Caspar spends the night in the cabin cleaning his weapons, researching, brewing coffee, and when there's nothing else to do, laying in bed gripping his gun tight.

His paranoia is at an all-time high, causing him to jump and startle at even the most mundane of sounds. Even the gentle sway of the oak tree outside his window has him in a panic for a moment, completely certain he sees a hunched figure there in the branches. 

Thankfully, it’s just a figment of his sleep-deprived brain. Instead of a figure, he finds just the same twisted trunk that’s always been there. Still, that doesn’t stop him from pointing his gun at it like a madman for a few moments. 

Resolving to not shoot a God-damned tree, he lays back down on the bed.

He glances at the analog clock on the nightstand. The seconds are passing excruciatingly slowly, and Caspar can feel his body beg for rest. He can’t sleep—not here, at least. Maybe somewhere public, where Malakai can’t get the jump on him. It wouldn’t be the first time Caspar has had to sleep it rough to avoid an ambush. 

Still, he’s going mad with nothing left to do. He rubs his sore eyes, opening his phone. 

Monster research is rarely easy to do online. There are too many bored authors inventing new lore to take any one account as truth. Even historic records aren’t safe when conspiracy theorists love to write up essays on why the Flatwoods monster was a witch, bigfoot is an escaped lab experiment, or how Roanoke fell because of zombies. Ugh. So fucking stupid.

Unfortunately, though, Caspar took the whole day to read all of his uncle’s books top to bottom and still got nada about demons or angels. So he’s resorted to reading through old internet forums, sorting through the slurry of fiction, rumors, and tall tales. 

With each new URL, he’s more and more disappointed. He really doubts that ringing a bell to “induce harmonious tones” or throwing salt over his shoulder will do anything to Malakai.

His frustration is growing rapidly. But he’s got nothing else to do. He opens another video. The bored drone of the presenter instantly has Caspar’s eyes drooping.

“Top ten ways to dispel a demonic spirit. Number one: Inducing chakra synthesis with my patented herbal remedy…”

His eyelids are heavy. It’s fine to close them while he listens, right? Just for a moment. 

Caspar closes his eyes. He sinks into a light sleep, body still tense and ready to spring up at the slightest of sounds. But he doesn’t rest long before it's disrupted. 

Ugh. That light is right in his eyes. Caspar covers his face with his arm. 

Wait. What light?

Caspar springs up from bed. He pants as he looks around the room. It’s still dark, but something is casting a soft blue light onto the bed. 

There! On the desk, the laptop is opened to the lock screen…

Did he forget to close it?

Caspar looks down at his phone. The video is still going. It’s only been five minutes since he nodded off. He turns the phone off, getting up with a grunt. Cautiously, he approaches the computer. 

Fuck. Did he leave it open, or had someone been messing with it just a few feet from where Caspar was asleep? 

His heart pounds. He needs to do a sweep of the cabin.

Caspar pads around the loft as quietly as he can. There's not much room to hide in such a small space, but it’s always better to check. For safety’s sake, he even sweeps his flashlight under his bed. Thank God, he only finds dust bunnies. His mind conjured a horrific image of Malakai contorted unnaturally in the tight space, eyes aglow with a man-eating grin. Caspar feels like he would’ve bit the dust from sheer fright if that had been the case. 

He drops down from the loft, not bothering to use the ladder. He lands with a thud, standing tall immediately with his gun ready. Nothing comes to attack him from the shadows. He walks through the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. He checks the doors and windows. Everything is locked and shut. He’s still alone.

Gray eyes dart to peer out the window. The woods are dark. He checks the time. It’s only 11:27 PM. 

He climbs back up the ladder, walking to the laptop. He’s hoping to find the screen empty. Maybe he really did just leave it open and didn’t remember. Unfortunately, his heart drops as he sees a line of dots in the password box. Nervously, he licks his lips and presses the eye icon to unveil what’s obscured. 

The cursor blinks. Caspar stares. Humans, someone has written. 

The enter button makes a sticky click sound as it’s pressed. To Caspar’s shock, the computer’s loading screen appears.

A moment later, he’s staring at Duncan’s home screen. This is a picture of Duncan and Bartholomew, Caspar’s father, cradling a baby. No. Not just a baby, it’s Caspar. Why has nobody shown him this photo?

Entranced, he almost forgets the freaky circumstances as he stares. They’re both huddled together, two brothers celebrating the addition to the family. His dad looks so proud. Duncan looks younger. Not just younger. Happier. The long years of hunting hadn’t taken its toll yet. 

Duncan still keeps this photo as his screensaver? Even after what Caspar had said to him? 

His emotions get the better of him for a moment as his chest tightens with emotion. 

Stop it. Stop being a little bitch, he chides himself internally. He needs to stay focused on the mission. All this can wait for later. 

He opens the file explorer first. Looking through Duncan’s documents is as good of a place to start as any, Caspar supposes. Duncan has neatly organized his folders alphabetically, each one labeled with the name of a different monster. Unfortunately, Caspar finds no plans and nada under A for Angels, D for Demons, or S for Seraphs. 

Undeterred, Caspar opens the browser, opening the search history….

As expected, his uncle had been researching multiple possible hunts for Delilah. Ever since he got his diagnosis of Huntington's, he’s preferred to stay on the sidelines supporting her. Not that he’s totally given up hunting. To Caspar’s scorn, he has a stubborn habit of taking on cases he knows nobody else can. 

Duncan’s voice rings in his head: “Somebody’s gotta do it. If I die saving someone, it’ll be worth it.”

Caspar grits his teeth. Why can’t Duncan just live? Does he really think it's better to die in service of a stranger than live for his family? Doesn’t he know that Caspar still needs him, no matter if he can hunt or not?

Caspar takes a deep breath, trying not to let his frustration distract him. He looks back at the screen. 

Bingo! Caspar’s eyes light up as he clicks the latest website visited. The link takes him to a news article. 

Unusual Numbers of Missing Hikers in Palo Duro State Park. 

Nestled in the panhandle of Texas, Palo Duro State Park is renowned for its rich history, picturesque hiking trails, and iron-red canyon walls. However, this tourist attraction is becoming known for more than just its natural beauty. In just the past three months alone, over two dozen hikers and sightseers have gone missing. 

Local authorities are attributing the missing hikers to slot canyon incidents. Although many are safe to traverse, park rangers warn in the event of a flash flood these canyon’s may fill...

Caspar doesn’t need to read anymore. He knows where his uncle is.

Quickly as he can, he packs up his things, making sure to stuff Duncan’s laptop in his bag. He turns off all the lights as he goes, climbing down the ladder and taking some things from the kitchen. As soon as his bag is filled to the brim, he hefts it over his shoulder. However, what he sees next makes him freeze in his tracks.

Fuck. Malakai is toying with him. The door is wide open. 

Caspar approaches with his knife drawn. The pentagram is still there. Caspar scuffs the paint with his boot. It didn’t do shit! 

He turns his gaze outside, to the driveway. The RV is sitting right where he left it, waiting. Caspar won’t run this time.

He leaves the cabin, locking the door without turning his back to the woods. He walks calmly to the RV, feet stopping right in front of the door. Looking to the window, he searches the treeline in the reflection. His heart jolts as he spots a humanoid figure, obscured by the stygian underbrush. Is it Malakai?

“I didn’t need your help,” Caspar whispers. 

Everything is still. He holds his breath. With a sudden movement, Caspar abruptly turns and brandishes his knife. 

His eyes search the treeline. There’s nothing there. Was there ever? 

Caspar grits his teeth. He steps into the RV, settling into the driver's seat with a sigh. 

It’s going to be a long drive.