye, does it?”

“Oh, the birthmark?” Valentine laughed, “It has everything to do with it. My parents weren’t exactly creative.” And Decker watched as the birthmark darkened as he blushed. The birthmark was in the shape of a heart and covered the entirety of Valentine’s right eye.

“How old are you anyway? You seem a lot younger than the others.” He made sure not to mention that the others seemed to refer to him only as “boy”.

“I’m twenty-five, turning twenty-six this summer.”

“Wow, you were named Valentine, but you weren’t born in February?” He laughed, but he could also feel the glare on his back. 

“That’s not funny.” They were silent for a second as Decker snickered, but it soon ended when Valentine said, “Wow, well if you think I’m young, you must be really old, huh?”

Decker was quiet for a second. “I’m only eleven years older than you,” he said with a short sniff.

“Wow, so you’re like, a grandpa?” Valentine jabbed him in the ribs. Wyatt couldn’t help but laugh, causing a motion that made his horse snort with annoyance. “I was gonna say, this is such a nice horse you have, what’s his name?”

“It’s Bolt,” Wyatt smiled, “wrangled him myself. Needed a horse that would be strong and not too skittish, so I couldn’t just buy one, but find a wild horse and break him? Now that’s a good horse, muscular and fearless… Well, mostly. The sprites freak him out a bit.”

“The… sprites?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a normal person. Yeah, you see them sometimes if you’re far enough from civilization. They’re harmless, really. They come in all kinds of colors, make cute little noises, too.” Decker grinned at the memory of searching for sprites with his parents when he was a little boy. Thinking of his childhood, Wyatt quietly hummed some tune he half remembered to fill the comfortable silence that fell between the two men. This was the first time Decker had ridden with someone in a while, and he had to admit that he enjoyed the company greatly. It got pretty lonely sometimes, all by himself, and it was worse when he was stuck with his thoughts… His mother used to always hum when she was out in the yard, secretly enjoying sunny days like this, when her husband wasn’t home, and she could watch her son play amongst the trees as she hung laundry or cleaned the porch. She never sang the lyrics, maybe didn’t even know them, but she knew the tune. Decker Wyatt intended to stay stuck in thought, but a voice slowly and gently pulled him out of his thoughts of childhood. A voice so sweet and soft he wasn’t even sure it belonged to a person, even though there was only one who could be singing.

“... You can buy a dream or two…” It was Valentine, “... And the only price you pay… Is a heart full of tears…” He slowly stopped singing as he realized Decker was looking at him with a facial expression he’d never seen on a man’s face before. “Sorry, did I interrupt you?” And after no answer, “Decker? Decker Wyatt? Is everything okay?”

Decker took a slow breath. He knew he’d cry if he didn’t. “Those are the lyrics?” he asked quietly, throat tight.

Valentine nodded. “My mother sang that song to me all the time as a little boy. It’s on her headstone, actually…” Wyatt nodded, looking down and away towards the plain, almost embarrassed.

“Mine did too. She never knew the words, though, neither did I. This is my first time hearing them.”

Valentine was quiet for a second, wondering if what he was about to say was a good idea. He bit the bullet; he could almost feel it in his bones that it needed to be said. “I had a few good years with my mom, I never remember a moment when she wasn’t there… but then she got sick, and there was nothing we could do to save her, she died before I was ten.” He was silent for a moment, and felt like something almost possessed him as he said, “It was natural, though, it was something that was going around the plain, carried by the travelers. But in the end, she was at peace; she knew it was something even nature couldn’t stop.” He watched Decker’s shoulders rise with preparedness; he knew what Valentine was going to say, and Valentine had to say it. “But your parents’ death wasn’t natural or peaceful, was it?” It was laid out like a hand of cards at the end of the game.

“No, it wasn’t,” Decker said softly. He should’ve been angry, had that natural defensive reaction, but it was possible all the defense had been used up because the dam finally broke. “It was horrible, ripped to shreds like they were nothing. The whole… The act was filled with so much hate that the house literally shook with it.” He couldn’t stop the dry heaved sob that escaped him. “And I couldn’t do anything. The monster got them before I could. I could see the disappointment in my father's eyes; the monster had already taken what it had wanted, and it hadn’t even wanted me.” He broke off with a choke, and Valentine worried that he’d at least vomit, at the most die from the confession. But nothing came after, the wind whispering as it cooled their sunburned cheeks. “Twenty years and you’d think that the wound would’ve healed.” There was a fire there as he grit his teeth, eyes burning.

“Well, it can’t exactly heal if you avoid it. It’s like avoiding a big cut; it’ll probably get infected.” The last word left Valentine’s mouth as the shadow of the massive hotel loomed over them, a monster of its own, causing them to both look up.

“I need to find the man who did this; it was nothing natural, it had a vengeance, something almost human.”

“And how do you know it was a man?” Valentine asked, voice flat in an unexpected way, something Decker didn’t even realize. 

“Because my father said there was evil in the world, a man, one who changed things to have his own way, killed anything that got in his way.” Decker Wyatt turned to Valentine Calvert, eyes seemingly almost fully blue rather than half brown, “and I felt him in that house that night, felt it in myself, and have seen it in the world ever since, and I know it must be vanquished.”

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

Monsters usually were found out in the wilderness, only causing trouble on the wagon ways, or coming too close to town, which is why Wyatt got called. It was unusual for them to hang around civilization and even more unusual for them to actually haunt a place, so it utterly dumbfounded Wyatt as to why a monster would haunt a place as new as Red’s. He kneeled and touched the dirt with his fingers. Clean. There wasn’t anything residual in the earth, so it meant this thing must’ve just moved in.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Valentine asked, stretching as he dismounted from Bolt.

“You helped build this thing?” Wyatt asked. It must’ve taken years to construct.

“A little, I came around towards the very end, my works down there,” he threw a thumb over his shoulder, “private little houses for guests.” He walked past Wyatt, picking up four buckets of nails and a hammer. “As you see, we got a lot going on; construction and paint crew for the Spencer’s hotel and cabins, crew for the carnival,” He nodded his head towards the Ferris wheel that was now fully erect and spinning slowly, “And you. Are you joining us tonight for the carnival?”

Wyatt was confused about how casual Valentine was; it was nice. Most were so serious with him, but Valentine, in the short time he had known him, had gotten Wyatt to open up in a way he never had before, and he acted as if they had just been talking about the weather. “Er- I’m not sure. Monster hunting can cause some trouble sometimes. And if the monster doesn’t show itself tonight, I may have to stand guard.”

