Five-year-old Elias Voss sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the hearth, his dark eyes wide and fixed on Ruth as she rocked in her creaky chair, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a pipe in the other.
Ruth, a grizzled ex-hunter in her late sixties, had a face like weathered leather, her gray hair pulled into a messy bun, and a scar running jagged across her left cheek—a souvenir from a wendigo in '72.
Her voice, raspy from years of smoke and shouting, filled the room as she spun a tale, her hands gesturing with the pipe."…and that's when I knew it was a ghoul, not a ghost," Ruth said, her tone low and dramatic, leaning forward so the firelight danced in her sharp blue eyes.
"See, ghosts don't eat the bones, Elias. Ghouls do. Nasty things—they have teeth like razors, and they smell like death warmed over."
Elias hugged his knees, his wooden toy knife tucked into his waistband, his small frame swallowed by one of Daniel's old flannel shirts, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Did you kill it, Ruth?" he asked, his voice soft but eager, hanging on her every word.
Ruth chuckled, a dry, crackling sound, and took a sip of her whiskey, the glass glinting in the firelight. "Course I did, kid. Took a silver blade right to its heart—only way to be sure with ghouls. But it wasn't easy. Damn thing nearly took my arm off before I got the drop on it."
She tapped the scar on her cheek, grinning. "Got this as a parting gift, though." Elias's eyes widened, his small hand reaching up to touch his own cheek, mirroring her scar.
"Did it hurt?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of awe and worry in his tone.
Ruth's grin softened, and she set the pipe down on the arm of her chair, leaning closer. "Like hell, kid. But pain's part of the job. You take the hits, you keep going. That's what hunters do."
She paused, her gaze sharpening as she studied him. "Your mom and dad are out there right now, you know. Tracking a vamp nest up near Topeka. They'll be fine—Daniel's a mean shot, and Mara's smarter than both of us put together."
Elias nodded slowly, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Mama said they'd be back tomorrow," he said, his voice small, a flicker of worry creasing his brow. "She said I gotta be good for you 'til then."
Ruth snorted, taking another sip of whiskey. "You're always good, Elias. Quietest kid I ever met—too quiet, sometimes." She tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing.
"You sure you're okay? You've been staring at that fire like it's gonna tell you secrets."Elias's gaze snapped to her, his heart skipping a beat.
He forced a small smile, scooting closer to the hearth to hide the way his hands trembled. "I'm okay," he said quickly, his voice a little too high. "I like your stories, Ruth. Tell me another one?"
Ruth raised an eyebrow, but didn't push, settling back in her chair with a creak. "Alright, alright," she said, her tone gruff but fond. "Let's see… how 'bout the time I trapped a demon in a barn down in Wichita? Black-eyed son of a bitch, he thought he had me cornered, but I had a devil's trap ready—chalked it right under the hay."
Elias's eyes lit up, his worry forgotten as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his knees. "Did you use salt too?" he asked, his voice eager again. "Mama says salt keeps the bad things out."
"Smart lady, your ma," Ruth said, nodding approvingly. "Yeah, I used salt—I lined the whole damn barn with it. Demon didn't know what hit him 'til he was stuck, snarling like a caged dog. Then I sent him back to Hell with a good ol' exorcism. 'Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…'"
She trailed off, her voice dropping to a low chant, the Latin words heavy in the air.
Elias tilted his head, mouthing the words silently, trying to copy her. "Exor… exor-ciz…" he mumbled, then looked up, his brow furrowing.
"What's that mean, Ruth?" Ruth chuckled, setting her glass down on the side table with a clink. "Means 'we cast you out,' kid. It's a prayer that kicks demons right back where they came from. You'll learn it one day, if your folks keep you in this life."
She paused, her expression softening, a rare tenderness breaking through her gruff exterior. "Though I hope they don't. You're a sweet one, Elias. Too sweet for this mess."
Elias frowned, his small hands balling into fists. "I wanna be a hunter," he said, his voice firm despite its softness. "Like Pa and Mama. I wanna be brave like you."
Ruth's smile faded, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her scarred hands clasped in front of her. "Brave is good," she said quietly, her voice heavy.
"But this life… it takes more than it gives, kid. I've seen too many good hunters go down—friends, family. Your folks are tough, but they're scared too. Scared for you."
Elias looked down at his hands, his throat tight. "I'm not scared," he whispered, but his voice wavered, betraying the lie.
He thought of the spider last summer—the warmth in his hands, the way the bucket moved, the secret he hadn't told anyone. What if Ruth knew? What if she thought he was bad, like the things she hunted?
Ruth watched him, her sharp eyes catching the shift in his expression, but she didn't press. Instead, she reached over, ruffling his hair with a gentleness that belied her rough hands.
"You don't have to be scared," she said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. "Not tonight. You're safe here, Elias. I've got salt at the door, iron in the walls, and a shotgun under the chair. Nothing's getting through."
Elias looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Promise?" he asked, his voice small but hopeful.
"Promise," Ruth said, her tone firm, a hunter's vow. She leaned back, picking up her pipe again, and puffed out a ring of smoke that curled toward the ceiling.
"Now, where was I? Oh, right—the demon started screaming, loud enough to wake the dead…"
Elias settled back on the rug, his worry easing as Ruth's voice filled the room again, the fire crackling in time with her words. He clutched his toy knife, tracing the wooden edge with his thumb, and let the story pull him in, the warmth of the hearth a shield against the night.
But deep down, that secret lingered—a flicker of something different, something he'd keep hidden, even from Ruth.
Outside, the wind howled softly, but the salt lines held, and the shadows stayed at bay—for now.