The Hunter In Me

5 - Fall

I gawked at the pictures spread out on the desk and considered everything I'd learned. Owen's life had been rough, which wasn't shocking—he was a young ghost.

As I studied him, I decided that if I'd met him under normal circumstances, I'd like to be his friend. He exuded confidence, but not in an off-putting way—he wasn't pompous, only sure of himself.

But the way he stared into space, seemingly deep in thought made me ask, "Owen, how'd you die?"

He leaned back, peering at the ceiling, and I second-guessed my question. Maybe it was rude to ask? Even if it was, I was talking to a freaking ghost about killing heart-eating monsters. Was I seriously not supposed to have questions?

Owen stood and sighed. "I'll start from the beginning." He paced as he spoke, his feet floating soundlessly over the cement floor. "In my family, hunting began with my grandparents. My dad grew up training to fight and kill them. By the time he was a teenager, he hunted alone.

"Back then, hunting families combined their efforts to bring the mimic numbers down. Scanning the news, waiting for missing people or bodies to show up without hearts was slow, tedious work, and hunters were losing their lives too."

"Wait." I sat up straighter. "If they look human, how do you know they're not?"

"First you watch them. They have to move the way we do intentionally. Naturally, they're smoother and much faster than us."

"How do you catch them, then?"

Owen smirked. "Don't let them run."

I stared at him long enough to realize he wasn't kidding, and took a calming breath. "Okay. What's the next way?"

"If you think you've found one, you test it with iron. It burns their skin."

"You just carry iron around with you and poke random strangers?"

"I have a ring. A touch is all it takes; you'll know instantly if it's one of them. The other way is their hands. You can't see them, but they have sharp claws under their nails that they extend to fight or feed. Once those come out, it's too late for most people."

I gaped at him, hoping again that he was joking, but his stern expression told me he wasn't. "Awesome. You want to use me to hunt things that are hard to find and hard to kill. And your family lived here because you thought they'd be killing in this area regularly. Is that everything?"

"Pretty much. Except they feed in the fall, so we don't have long to train you."

"The fall?" That was a punch in the stomach. Mom went missing after Halloween.

Owen didn't seem to notice my reaction. "Yeah. We have to figure out how to share, too, so we should get started as soon as possible."

My brow furrowed. "I have a life, friends, and my dad. I'm starting work the day after tomorrow. Did you expect me to agree to this right now?"

"Of course not." Owen gathered the newspaper clippings. "Think it over. You're in decent shape, but you need training. I'll be with you, but I have to get used to moving your body."

Internally cringing, I asked, "Where will I be when you're moving it?"

I tried to focus on Owen's answer, but I couldn't stop thinking about Mom and whether the timing was a coincidence. Part of me always hoped she'd walked away like the police said. At least then, she might be happy and alive somewhere. But in my gut, I knew that wasn't true.

Owen's voice broke into my thoughts. "From what I understand, we'll both be in there, taking turns controlling things. You'll handle your regular life, and we'll trade when I need to train or fight."