“Pity-” Valentine said, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. Wyatt tried to make himself believe that it was the weight of the buckets and not disappointment. “Well, it starts at twelve, if you can make it.”

“Odd time for a carnival-”

Valentine shrugged, “Mr. Spencer wanted it at midnight for whatever reason, but it sounds like fun to me.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can make it.” Wyatt felt like he might melt as Valentine grinned at him. 

“Sure thing, Wyatt. Feel free to hunker down in one of the houses while you wait. Good Luck!” And with that, he turned around and left.

With time to kill, Wyatt toured the grounds, checking out the carnival and examining the outside of the hotel. It was locked, but that didn’t mean it'd stop a monster. Decker Wyatt found that he greatly enjoyed being around the other men; they treated him like a regular person rather than an imposing figure to fear or a boss to work for. He ate lunch with them, traded stories of traveling across the states for work, though their work was much more normal than his. 

After Wyatt set up for his hunt, he hoped that the guaranteed visit of the monster would work in his favor. He set out all of his belongings in a row on the porch of one of the cabins that Garrett, one of Mr. Spencer’s workmen, said he could use. He polished his weapons and small vials as he thought about the monster and what it could be. Monsters took the broken forms of animals for one reason or another; Decker really never knew why. He concluded that the souls, either twisted by their past lives, stuck on earth, or forced, could easily inhabit the corpse of an animal, but he wasn’t entirely sure. But if his theory, or some form of it, was correct, that meant that this monster had to be powerful enough to inhabit a human body. Was it his monster? He thought of what his father called the “devil”, how a man could be so evil that it soured the balance of the natural world. Denver Wyatt believed that the devil could be found in anyone, that he could be anyone, and that made him the greatest monster of all. A great monster for a great hunter, and Decker Wyatt had to pick up the pieces and smite him once and for all.

Lost in thought, a vial escaped from Wyatt’s grasp, rolling across the porch towards the stairs. He lunged for it to save it from breaking, but he was too late. Instead, a massive gloved hand caught it, gently placing it in Wyatt's outstretched hand. “Thanks,” he said softly, looking into the large man's silver eyes, “that could’ve ended badly.” He chuckled softly, and the taller man let out a huff that could’ve been a laugh. “You’re Levi, aren’t you?” He had met his twin, Michael, at lunch.

Levi nodded, looking down and away under the porch.

“Well, thanks again. I’m Decker Wyatt by the way.” He smiled, wondering why Levi wouldn’t look at him.

Levi, the taller of the Powers twins, huffed, either in frustration or anticipation. Straightening up, he threw a head over his shoulder as he signed, “Golden boy wanted me to check on you. Glad I was here,” as his gloves hissed with the movements.

“Golden boy? You mean Valentine?” Wyatt laughed. It was a good description for him, the way he seemed to almost glow in the sunlight.

Levi nodded before he was hit with the realization, “You understand sign language?”

“Know it too.” Wyatt signed back, smiling. “I had deaf relatives that my mom wanted me to converse with. Said it’d be good for all types of situations. I’m a little rusty, though.” He gave a shy smile as he dragged two fingers across his thumb for the final sign.

Levi’s cheeks brightened with a blush that a mother would call “adorable”. He looked away, embarrassed as he signed, “I thought only my brother knew.”

“So your brother is the only one you talk to?” Wyatt asked, feeling a sadness grab his heart. For all the travelling he was told the Powers brothers did, Levi’s world seemed so small with no one to talk to.

“No, we come from a large family. Most of them know some or at least can tell what I’m trying to say, so it isn't lonely.” He smiled at Decker as they sat together on the porch steps. “Our family is so big, you can find one of us Powers boys almost anywhere. We’re hard workers, so a lot of us do manual labor.” He smiled as he thought about his cousins, a bit rough around the edges but nice in their own ways.

“Must be nice to have a big family to count on,” Wyatt said, looking out onto the plains. “You all get along well?”

To this Levi stared off into the distance, then, averting Wyatt's gaze, signed “Most of us. But we can all depend on each other in the end.” He finally looked back at Wyatt, a sadness in his silver eyes that were covered in a hairline scar, “Do you not have family, Monster Hunter?” 

He shook his head as he looked back out towards the plains, the afternoon sun almost making his face glow with a holy light, his eyes seeming otherworldly to Levi. “No, I’m the last of my family left. I’m the last one, and I swear Levi, this line of hunters ends with me,” he said with a fire in his chest, almost forgetting that the dark-haired man was sitting next to him. “We’ve been hunting monsters for centuries, but have been picked off one by one. For great people, we don’t have very grand deaths. But I swear, the monsters will end with me,” he looked up and smiled at Levi, “and that’s all I need.”

Levi looked at him skeptically, their odd eyes searching each other for.. Something. “That’s not fair.” He stated, his tick eyebrows creasing handsomely. “Everyone deserves family, no matter who they are.”

Wyatt laughed, this one more sad and cruel, “I don’t know about everyone.”

The skepticism turned to sternness as Levi signed in anger, “Yes, everyone does. And it doesn’t need to be by blood either. Here-” He fumbled with his gloves, taking them off to sift through his pockets, opening a clenched fist to reveal dozens of red beaded bracelets. He took one off slowly, grabbed Wyatt’s wrist with a surprisingly soft hand, and fitted the bracelet on. “You are my friend and there for my family. As I said, my cousins are scattered all over America. You find them and show them that,” nodding at the bracelet, “and they’ll help you with whatever you need. It’s what families do.”

Decker Wyatt sat quietly, glassy eyes staring at the new red bracelet that adorned his wrist. He could feel his cheeks burn and his eyes water, exhaling so slowly that one would hardly even notice that he was breathing. “This is… the nicest thing anyone has done for me, I think, ever.” He looked up into the softening face of Levi Powers and was reminded of a rumbling thunderstorm on a summer's day, “Thank you.”

“Damn, Levi, you’re going to make this man cry twice in one day?” Wyatt's head snapped to see Valentine standing in front of them, smiling. He laughed kindly as Wyatt wiped a damp eye, sitting beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “He’s right, Wyatt. You got family, you’ll have it. You just have to open your heart up to it,” he was looking out towards the fields as well, and Wyatt wondered if the heat that radiated from the younger man was because he had been working all day. Wyatt looked down at their feet, only to realize that Valentine wore a red bracelet too. He smiled warmly. It felt so nice to be surrounded by people and not have expectations forced on him. But his mood soured as the sun started to set, remembering that night from so long ago. No, he thought, frown deepening, he couldn’t put these men in danger as well.

