Chapter 1
chapter
one
Malcolm
Six months ago, I was one of those guys.
You know, the ones that have everything: a fancy car, a nice house, a hot wife.
Yeah, that was me. I had it all. Of course, the only thing that really mattered was the hot wife. Joy. That's her name, Joy, and it fits her perfectly. She is the epitome of joy.
I never really knew what happiness was until her. Never knew what contentment was until she came into my life. And we were happy.
We were so fucking happy.
Then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
She went on a girls’ trip, just a weekend away with her best friend, Amelia. They’d gone on trips before, but this time she didn’t come home.
For an entire week, I called every hospital and police station I could, doing everything I could think of to find her. Was she hurt somewhere? Lost and unable to get help?
At my company, I put everyone I employed on the task. Even offered a sizable bonus to anyone who found her. No one could find anything. Seemingly impossible, considering we're a security company.
Then, a week later, I came home from work to find a note from her. Her clothes and belongings were gone, and on the counter, she left me a note and her wedding band.
A Dear John letter, if you will.
Dear Malcolm.
“We had a good run. But things have changed for me, and rather than prolong the pain, I'm just ripping off the proverbial bandage and leaving now. I hope you have a great life.
Joy.
That had been six months ago.
I haven’t heard from her since.
But I haven’t stopped looking for her. Not by a long shot.
I’ve hired every private investigator I can find.
Even some that weren’t that reputable. Any and all roads led to nothing, as if she simply vanished into thin air.
The most bothersome thing about it is that her best friend, Amelia, disappeared too.
They just never came back from that girls’ weekend.
Fuck, I miss her. Miss her laugh and her smile.
Miss the way she hums while she bakes. And how she is in a horrible mood in the mornings until she’s had at least two cups of coffee.
I miss cuddling in bed together on Saturday mornings and watching wretchedly bad science fiction monster movies.
I’ve never laughed so hard and so often as I have with her.
Then, last night, I got a call.
Jones, an old friend who had been in intelligence at some point.
I thought he’d been a long shot, considering he hadn’t given me a scrap of hope when I asked him to look for my wife.
Not sure if that’s what made him different, or his background as a spy, but he called last night and told me to meet him today.
So here I am waiting at a hole-in-the-wall bar called The Devil’s Den, about two hours from my house.
The floors are sticky, and the walls are dark and covered in old license plates.
I’m not even sure where I am, other than the last sign I saw said that I was fifteen miles away from Stream in the Woods.
Though all of the signs for the town I’ve passed have been graffiti-ed and the name changed to Screaming Woods.
Small towns can be strange, though.
I’m down to one finger of my two-finger bourbon when Jones walks in. He definitely looks the part of the nomadic biker with his black leather jacket, black shades, and heavy boots. He spots me in the corner booth and makes his way over.
“Malcolm,” he says as he lowers himself onto the bench.
“Jones,” I say. I’ve never known if that’s his first or last name. Though it doesn’t actually matter. “Why the hell did I have to drive all the way out to the middle of nowhere for us to meet?”
He pulls his shades off and sets them on the tabletop. He levels his pale blue eyes at me. “I found them. And we’re close.”
My heart pounds so loudly, so rapidly, that I worry I won’t be able to hear his next words. “Where? Is she okay?”
He holds up a hand. “I’m getting to that. But I have questions first.”
“What? Anything.”
“I need to know why you are so desperate to find her?” Jones asks.
“She’s my fucking wife, man.”
“I get that. But is this because she left? If this is about your ego or being butthurt because she disappeared on you, then you need to turn around and go home.”
“It’s not my damned ego.” I rake my fingers through my hair. “She’s my wife,” I repeat.
“I got that part. But look at you, man. You look like shit. You’re a man obsessed.”
“Fuck yeah, I’m obsessed. With her. Joy is everything to me.”
Jones stares at me for a while. “You love her.”
“I love her,” I confirm. “It’s why I look like this. Since she’s been gone, I’ve hardly slept and barely eaten. I need my wife like I need oxygen.”
He nods.
“Are you sure it’s her that you found?” I ask.
He nods again.
“Then what’s the matter? Why aren’t you just leading me to her?” My mind races with all the horrible thoughts I’ve had over the last several months.
“Did she meet and fall in love with another man? Did she and Amelia decide their friendship was more than just friendship? Was she in an accident and now she has amnesia and doesn’t remember our life together?”
“Nothing like that.”
Relief washes over me, and I sag in the booth. “Then bring me to her or fucking point me in the right direction.”
“You might not be ready for the truth,” Jones says.
“You’re being very cryptic. What the fuck aren’t you telling me?”
Jones squeezes his hand into a fist, then releases it. “You remember that news story from a couple of months ago? The one about the livestock being drained of their blood?”
“Sure. Old Chupacabra legend. That pops up every now and then.”
“What if I told you it was real? Jones asks.
“If what was real?”
“The Chupacabra. What if it’s not a legend? What if none of them are legends, and instead, walking around with us are beings that are other?”
I stand up. “I don’t have time for this. You’re crazy. I just want to find my wife.”
“Sit. The. Fuck. Down.” Jones’s voice is hard and demanding.
I sit.
He pulls something up on his phone and then passes it to me. It’s a news story from decades ago about a weird Halloween involving a mad scientist, contaminated energy drinks, and a town now filled with monsters.
I look up from the screen. “This real?”
He nods once.
“It says Stream in the Woods. That’s close to where we are.”
Again, a single nod.
“And that is where my Joy is?”
“Yes.”
“But this happened years ago.”
“It did. But evidently, there are still some of the contaminated bottles of that drink that pop up now and then. Your wife is not the woman you remember. She is changed.”
“Are you telling me that my wife is a Chupacabra?”
“No. It was just an example. You just need to be prepared. You need to ask yourself if that love you claim to have for your wife is truly unconditional.”
“Before she left, we were happy. Like the kind of happy you only see in romance novels.” I stare at the man across from me.
“I don’t know what the future brings. All I do know is that I'm not okay without her, and maybe that makes me a pussy, but it's the reality. My reality. These last several months, I’ve been a shell of the man I once was.”
“You look half-dead,” Jones says. “And I’ve met some of the undead so that’s saying something.”
“When I woke up this morning, finding out that there are actual monsters and mythical creatures in the world is not how I thought the day would go. But if it means that I can have my wife back, then I’m ready to ride on a damned unicorn to get to her.”
“Unicorns aren’t real,” Jones says.
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m just fucking with you. There are real and total divas, too.”
Now he has a sense of humor. “Maybe, if luck is with me, I can convince her to come back home, convince her that she still belongs with me, that we belong together, and that we still deserve our happily ever after.”
Jones comes to his feet and holds out his hand. “Good luck, man.” He hands me a folded sheet of paper. “Go to this address.”