Monster Hunters

Benny looked up as he heard the bell on his door ring. A skinny, tired looking purple coyote walked up to his desk. He looked like he was in his early 20s or late teens, and maybe a college student? The coyote leaned up against Benny’s desk. He was a good foot taller than the old basset hound, but Benny had seen much more intimidating things in his 40 years of running the motel. “Can I help you?” he asks.

“Yes, actually,” the purple spotted canine replied, “I’m Owen Korrick, cryptozoologist and hunter of supernatural entities. I’ve heard about some paranormal sightings here, and came to check it out.”

Benny blinked. The demons and poltergeists were one of his deepest secrets. Imagine, what could happen if someone found out what he was hiding, in his ancient run-down hotel? It would be good for business, sure, but Benny did not to be known for ghosts. He blinked slowly. “Kid, I have no idea what you’re goin’ on about. We’ve got none o’ that here, but we do have a few open rooms.”

Owen narrowed his eyes in obvious disbelief. “Okay then. I’ll get a room. How much would that cost?”

“$30 per night.”

Owen gave him three $10 bills. Owen passed him a key, and said, “Room A2.”

Owen silently walked down the hall with his tail raised aggressively, and smirked at Benny, as if saying, ‘I’ll prove you wrong, just wait.’ This was a great start, Benny thought sarcastically.

For a few hours, the night was uneventful. Owen was having second thoughts. Maybe the old brown and white dog was correct. He was considering leaving when he heard a thump and a giggle coming from the corner of the room. He turned around quickly, and saw a small puppy grinning. He thought there was something off about her, but couldn’t put his finger on it. “What are you doing here?” he asks, fumbling through his bag.

Owen was used to monsters, but he still was scared of them. His hands were sweaty, and he couldn’t stop his ears from folding back out of fear. “Want to play?” she asks, opening her mouth wider than was anatomically possible. It revealed a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.

Owen felt his hackles raise, and poured salt in a small circle surrounding him. He knew a demon couldn’t hurt him if he stayed surrounded by salt. The demon lunged towards him, and for all he bluffed, Owen was terrified. He barked in fear. From the lobby, Benny heard a terrified coyote. “Damn it,” he muttered, “I cleaned that room two days ago. Gonna have to have a talk with that one.”

He stormed down the hallway, ready to scream at a little girl. He flung open the door to room A2, and yelled, “Cassie! Back away!”

The demon just turned to look at him. She rolled her eyes, as if she was a teen told to clean her room. He started chanting, hoping to scare it away. It worked. The demon, who had seen what Benny could do, fled. When it was gone, Benny gasped, “What the hell was that?!”

“I tried to keep you out.”

“You didn’t do a very good job.”

“What am I supposed to do? Turn a customer away? That goddammed demon won’t listen to me. I told her, this room isn’t hers!”

“Hmm.. you mean you talk to her?”

“Erm, yes? What other option is there?”

“Well, you aren’t really supposed to communicate with demons.”

“That’s a load of bullshit. Demons can be pretty nice, they didn’t choose their species.”

The two paused their conversation. They sat awkwardly for a second. “Wanna get a cup of coffee?” Benny asked.

Owen seemed shaken, and was fixing his ruffled hair. Benny felt responsible, and thought he had to do a better job protecting younger cryptozoologists. Owen nodded. The two got up, walking down the silent hall. Their pawsteps seemed to ring out, filling the building with sound. They could hear a murmuring coming from upstairs, either from an animal talking or an angry ghost. Benny opened the door to his kitchen, and gestured for Owen to follow him in. He obliged, and the two shut the door. Owen let out a sigh, finally calming down from his encounter with Cassie. He looked around. “This place is small. Do you have chefs, or do it yourself?”

“Chefs? Son, I barely have the money to keep the electricity on here. I cook everything myself.” “Huh.” Owen said quietly to himself. Owen grabbed a mug out of his cabinet as a coffee machine gurgled. In a strange way, the quiet kitchen late at night was comforting. The coffee machine beeped, and Benny walked over. He poured the dark coffee into the mugs, and handed one to Owen. “We got sugar and cream over there.” He pointed to a cabinet in the corner.

Owen nodded, and walked over. “So Benny,” he inquired, “how long have you been doing this? Like, the demon thing?”

Benny ran his fingers across the green dog collar he wore. “Well… since my daughter died. In 1980.”

Owen nodded, listening intently. Benny continued rambling on, Owen caught up in his stories, for the next few hours.