“You guys should get back to work,” he said with a sigh, standing with popping knees as he went up a step so he was looking down on them. When they looked up, Wyatt was reminded, This is how it should be, and watched as they reluctantly got up. Valentine started to protest, arguing that he remembered what Wyatt said, that this wasn’t a monster he had fought before, and begged to help. Levi watched them silently. Decker held up a calloused hand, stopping Valentine in the middle of his tirade, “It’s dangerous. A normal person such as yourself may be gravely injured or worse. I can’t afford that-” and tried to sound as if he were afraid of what a fatality of a civilian might mean for his work rather than his mind. “I thank you, your assistance won’t be needed. There is no way you can help.” He could see the heartbreak happen in Valentine's eyes, and watched as Levi grabbed him by his shoulder and dragged him away.

Decker Wyatt watched, their silhouettes fading in the now setting sun. The two turned back momentarily to watch their monster hunter, Valentine, calling out, “DECKER WYATT, IF YOU NEED ANYTHING YOU JUST YELL FOR ME, AND I’LL COME. I’LL COME RUNNING!” and he watched with sadness in his blue-brown eyes as the two finally turned and left.

As he watched them leave, he wondered, Why does Valentine have a red bracelet? Before he turned and entered the cabin to prepare for yet another battle.

It was barely audible, the shifting of small pebbles and dust outside.

Decker Wyatt’s eyes opened slowly, his blue-brown eyes adjusting to the now darkness of the cabin, ears straining now that he had a lack of vision. But the sound came again, and Wyatt realized that it wasn’t from the movements of his body. It was from something else. Something outside. He crawled to the window slowly, knowing it was no man nor animal scratching in the dirt outside. What he saw through the dusty glass was truly terrible; it was worse than anything he could draw or even imagine. She was terrifying, even more horrific than the men had described. A snow white body twisted like it had gotten caught up in heavy machinery, her spine seemingly made of wire rather than bone.

He breathed for the first time, vapor fogging up the glass. Big mistake. Her head snapped up, glowing red eyes and a cut-up face staring directly at him. Don’t move, Wyatt wished, but if there was a god, it didn’t hear him. She backed away towards the shadows before taking off impossibly fast- “WAIT!” Decker cried, grabbing his scythe as he ran through the door and towards the hotel. The thing was wicked fast, probably the fastest monster he had ever dealt with, a white blur in the night as it zigged and zagged across the dirt road. He’d never be able to catch up with it, but he knew where she was going.

He stopped short at the entrance of the hotel, locked doors now gaping wide, emitting a pink light that washed over Dekcer. He walked in slowly, turning to see a figure standing where he had just been moments before, before the large doors slammed shut, trapping him inside.

It was a dizzying feeling that held onto him as he walked through the building, his body seeming to shift in weight, so at some points he felt as though he weighed a ton, barely able to get a boot off the ground, and others, so light he thought he might float into the air. He was distressed by the walls, which seemed to pulse with a heartbeat, his heartbeat, as he walked on. The hotel seemed almost alive, if not for the pulsating walls, then their fleshy texture. Was that blood?! He took note of the odd decor, definitely something the Spencers would not have chosen. Taxidermied animals, albino lambs, rabbits, goats, and other creatures Wyatt had never seen before, littered the walls, red yarn and thread spread out like a spiderweb across the pink ceiling. He cringed and covered his eyes as he passed gold frames that encased chewed up and spit out flesh, human limbs, and organs being nailed to the wall as decorations. He felt so ill from the sights that he failed to notice that he was starting to feel his normal weight again, his boots being drowned in blood. The final horror came as he realized that a red thread had somehow snaked its way under his shirt. Out of annoyance, he yanked on it and screamed. Pulling up his shirt, Wyatt’s break came out quick and uneven in a heave as he realized the thread went into and under his skin, snaking its way around his heart and across his ribcage, the string and veins wriggling under his skin like worms. Decker Wyatt would have fainted if it weren’t for the new, sharp pain that ripped through his chest as the thread was pulled, leading him farther down the hall like a well-trained dog as blood dripped down the thread and stomach with the pulse of his heart.

He became aware of the music at the same time he became aware of the door, its golden nob almost calling out to him, turning with ease as Decker pushed his entire, straining body weight onto the door to get the thing open. He gasped as the pain in his chest suddenly stopped, his squeezed heart almost thanking him as it returned the correct amount of blood flow to his brain. 

Pulling his shirt back down, Wyatt slowly and quietly walked through what he imagined was some sort of lounge or sitting room. He walked to the red, gold, and wood gramophone, gently lifting the needle off the turning disk to stop the music. He then walked to the large stained glass window, trying to look out, but all he saw was blackness behind the rose-tinted glass.

“Why’d you turn off the music?” A woman's voice asked, husky and soft.

Wyatt turned quickly, only to turn back again, hands shading his eyes. The woman was completely naked, with fair skin covered in red tattoos, silky, wavy dark hair framing a piercing face that reminded Wyatt of a spider. Only the way she sat with her arms and legs slightly crossed gave her some privacy, but Wyatt had a feeling that she preferred to be… without clothes-

“Excuse me, ma’am-” He said, looking down at the ground, hands still covering his eyes.

She laughed, a sound as smooth as warm butter. “Even in my state of undress, you're still courteous, Wyatt?” He nodded, making her smirk. “What do you think I am?”

“A succubus, though many believe you’re a witch.”

“Maybe I am a witch.” She countered. If Wyatt had been any other man and had turned around, he would’ve noticed that she had needle-like canines like a vampire. “The problem with you is-” she said softly, getting up from her velvety chair. “Is that you don’t find me attractive, do you?” She lifted her thin arms, her right hand coming up to squeeze at his left pectoral with spindly white fingers, her palm resting over his heart.

“No- I’m don’t-” He said quietly. It was evident to her by the way his heartbeat seemed to slow instead of quicken, like he was bored. 

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m on a mission to find the one that killed my family.”

“But didn’t you already kill the beast? Ripped it to shreds like the man you are?” She whispered in his ear. Only now his skin prickled.

“How do you know that?” He asked, overcoming his shyness and gripping her shoulders.

She smiled. Yes, he was very different. “I just know,” she said, and lifted his big hands off of her. “But why don’t you like me?” She asked teasingly, moving his hands now to her hips.

“Because I don’t have time for women. Or anybody at all.” He rotated his hands and gently grabbed her wrists, pressing her hands back into her chest.

