Chapter 11 - A Hunter
707 Words
“A Hunter is born not from belief, but from loss.”
Eric POV
The moment I walked into my father’s house, the air shifted—heavy, suffocating, too still.
Dad looked up from the dining table, where a thick old book lay open beside the Holy Bible.
He had been a pastor ever since my mother passed away.
“Sit,” he said.
No hello.
No smile.
Just that tone.
The Hunter tone.
I rolled my eyes and dropped into the chair.
“Eric,” my father began slowly, “you’re twenty-four. I let you finish college and play around, but it’s time you take your role seriously. Now.”
Here we go again.
“Dad, for the last time—HUNTERS aren’t real,” I said. “Those books are folklore. That’s it.”
His jaw tightened.
He slammed the book shut so hard dust flew into the air.
“You think those shadows you saw as a child were hallucinations? You think the rituals in these files are fairy tales? You think your mother died in an accident?”
His voice cracked. “Stop playing ignorant. I need you to take this seriously.”
I froze.
He never mentioned Mom.
Ever.
“Dad… stop,” I whispered. “I’m not doing this tonight.”
“You don’t have a choice,” he snapped.
“Our bloodline protects humanity from witches and creatures of the Other Realm.”
I laughed.
Dry. Bitter.
“Dad, witches aren’t real. They’re girls with crystals and tarot cards.”
His eyes darkened.
“Your mother said the same thing… until the night a cult took her. Shadows are real, Eric. And they’re getting bold again. Two nights ago The Howl Moon Bar was attacked—you were there. Anna told me.”
I stood abruptly.
“No. We’re done. And stop sending that w***e to stalk me. We’re not together.”
He didn’t chase me.
He just whispered a prayer under his breath as I left.
⸻
Back at the Apartment
The place was too quiet.
When I reached Julieta’s room, something felt off.
Her car was in the lot.
Lights off.
Curtains closed.
But she wasn’t answering her phone.
I knocked hard.
“Julieta? Hey—are you home?”
Nothing.
A hollow ache opened in my chest.
She never left her car behind.
Never ignored calls.
I used the spare key she kept, opening her door.
Her croissant and latte sat on the desk—half eaten.
Julieta never left food unfinished.
My heartbeat crawled up my throat.
“Julieta… where are you…?”
I tried calling again.
Straight to voicemail.
I searched the room, desperate for anything—any sign.
Then I saw her laptop.
Cold.
Still.
Screen lit.
The room itself felt colder too, like something had brushed through it.
I walked to the desk, opened the laptop fully—
Her camera was still plugged in.
A folder was open.
Dozens of pictures.
All taken by her camera.
All pointed toward her window.
My blood went ice cold.
Dark shapes.
Blurry silhouettes.
Figures where no people should be.
Then the middle photos—
White figures.
Long limbs.
Bodies like smoke with form.
Moving. Whispering. Watching.
And in one picture…
A tall figure stood directly outside her window.
Staring straight at the camera.
“What the hell…?”
I clicked again.
More.
More shadows.
Movement.
Activity.
My hands shook.
That night… she had tried to show me something on this laptop.
I brushed her off.
Took her to the bar.
And now—
My father’s words rang in my skull:
“The shadows are real.”
“The danger is real.”
For the first time in my life—
I believed him.
Julieta—
my best friend,
my constant,
my only real family—
was gone.
“Julieta…” my voice cracked.
“I’m going to find you.”
I pressed a hand to the screen, touching the last picture of her.
“I already lost my mother,” I whispered.
“I’m not losing you too.”
And then, louder—desperate, determined:
“Julieta, I’m going to find you.”
Even if it meant becoming everything I never wanted to be.
A Hunter.
- Writer
