I had stopped screaming at the walls of the music room a while ago now. So it did make me wonder why I could still hear the blood curdling noise. Maybe it was because I was a bit drunk.
I stumbled around the house, noticing the noise was louder towards the front of the house. Maybe it wasn’t in my head. Opening the front door kinda confirmed that one for me. I headed over to the screaming, making a guess at where it was coming from before it stopped dead. Looking around I spotted the guy from the bar filling in a hole in his front garden.
“Did you hear that noise?" I asked him, wandering over.
"Screamin’," I mumbled, trying not to slur.
"Oh. Yeah, that was Iris."
"She's a ghost."
I snorted. "Ghosts don't exist" If ghosts existed, there’d be one of Gabriel wouldn’t there?
"Says the werewolf." Wait, what?
"How d'you know that?"
“It's my job to know,” he sort of smiled at me.
"I'm a hunter."
"Oh, one of them," I muttered, flopping down on my ass with a thud. I hate hunters.
"Yeah, one of them." Bloody hunters. All those hunters that came across me and not one of them succeeded in killing me. Maybe this one would.
"How come you haven't hunted me down yet if you know then?"
"You haven't killed anyone yet"
"Clearly you don't read," I said, making him arch an eyebrow. I wondered if I was too drunk to make sense to other people. “I've killed plenty of people. So why don't you shoot me?"
"Look, my job is to kill evil, and as far as I can tell, you're not evil," the guy said.
"But killing loads of people isn't evil?"
"Did you kill them on purpose?" I nodded. "For no apparent reason?"
"I dunno. Wars always seemed kinda pointless to me." I was a conscript soldier. Trust me, I was not a willing participant. But I was a very good weapon, in the military’s eyes.
"Then you're still not evil in my books." I let out this noise of frustration. "Jeez, anyone'd think you wanted me to kill you." Finally, someone got it.
"What does it take to get someone to put a bullet in me that will actually kill me?" I asked, feeling word vomit coming up.
"I was in World War Two, and didn't die even though I got shot. 'Cause Germans never really thought to use silver bullets." He didn’t look like he knew what to say to that, and I wanted more to drink, because I clearly wasn’t drunk enough. I lifted my hand to my mouth, suddenly realising I hadn’t bought my bottle with me. Whining, I let myself flop back again, this time so I was lying on the ground looking up at the sky.
"There's some whiskey inside if you fancy risking the ghosts," the guy offered.
"Whiskey sounds good." I’d risk the ghosts. I’d been around over three hundred years and never had I seen a ghost before. I figured I’d risk it. The guy stood up and offered me his hand, helping me up when I took it. I staggered inside after him, hearing him mutter something about the salt. I glanced around behind me, seeing I’d scuffed a line of salt across the doorway. I followed him into the kitchen and waited for him to go put more salt across the door. I didn’t really get it, but I didn’t question it.
He came back with a knife. Had I been less drunk and depressed, I might’ve been worried. But the knife wasn’t for anything especially dangerous. He went over to this cupboard with a padlock on it and picked the lock with the knife. I, on the other hand, was sitting on the first seat-like thing I came across. He got out two glasses and the whiskey, pouring us both a small amount. Well, I say small. I mean it was small to me.
"You like a drink, huh?" he asked.
"Makes the f*cking thing in my head shut up," I mumbled, wondering if he even had a clue as to what a werewolf was really like.
"Thing in your head?" Apparently not.
"Wolf," I told him, not really in the mood to try and explain it to him.
"Fair enough.” He offered me another drink and of course I took it, thanking him as he poured another for me. “Don’t mention it.” I did try to go a little slower with this one, noticing the guy hadn’t even finished his first, but guess how well that went. I put the glass down on the side, massaging my temples as Bane started going on again about Melissa.
“Make him stop whining,” I complained.
The guy chuckled a little, “You sound like my sister.”
“How so? Did she have a wolf inside of her head that never shut up?”
"Not exactly," he said. I looked at him, curious to know. "It's a long story for another time." I nodded, eyeing up the bottle of whiskey as he finished his first drink. He noticed me, even though I was trying to be subtle. “Take it,” he said. Well, I wasn’t gonna argue with that. I did take it, and poured myself a more than generous glass. The guy was just sort of staring at the table, so I poured him one too. “Thanks.”
“You look like you need it as much as I do.” And that’s saying something, ‘cause I doubt the woman who left him turned up on his doorstep earlier on, all hugs and kisses and vampirey again. “So, have you got a name?”