“But you must love some woman, right?” She asked as she turned, hips swaying as she walked back to her chair.

“Yes, my mother and my sister. No one else. No other woman.”

“No other woman…” she repeated quietly and slowly, as if she were tasting the words on her long tongue. “Why?” she asked as she turned back, red light reflecting off her dark eyes as though she were an animal.

“I thought you were all-knowing?” He felt as if his tongue had become loose, but he hadn’t lost all control yet.

She smiled down at him, “I like you, Wyatt,” she finally said, “I’ve never met someone quite like you before.”

“And I haven't met someone quite like you either.”

“Why do you fix me with that icy yet warm gaze?” she asked, each one looking into the other's eyes.

“What do you know?” he asked.

Her grin transformed into a face-splitting smile, the cuts from earlier becoming visible again. “I’m glad they named a town and hotel after me-” She said, her eyes no longer focused on him but her brightly painted nails instead.

“So your name is Red?”

“No,” she said quietly, and she rubbed a polished nail. “I’m just a fan of the color.” She looked up at him and smiled. 

“So then what shall I call you?” He asked, hands held together in front of him.

“So respectful yet again! I see your mother raised you well.”

Wyatt smiled at the compliment, “She did the best she could.”

“Do you respect death?” She asked as she picked at the red polish on her ring finger.

“It comes for us all,” Wyatt said simply, yet his grasp on his own hands tightened. 

She smirked, being able to feel the growing pressure on his hands. “Then why do you challenge it if it comes early?”

He sucked in a breath and held it, unable to answer at first. “Because it’s cruel.”

“Isn’t death cruel? It takes from all of us, even the richest of men-”

Wyatt’s brow furrowed with a growing anger. “It shouldn’t take from a child! It shouldn’t break love- it shouldn’t-”

“Do you not love your mother?” The question was so insulting that Decker Wyatt stood in silence for a moment.

“Of course I do.”

“Then it hasn’t broken your love. In fact,” she tapped her pearly chin in a comical way, “I think it made your love for her stronger. You even love a little girl you never got to meet.”

Wyatt’s knuckles cracked with the mention of his unborn baby sister. “Don’t-”

She laughed, tossing her hair as she crossed her ankles, leaning on her chair. “You’re mad because it was violent. Because there was nothing for you to stop it-”

“I can stop it now!” He said with a straining chest, his voice almost shaking the walls.

“Oh?” She said, her pencil-thin eyebrow now arched. “And how would that be done?”

“I-” He started, but his voice fell short. “I don’t know.”

She smiled at him in the way a mother does, one full of pity yet slightly entertained. “You know-” she started, eyes now fully red, holding his, “there are people who would do more than you to avenge their loved ones, to-” she sighed for dramatics, “get them back.” The sigh worked.

“Get them…back?”

“In one way or another.” As she smiled with all her teeth, the room shook. “He’s not happy,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“Who?”

“You know who.” Her smile stayed plastered across her face as the shaking ceased. “Some would do anything, ANYTHING, to get someone back.” She smiled at him, then said, “The love of a husband is way stronger than you may think.” She winked at him as the room shook again, a light bulb breaking overhead.

“What-”

“Where did it first begin?” She asked, like she didn’t even notice the shaking around her.

“What- my parents' house, WHERE THEY DIED!”

“No,” she said calmly, “try again. Where did the trouble begin? You’ve been fighting monsters for a while now, normal ones. So where did THIS start?”

“Where did it-” He thought back to the black outside the stained glass window, the darkness of the caravan. “THE CIRCUS!” he had to scream to be heard over the crashing.

She nodded her head like a proud teacher. “And where did that begin?”

Wyatt thought for a second. He had only met Ringmaster, or who he thought had been Ringmaster, at the train station. He had been looking at his poster. Why were the posters at the- “THE TRAIN STATION” he screamed, more out of joy and relief than to be heard. The floorboards were starting to split open, leaving him to stand on splinters. The shaking started to take on a rhythm, one of pounding, not that of a heartbeat, but of “footsteps?” he turned towards the door.

She smiled at him as she blinked, as if to agree. “Bless your angel,” she said in a laughing voice, “Wyatt, I am glad you can resist temptation!”

“Wyatt? WYATT?” He was shaken awake by abnormally warm hands.

“Wha- What?” he croaked out, eyes still blurry.

“Oh my god, you're okay!” One of Valentine’s arms propped up the larger man while the other was against his chest in meek prayer. “Thank the-” 

“Valentine-” Wyatt asked softly.

“Yeah, Wyatt?”

“What time is it? Is it even the same day?” 

Valentine smiled. “Well, you made it to the carnival!” Wyatt’s face was again screwed with confusion. “I saw you and that thing- running towards the hotel. Then you just vanished! I looked all over for you, and I eventually found you lying here-” “Here” was under a tree a few yards away from the hotel. The grand doors were locked, as they had always been. “Are you okay?” Valentine asked, his face taking up almost all of Wyatt’s vision.

“Yea-” he said slowly. “I got a few nasty cuts, but I think I’m okay.”

Valentine smiled. “We’ll get ya cleaned up and good as new. But, if I may ask, did you kill the monster?”

Only then did Wyatt realize his hand was in a fist. Uncurling it slowly, Wyatt realized he held ten red fingernails in his hand.

He smiled up at Valentine and nodded, “I think I might’ve gotten a clue too.”

Valentine took Wyatt back to his tent at the workers' camp to clean and disinfect his cuts, tying the roll of bandages around his chest. Wyatt sat quietly and watched Valentine's hands do the work. Using his hands, Valentine checked Wyatt's ribs for broken bones and was satisfied to find none. The red thread, however, was gone.

“Are you a medic?” Wyatt asked as Valentine gave him some water.

“Nah, it’s just after having a million and one odd jobs, you learn a thing or two.”

“Jack of all trades, huh?” he smiled as he drank from the glass.

“Yeah, something like that.” He said quietly. “Now come look, I want to make sure the bandages are up to your standards.” He helped Wyatt up and led him to a large mirror in the middle of the camp. “Look good?”

“Better than anything I could’ve done by myself,” he turned slightly in the mirror, “Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Valentine, eyes holding Wyatt’s.

“Nothing-”

“Wyatt- What’s wrong?” he asked sternly, speaking as he had on the horse hours before.

