Four-year-old Elias Voss sat on Daniel's lap at the kitchen table, his small frame nestled against his father's broad chest, his dark hair tangled from a day of running and playing outside.
The warmth from the stove filled the room, and the scent of home-cooked stew lingered in the air. Elias wore mismatched pajamas—a faded shirt with a cartoon dog and pants that hung too big at the waist, held up only by a knotted string.
A wooden toy knife lay on the table, just within reach. His dark eyes were wide with a mix of excitement and curiosity, fixed intently on his father as Daniel spoke.
Daniel leaned back in his chair, one arm around Elias, pulling him close as he held a glass of whiskey in his free hand. His flannel shirt, worn and stained with dirt from the day's hunt, made him look both rugged and tired.
His voice was rough, carrying the weight of a long day, but there was warmth in it, a comforting rhythm that Elias had come to recognize. "So there I was," Daniel began, his tone low, drawing Elias in, "in this old barn outside Topeka. The boards were creaking, the wind was howling like it had a mind of its own. At first, I thought it was just the weather, but then I saw her."
Elias's eyes widened, his small fingers gripping the fabric of Daniel's shirt as he leaned in closer. "Who, Pa? What did you see?"
Daniel's lips curled into a smile, a hint of mischief twinkling in his eyes. "A ghost, kid. Pale as moonlight, floating right over the hay, her eyes like black holes. I swear, I could feel her staring straight through me."
Elias gasped, his voice a whisper. "Did she have claws, Pa? Was she scary?"
Daniel chuckled, the deep rumble of his laughter vibrating through his chest. He took a slow sip of whiskey, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "No claws, kid," he said, his voice calm and steady, though there was still that dramatic edge to it.
"But she was plenty scary. Eyes that looked like they could suck the soul right out of you, and she just kept whispering my name, trying to get inside my head. That's what ghosts do—they mess with you, make you doubt yourself."
Mara, who had been cleaning her rifle across the room, glanced over at them, her sharp gaze narrowing as she wiped the metal with a rag, the lantern light gleaming off its surface. "Daniel," she warned, her voice firm but low, cutting through the air like a blade. "Don't be giving him nightmares. He's four, not fourteen."
Daniel grinned, unrepentant, and ruffled Elias's tangled hair with a calloused hand. "He's fine, Mara," he said, his voice teasing but affectionate. "Kid's a Voss—he can handle a ghost story. Right, Elias?"
Elias nodded enthusiastically, his chest puffing out with pride as he squared his tiny shoulders, though his wide, dark eyes darted toward the shadows in the corner of the room. "I can handle it, Mama," he said, his voice small but determined. "I wanna hear! What'd you do, Pa?"
Daniel leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, drawing Elias in like a magnet. "Well, I had salt in my bag, see," he said, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the story. "I Laid a circle around me faster than you can blink. Ghosts can't cross salt, not ever. Then I found her bones—old, brittle things, buried under a loose board in the hay. So I burned 'em with some lighter fluid and a match. She went up in a scream, and just like that, she was gone, for good."
Elias's mouth dropped open, and his small hands gripped Daniel's shirt tighter, his heart pounding in his chest. "You burned her?" he asked, his voice a mix of awe and unease. "Didn't it hurt her?"
Daniel's grin faded just a bit, and he set the whiskey glass down carefully, his rough hand resting gently on Elias's back. His voice softened, taking on a more serious, almost somber tone. "She was already gone, kid," he said, his words carrying a weight that made Elias pause.
"Ghosts—they're not people anymore. They're stuck in the world, hurting. And it's up to hunters like me to help 'em move on. That's what we do. We keep the bad things away."
Elias nodded slowly, his small brow furrowing in deep thought as he absorbed his father's words. He studied Daniel's face, his dark eyes wide and searching. "I wanna be a hunter," he whispered, his voice quiet but fierce with determination. "I wanna keep the bad things away too."
Mara set the rifle down with a soft thud, her sharp eyes softening as she crossed the room, kneeling beside them. She brushed a stray strand of hair from Elias's face, her fingers warm and gentle against his skin. "You will, little man," she said, her voice low and comforting, though there was a hint of protectiveness in it. "But not tonight. Tonight, you're just my boy, safe and sound."
She glanced up at Daniel, her gaze sharp again as she leveled him with a look that spoke volumes. "And you—enough stories for tonight. He needs sleep, not ghosts in his head."
Daniel raised both hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Alright, alright," he said, his voice light, though his eyes held a flicker of guilt as he looked at Elias. "C'mon, kid. Let's get you to bed."
Elias clung to his father as Daniel stood, his small arms wrapping around Daniel's neck, the toy knife left on the table, forgotten for the moment. The weight of his father's arms felt safe, secure, and Elias buried his face in his shoulder as they walked down the hall.
In his room—a small, dimly lit space with a sagging bed, a window lined with salt to keep the bad things out, and a lone lantern on the nightstand—Daniel tucked him in, pulling the blanket up to his chin. The room smelled faintly of wood and something old, and the shadows cast by the lantern's light seemed to stretch and move like living things.
"I'll always keep the bad things away, kid," Daniel murmured, his voice low, steady, and full of promise. "You don't have to worry about that."
Elias smiled, his small hand gripping the blanket tightly as he gazed up at his father with a sleepy, trusting look. His mind drifted back to earlier that day, to when he had squashed the beetle in the yard. He had felt something, a rush of speed that had let him dart to the porch faster than usual. It was brief, but it had been enough to make him pause, enough to make him wonder.
He didn't say anything, though. He was scared of what it meant. He didn't want his father to think he wasn't normal. He didn't want to be hunted like the monsters Daniel dealt with.
"I'll help you someday, Pa," Elias whispered, his voice soft but determined, his hand slipping under the pillow to touch the wooden knife he'd hidden there. His fingers curled around the smooth handle, the familiar comfort of it grounding him.
Daniel kissed his forehead, the rough scratch of his beard tickling Elias's skin, and stood up. The lantern's flickering light cast his long shadow across the room, stretching out like a protector.
"I know you will, Elias," he said, his voice thick with pride, and then he turned down the light, leaving the room in darkness.
As the door creaked shut behind him, Elias lay there in the dark, feeling a strange, restless feeling stir in his chest. The warmth from earlier still lingered faintly, and he couldn't shake the sense that something was waiting for him. Something inside him was stirring, just like the shadows in the room.
And deep down, Elias knew one thing: he wasn't just going to keep the bad things away.
One day, he might have to face them. And when that day came, he would be ready.