“It’s just-” he turned again, craning his neck so that he could see the reflection of his back. The injuries from the Spiny-Bush-Rattler had healed, thick scabs now peeling away to expose fresh, pink scars below. “I’m covered in scars. My father was- untouchable-”

Valentine smiled, spinning Wyatt back around so they both faced the mirror. “I see them as scars of glory. You won all those battles, killed all the monsters, right?” Wyatt nodded. “Then there’s nothing to be upset about.” He clapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “Now, do you want to go to the carnival with me, or rest in the tent?”

Wyatt smiled down kindly at him, “Sure, let’s go. I can’t remember the last time I had fun.” The two barely made it, only able to watch as Mr. Spencer cut the red ribbon, hordes of people running into the carnival. Wyatt and Valentine stayed behind, taking it slow, commenting on the beauty of the many different lights. Eventually, they met up with the others, Wyatt mostly talking with Valentine and Levi. They watched as the workmen tried to bob for apples, Garrett winning so far, but Miachel was close behind. 

Valentine was laughing and clapping his hands, standing behind the two men, “C’mon, Michael! You can beat Him!” he looked up, feeling two pairs of eyes on him, smiling and waving at Wyatt and Levi, who sat at a picnic table not far away. They both smiled and waved back.

“He’s really nice, you know,” Levi sighed, looking down at Wyatt. “He tries to include me in everything.”

Wyatt chuckled. “He said you were meaner than hell.”

Levi let out a little puff of breath that might've been a laugh. “I don’t think I’m mean, I just… don't have a lot to say.” They both laughed silently together. “But really, he’s very nice. He’s been worried about you all day. It’s like…I don’t know, like he can look straight inside a person and see you for what you really are. It’s easy to open up to someone as warm as him.”

“Tell me about it,” Wyatt said softly.

The two got up as Valentine called them over. A few of the guys wanted to go play some drinking games, and Valentine wanted to take Wyatt on the Ferris wheel.

“Will I ever see you again?” Wyatt asked as he slowly hopped off the table.

“Maybe,” Levi sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “As I said, I have lots of cousins, you’re bound to meet one of them at some point,” he smiled sadly down at Wyatt. “Goodbye for now, monster hunter.” His hand drifted from Wyatt’s shoulder to his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before walking away.

Valentine nudged Wyatt as he walked up to him. “He likes you.” He said quietly, nodding his head in the direction of the iron wheel, silently asking Wyatt to follow.

“He- he does?”

“Yeah, you treated him like a normal human being. What’s not to like about that?” The two walked together, talking about the little things as they made their way towards the ride, sliding onto the sticky seats as they were carried heavenward.

“Are you going to stay?” Valentine asked quietly, “The town could use someone like you. You could settle down, have a place of your own. No more tent life, I know your back must be hurting.”

Wyatt chuckled, “You know I can’t stay, Valentine. That's not how this job works.”

“But if you could, would you?”

Wyatt thought of Mr. and Mrs. Spencer, of the construction guys, of Levi, and the golden-haired angel that sat beside him. “Yes, I would.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Wyatt’s mind now flashed from his newfound friends to his parents' bodies lying dead on the floor. “Because it can’t be that way.”

“But, Wyatt-” Valentine’s hand now rested on his shoulder the way the gloved hand of Levi’s had.

“It’s dangerous-” Wyatt said softly but firmly. “I don’t want to see any of you die.” Tears showed in both the men's eyes, catching the light as the first rays of sunrise caressed their faces.

“Won’t I ever see you again?” Valentine barely whispered.

“Sure you will.” Wyatt smiled sadly. “Just maybe, in a different life-”

“YOU'RE LEAVING???” Mr. Spencer could barely believe what he was hearing. The golden scissors from the night before were still sitting on his desk. Decker Wyatt nodded, hands in his jacket pockets. It was much colder than the day before, and he was thankful for the heater that Mrs. Spencer had turned on, sad that he was about to give up that comfort. “But why???”

“My job here is done,” he said plainly, trying to make it as painless for himself as possible.

“But- you can’t leave! What do I gotta do, son? What do I have to pay to make you stay?” 

Wyatt’s heart ached all over again at the word “son”, trying to push his heart down into the acid of his stomach. “It isn’t safe,” he said, his voice now wavering ever so slightly. “It’s bad luck to have me around.”

“Bad luck??? YOU'RE THE BEST THING TO HAPPEN TO THIS TOWN!” He was sweating profusely, dabbing his forehead with a silky purple cloth. 

“Monsters follow me if I don’t come to them-” he said slowly. “I’m on a mission anyway, one that I need to do, alone. I can’t see anyone else get hurt.”

“But couldn’t this be your base???” he was frantic, leaning over his desk, looking for something. “The plains are full of monsters, more than enough for you to kill. And we-” he found what he was looking for: a map. “We’re right in the middle of it all!” Taking a red pencil, he made a little dot and wrote “RED’S” in big, bold letters.

“Monsters aren’t the only thing I’m hunting for; it’s something more personal. And, the train station isn’t around here-”

“Then we’ll build one, right here! Anything you’d ever need or want will be right here in Red’s. You're everything we need and want. Why can’t we be that to you?”

“You are everything to me-” Wyatt said softly, “that’s why I need to leave.” He started to push Mr. Spencer’s outstretched hand holding the map back down onto the table.

“No, take it.” Mr. Spencer said. He handed Wyatt the pencil he held in his hand. 

Wyatt thanked him, gently rolling up the map and pencil together and putting them into his inner jacket pocket.

“I need to go now,” he said gently, eyes cast down. “It was good to know you, Mr. Spencer; it was good to know all of you.” he turned and walked away slowly, kicking the ground, making the floorboards creak.

“Wyatt, son-” Mr. Spencer asked slowly, quietly, as if he were speaking to a frightened animal. Wyatt had made it to the open office door. “Won’t you stay?” 

It was a desperate last plea.

Decker Wyatt shook his head sadly, not looking back while trying to force down the rising lump in his throat, gripping the door frame as if he might fall. “Sorry, Mr. Spencer. I can’t stay here. I can’t stay anywhere-”

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

It was cold and wet when he boarded the train. Mr. Spencer had bought him the ticket. Wyatt had been told by the witch to go to the train station, but from there he was lost, so Mr. Spencer, kind as he was, bought him a ticket that would take him as far as he needed to go. Wyatt shouldn’t have been shocked when he opened up the door to his seat and found himself in the nicest, private car he had ever seen or been in. He tried not to think of all his newfound friends as he sat down and closed his eyes as the train started. He had to move on, find the next monster. He couldn’t find his family's killer by staying in one place. He tried to sleep, but his mind drifted to what the witch had said the night before. What was it about the train station? There had been one or two posters of him up, but nothing more. And resisting temptation? It had to do with more than resisting her- But what was it? And his angel? Surely she didn’t mean Valentine. What could he do?

But what couldn’t he do? An unknown voice seemed to echo in his head. It was his, he was sure of that, but it was something about the tone. Valentine seemed to be a Jack of all trades. Hell, he had followed him into the monster's lair. But how in the world had he done that? He couldn’t exactly put together what was happening, but recent events so far had seemed to have a purpose, but what? It was hard to put all of the pieces of the puzzle together, and the chugging of the train slowly rocked him to sleep.

He woke up in a cold sweat, gasping as his breath came out in icy puffs. He could immediately tell that something was wrong, that something had shifted as he slept. He got up slowly and walked towards the window, mist rippling like water around his legs. When he had first woken, he thought it was night, but not a star shone in the sky, and he felt his stomach drop into his boots as he realized we’re not on the tracks- in a rush, he backed out of the cab door, gasping as an even cooler air met his back. It was even colder in the walkway, frost almost covering the entire inside of the car. With frost completely covering the back door, he had no choice but to go forward towards the coupler. As he walked forward, he noticed that all the cabs were empty and in a deteriorated state. Had other people been on this train before? Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t even remember if he saw another person board when he had. Grabbing the door handle, Wyatt growled as he fought with the frozen door, ice and wood splintering as it finally gave. Outside, it was warmer, but not by much, the same, inky black cloud enveloping the train that he had seen out the window.

Wyatt tried to focus as the wind rushed around him like a wild horse, the sound of escaping steam like a horse's breath, the wheels turning like shod hooves. With a heave, Wyatt pushed himself across the coupler, clinging to the metal pole on the opposite car and pulling himself across, trying to block out the noises as he forcefully pushed open the next door.

He growled as the train lurched, throwing Decker inside, and the door slammed behind him. Trapped once again, he was forced to move forward once more, but this hallway was different. Where the other had been covered in frost, this one was impossibly long, so long that Wyatt couldn’t see the end of it. It could’ve stretched on for miles for all he knew, though it should’ve been only twenty steps at most to reach the end. He passed many private seats that were as empty as the ones he had seen before; at least, he hoped they were empty. Strange shadows seemed to peer at him as he walked by, and it took just about all the focus he had to not peer at them any longer than he had to. Wyatt puffed air out in annoyance, trying to walk steadily forward as the train lurched from side to side. There was only one person who could warp a reality like this, and Wyatt growled his name like a curse as he was slammed against one of the cabin doors, hitting his head from the force of the train being thrown sideways. He got up, shaking his head, only to realize the cab had changed; no longer was it dark and dingy, but softly lit by the light of the moon and in pristine condition. “I’ve had enough of this game,” he whispered as he turned back to see what would be behind him this time, and wasn’t surprised to see an inky wall of black. He turned back as a rasping chuckle answered his complaint, his skin prickling as he slowly turned his head. He’d heard of the man all of his life, hunted him, too. He knew he could take many forms, or none at all, just a shadow in the darkness or a bad thought in your head. But as he stared at him now, into the devil’s unseeing eyes, he knew this was his true form.

“Hello, Wyatt, won’t you please sit down?” The man presented a seating area and a tea set with a ghostly white, rotting hand, bones poking through where the skin had rotted to nothing but black.

Wyatt got up slowly, watching the man as he walked around the chair, standing silently for a moment, unsure of what to do. He figured he really had no other option, but still…  “SIT!” The commanding voice made Wyatt sit instantly in his new chair, gripping the armrests. The voice was like his father’s, a loud boom that captured attention and made one jump into action. “That’s better,” He said in softer notes, but his voice still had a strict tone to it.

“Why did you bring me here?” Wyatt asked tightly as tea was poured into a cup, trying to ignore the dark stain he left on the pot’s handle.

“Pretty good illusion, wasn’t it?” He smiled, slowly stirring some sugar into the tea, “Milk?”

“No milk.” Wyatt wondered why he had answered; he wasn’t going to drink tea with him. “Why am I here?”

“So much like your father, you know. Never had very good manners.” He smiled like he was remembering some good memory.

“My father? I- I have good manners-”

“Your mother taught you well then, huh?”

“Don’t bring my mother into this-” Decker Wyatt all but growled, gripping the plush armrests with his fingers tightly.

“Gently, gently, those cost a fortune to be made.” Wyatt found himself instantly lessening his grip. Why was he under so much control? “Your mother was a strong woman, that was for sure. Anyone who had to put up with your father had to be strong, even you. Do you think people would have adored him as much if they knew what he was really like?”

“I- He was my father.”

“So?”

“So? You killed your daughters.” The clink of the spoon hitting the cup was like a shatter in the silence. The monster’s hand stayed levitated over the cup, not seeming to move or even breathe. It only took him a moment to snap back, the spoon back in his dark fingers as he fished it out and put it on the silver tray that sat on the table. If Wyatt had been only slightly more observant, focusing on his fingers more than his face, he would’ve seen his middle and forefinger dip into the tea, staining the yellowish-brown liquid black.

“Have you ever been in love, Wyatt?”

He was silent for a moment, “No, I guess I never have-”

“Never?” Wyatt could tell by the shift in his facial structure that he was raising a brow in question.

“I loved my family, the one you took from me.” He gritted his teeth.

“This isn’t about them.”

“It’s all about them!!” He wanted to stand, lunge at the monster that sat before him, but he stayed put.

“Did you ever fall in love, Wyatt? With someone new, someone exciting and refreshing?”

“No, never.”

“Why?”

Wyatt shifted uncomfortably in his chair but did not look away. “I guess I never had the time for it.”

“Why don’t you. You could rest, find a house like your father had, and settle down with a pretty little wife like your father had for a few weeks at a time. Or-” 

Wyatt spoke before he could voice his next thought. “I’m too busy fighting the monsters you create, so you are the reason why I cannot live happily ever after with… someone-”

The ghost of a rotting corpse laughed as he quickly slid the tea cup over the table, the silver cup stopping right at the edge in front of Wyatt. The tea came up to the lip of the cup but never spilled out, settling flat once more. “If your father could hear that, I think he’d skin you alive.” Wyatt gripped the armrests again, looking down at the tea, trying to keep his imaginative mind from making his skin heat up with the foreign feeling of peeling. “So, why are you here?” he took a sip of his own tea. When Wyatt looked up, he realized there were different animal skulls mounted on the wall.

“Because you brought me here.”

“No,” he shook his head as though he found this amusing, “Why are you here?”

Wyatt blinked for a moment before his brows furrowed slightly. “To hunt you. You took my family away. Why did you do it?”

The other man got up and inspected a skull on the back wall, polishing the coyote's bony forehead with his thumb. It left a smudgy patch of black. “Do you think we’re all good people?”

“I certainly know you aren’t.” The other only smiled at Wyatt’s snappy remark.

“Do you think your father was a good person?”

“I- He was a good help to many.”

A chuckle from the turned body, “Yes, but was he good to you?” his covered head tilted in a way that made Wyatt feel as though he was peering at his stomach, making Wyatt’s abdominal scar burn. “I think I have my answer,” he said slyly. He walked back to his chair, but didn’t sit in it; instead, he stood beside it, one arm leisurely resting on the backrest, just as the witch had. “So why are you here? You’re hunting me, I know, so why not take me out now?” He spread his arms wide and puffed out his chest, ribs cracking with effort.

Wyatt watched him warily, replaying the events from the past couple of months. He was hit with the sudden realization as the train suddenly shuddered again, violently, reminding him that he was not safe. It felt like he was in the witch’s lair again, the walls ruffling ever so slightly, the skulls dancing on their decorative boards. Wyatt didn’t realize that the teacup was now in his hand. He squinted at him, almost as if he was trying to see what was under a ridiculous hat. “You know a lot more than you’re letting on. You killed so many innocent people, I can’t let you go that easily, but if I took you on here, you’d obliterate me.”

He grinned, lips parting to show his unnaturally white teeth once more, “smart boy.” Wyatt was silent as he watched the other’s lower face, looking for some sort of hint or clue. If he had eyes, he was obviously looking at him, staring into his soul and unwinding the tangle of feelings and memories that made Wyatt who he was. It was the exact opposite feeling that Valentine gave him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know who you are?”

“What-” Wyatt sat there, almost stunned, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

“Oh, you great monster hunters, untouchable for centuries. History paints you as the saviors of America, but are you? You’ve seen how your father acted; how would the ones who came before him be any different? Why, why did your father hate you so?”

Wyatt felt a hateful rage bubbling in his chest, something that made his blue-brown eyes burn bright. “My father didn’t hate me- I was his son!”

“A failure of a son,” he said quietly, looking down on him.

Wyatt lunged at him but was stopped by some unseen force, forcing him to sit back down. The tea sloshed over the cup's rim and fell on Wyatt’s hand. If it burned, he did not realize or show it.

“What is it about you,” the monster walked over calmly as the train began to shake again, “that makes you so different? Why can’t you get it right? Why did they die?”

Wyatt opened his mouth to yell, to defend himself. Instead, tea, which was more like a black sludge, was poured down his throat. He choked and coughed as the vile stuff went down, his vision going dark as he watched the devil walk away, leaving him on the ground before everything went black.

The soft muzzle of Bolt nuzzled him into consciousness. He heaved as he hacked up whatever vile stuff he had been forced to drink, feeling like lead as he got up slowly, leaning on his horse for support. “Where… are we?” The oddness of his surroundings woke Wyatt up fully, his eyes large as he tried to take it in. It was some sort of massive crater, the soil black and littered with bones. As he shifted his weight to stand fully upright, he realized with disgust why the soil was so black. It wasn’t soil at all; it was tar sand, and it coated his boots as he and Bolt walked forward. The sight was depressing, the sky a muddy gray of an incoming storm, and there were so many bones, thousands, and he shuddered as the two passed a skeleton of a horse, bleached white, slowly sinking into a large puddle of tar. This place seemed to crush his chest with sadness; he figured mass graves could do that to a person. Only when he tugged on Bolt’s reins did he realize the pace wasn’t draining them emotionally, but physically as well. Bolt looked grayer as he looked at Wyatt with large, wet eyes. Wyatt stood for a moment, trying to keep the panic from rising in his chest. “C’mon,” he said nervously, pulling hard enough to get Bolt to walk, “I’m not letting a stupid crater be the thing that kills us.” He walked Bolt as fast as he could, trying not to notice his horse's slowly swaying head. This place seemed to have a faster effect on animals than it did humans, and Wyatt tried to block the image of the sinking horse skeleton out of his mind as he led Bolt to the walls of the crater. He struggled as he tried to pull his horse up the steep wall, forgetting his own fatigue as he watched his companion stumble and almost fall. “C’mon,” he said, in a desperate whisper, almost like a plea to god; “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” Bolt slowly made his way up, but came to a slow stop as they reached the rim, slowly slipping down. “No, no, no, no, no, no!” Wyatt ran back down the slope and got behind Bolt, at first trying to push, then, with some force, slapped his flank. Bolt screeched in surprise, not used to brute, physical force, and made his way over the brim at a rushed pace. Wyatt smiled, following slowly, but feeling lightheaded as he too started to reach the top. His ribs squeezed tighter around his lungs, and just when he thought he’d fall and pass out, Bolt grabbed his jacket and pulled him out.

“What was that?” he asked himself as he looked back at the crater. It had begun to drizzle as he hoisted himself into the saddle, he and Bolt walking in whatever direction was away from the crater, Wyatt trying to ignore the feeling that the whole time, they had been watched. 

It was three days later when the pair stumbled into a small town, the first sign of humans they had seen in days. A bell tingled as Decker Wyatt opened the door to the general store, walking to the only person in sight, a young man behind the postage counter. “Can I help you?” the young man asked after some time, looking past Decker to see if anyone was with him.

“I was wondering if you could tell me where I am,” Wyatt said simply, putting his hands on his hips. There was an awkward air about them that Wyatt didn’t like, but he knew smiling would just make it worse.

“Sure. This is Weller.”

Wyatt blinked momentarily. “I didn’t mean the name of the town. What’s the state?”

The young man blinked back at him, unsure if this stranger was pulling his leg or not. “Sir- This is Arizona-”

Wyatt gripped the counter he had laid his hand on, trying not to ask out loud how the hell he had ended up here. He was quiet for a moment before he asked, “Where’s the nearest big city?”

The man pointed east, not saying anything.

“And what’s that way?” Wyatt pointed west.

The man’s eyes widened again and remained that way. “That’s Carnage Crater, you don’t go there, no one goes there.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment before Wyatt blurted, “Well, that’s where I came from.”

“Have a good day, sir.” And the young man Wyatt never got the name of, slammed the window in his face. 

He walked back outside, facing west as the wind blew. He knew something was out there, but what that something was, he was unsure of. It probably was a bad idea, but it was the best one he had yet on how to find his monster again, his name written all over that dreadful place.

Wyatt was near the edge of the town when he heard the clank of metal and then grumbling, followed by another two clanks and a shout of anger. He looked over to see an older man hammering at a fake leg in his lap. The thing looked homemade and was badly damaged, severely bent out of shape, and held together with scrap pieces of wood and leather. Wyatt sighed, shook his head, then smiled. He turned his horse towards the man and trotted up to him. 

“Hello, sir, having trouble with your leg?”

The man looked up at him and squinted in the sun. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Decker Wyatt, the monster hunter,” he smiled proudly.

The man just looked at him, the wheels turning slowly in his brain. “Oh, not of very much use, are you?”

Wyatt shrank in his saddle. “I just wanted to see if I could help bend your leg back into shape.”

“You can help by getting my old leg back.”

“Well, I can try my damndest, but I’m pretty sure that thing belongs to the reaper now, gonna collect you piece by piece.”

The man looked back up at him again. Wyatt thought he might grunt or even yell, but instead, his hard and worn face cracked into a smile, and he laughed, throwing his head back.

“I like you, boy, I like you just fine. Now get off that mighty horse of yours and let’s see what we can do about my leg.”

Wyatt dismounted and tied Bolt to the fence the old man leaned on. With the help of the younger, the two were able to bend the metal back into place, Wyatt producing a new leather strap for the man to use to secure his leg. He watched as the man strapped it to his left knee, the mechanical foot flexing with his jolting movements. “Well, that’s as it’s going to get. Say, what did you say your name was again?”

“Decker Wyatt.”

The man put his hand out to shake, “Captain Clark Thomas, you can just call me Captain Clark.” Wyatt smiled, and the men shook. “What brings you to Weller?” He asked while putting a few of his tools back in a leather roll.

“I was… dropped off here.”

The man stopped rolling his tools up and looked up, brow furrowed. “Dropped off? Like… stagecoach? Didn’t know this town was important enough for one to come by.” He coughed out a chuckle and tied a leather knot around the tools, putting them in the satchel that sat on the floor.

“Sure, something like that,” Wyatt mumbled. He looked out towards the west, wind ruffling his hair and earrings in the warm sun. “What’s out there?” He nodded in the direction he had just been looking.

Captain Clark stopped rummaging through his bag and looked up, his face darkening slightly. “Nothing good out there for you, boy. I was once young and dumb, just like you; it cost me my damn leg in the end.”

Wyatt looked back out, then back at Captain Clark once more. “What’s out there?” he asked once more, forceful with tone.

Clark glared at him, then stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Bring your horse and yourself and follow me.” Wyatt was surprised when Clark moved; his gait was almost as normal as that of a person who had both legs. He realized he must have had this injury for a long time.

“Here’s what I was meaning to show you.” Clark produced a Winchester rifle from a shed after Wyatt had followed him to his home. The gun was much like Wyatt’s, but badly beaten and tarnished. But that wasn’t what was wrong with it; the gun was twisted into a pretzel-like shape, covered in bite marks.

“What happened to it?”

Clark took the gun from him and looked at it, standing still as the wind blew in the trees near them. “The damned things that lived out there ruined it. Strong teeth and stronger jaws. Almost like a bear trap-” He shivered, shaking his mechanical leg. “You wanna know what’s out there? Go to the doctor's and ask to see Johnny. They’ll know who you're talking about, say Clark sent you. I don’t doubt you were ‘dropped off’. I saw you walk into town. I’m surprised at myself that I didn’t shoot you when I saw you come in from the west.” Wyatt stood, gripping the twisted Winchester, suddenly aware of how large the man was. “Don’t worry, boy, I won’t shoot you. I think you were actually sent to save us. Now get goin, don’t know how long Johnny’s got left.”

He knocked twice before entering, the doorbell ringing just as it had in the general store. Behind another counter sat a woman, a nurse, and she watched him as he came in. Before she got up to get away, Wyatt asked quickly, “Captain Clark sent me, said I should come see Johnny…?”

She was quiet for a second, watching him, eyes squinting slightly as if searching for an alternative motive. “Give me a moment. Doctor?” She called, turning into the door behind her. Wyatt was ushered to another room minutes later, the doctor explaining, “Something out there bit him, and it’s not good, he’s the,” But he quieted as he opened the door to reveal his patient. It was a fifteen-year-old boy, and he was dying.

“Hello,” Decker said softly, noting that the boy's parents were in the room, “My name is Decker Wyatt, and I’m a Monster Hunter. What happened?”

“Why-” the father started, but was cut off by his son’s words.

They were barely audible, but Wyatt could tell he still had some fire left in him. “I was bitten, it’s killing me.” He crouched near the boy, putting one arm on the bed. 

“Why don’t you tell me what happened? I’ve been sent here to deal with what’s in the west, Captain Clark said to come and ask you.” The boy smiled slightly, feeling important.

“That good-for-nothing, Captain Clark!” The father shouted, “He’s the reason my boy is dying in the first place!”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Wyatt repeated, eyes never leaving the boy.

“Captain Clark was having coyote problems; they were eating his sheep. Being too old, he said he’d pay anyone who could kill them and bring them back, so my two friends and I-” he stopped, sighed, and started again, “Henry and Eddie came with me to hunt them out west.” He sighed, looking down at the floor next to Wyatt rather than at him. “We followed them for days, farther out. We thought we had finally lost them till Eddie saw them one morning. We thought we were lucky…” He looked at Wyatt, a look of sorrow and hate filling the dull eyes, “But they were waiting for us. When we got close, when we finally thought we won, they dropped their skins; black tar and yellow eyes being all that was left on those bones. Bones, tar, and eyes.” He shook his head, “One of them jumped and almost got a hold of James, but Eddie shot at it, and everything became a mess. They came at us like a horde, some emerging from the ground as they had just gotten up from where they had lain to die. There were too many and…” His voice cracked, and Decker Wyatt closed his eyes as he knew what information he was about to be told. “They ripped Henry to shreds and tore off Eddie’s arm- the damage was done. Henry was dead, Eddie was armless, and my skin was punctured.” He sat quietly for a second, but then the tears began to flow. He rolled in his bead and Wyatt lunged to catch him, the boy crying into his shoulder and gripping his arm tightly. “I didn’t mean to kill them, mister, I swear I didn’t. They- they were my best friends, and I loved them-”