THD, Chapter 1

Freya watches as the late February wind rustles the trees, their familiar oak leaves dancing and swaying to some unworldly toon. She vaguely remembers sitting under such trees on windy days, humming her own rhythm that seemed fit for their caper. 

 

As she begins humming that exact toon, the train comes to a screeching halt. A disembodied voice blares across the speakers: "We have reached point D, Fettysburg. Please exit to the right, and thank you for riding with us." Freya continues to hum her toon, clutching her carry-on bag tighter to her chest. She notices that only she prepares to exit the train, out of the 20 or so members still aboard. 'I see. My home town isn't a popular tourist attraction.' 

 

Depositing her ticket into an old blue machine by the doors, she exits in long strides. The desire to distance herself from the stifling train compartment is nearly overwhelming. With the gratifying clack of the old cobblestone streets beneath her, she finds herself marveling at everything in sight. The way the moss defies gravity by climbing the fences, the way the mom and pop shops display a seemingly permanent 75% off sale sign on their non-painted windows, or the way the old tire swings creak as they flutter in the wind. Nostalgia bubbles in her chest, bringing a warm smile to her face. She had truly missed this old town in her four months abroad hunting. 

 

Ironically, the only thing she didn't miss was the one place she had left to go. The yellow townhouse had never left her thoughts in those four months, nor the people inhabiting it. Pulling her carry-on closer to her chest, she cautiously presses the large red doorbell. A sound of footsteps is heard from the other side. When the door slowly pushes open, a middle-aged woman appears. She resembles Freya in appearance: Hair so dark that it's black, pale skin, and a scar right below her lower lip (that somehow, Freya had as well). The only difference was that the woman had darker brown eyes rather than golden like her daughters. 

 

The lady's eyes grow wide as they drink in her jet-lagged form, "Freya." Even the sound of her voice wreaks of surprise.

 

"Mother." Freya's small lips pull up into a slight smile, "it's been a while." 

 

"It has. How many months has it been since you last left?" There is no mistaking the sound of betrayal in the woman's voice. Freya can see it in her brown eyes and unsmiling face. "One? Two? Three?"

 

"Four, but whose counting?" She jokes, but her mother doesn't crack a smile. "So, I will be back for a little while, if that's alright?" Freya shifts the bag onto her left shoulder, the full effect of jet-lag suddenly washing over her. She wants nothing more than to get passed these hostile greetings, see her old room, and sleep in her own bed. 

 

Narrowing her brown eyes, the old woman resembles a barrier--her body sealing off Freya from the rest of the house. "Will you still be working?" As if the word is acid on her tongue, she spits it out like dirt. 

 

"If you're referring to hunting, then yes." Freya sighs, brushing aside a fallen lock of hair. "That's what I am, mom. A hunter." 

 

"A demon hunter." Her mother, again, makes her discontent evident. The barrier she has made with her body stays upright and rigid, a symbolic gesture of disapproval. "I won't have you doing such things around Alex."

 

Freya freezes at the mention of her younger brother. Like Taoists worshipped peace and the moon, she held a special soft spot for the young boy that had long since clung to her side. He was the one reason why she had become a hunter to begin with. It was a difficult life, one that requires many sacrifices and risks, but when she thought of what could potentially happen... "Alex might be one, too, you know." 

 

"Don't even suggest such a horrible thing." Her mother steps away from the door and inside, allowing (or giving up) for Freya's entrance. 

 

Rolling her eyes, Freya drops her bag on a nearby armchair, before falling beside it. "You wouldn't believe what kind of gross things are in Europe. Drunk Italian men, for one." She chuckles to herself, despite the silence of her mother. 

 

You would think that Freya's mother--not being a hunter--would be as able to understand the demon world as she was to cope with it (not at all), but that isn't the case. 

In this world, demons are a norm. They are as common as the small insects that buzz by ones ear. And luckily for humanity, people with the ability to see and fight them exist as well. In order to be a hunter, one must have the power to see what they're hunting, as well as fight them. However, while the power of sight is rare, the power to hold and use enchanted weapons against them is rarer.

 That's where Freya's mother lacks. She can see the things but she cannot fight them. To make matters worse, she had never heard of demons before the 'Academy of Enchants' knocked on their door and asked for her daughter. 

 

The thing is with these powers, is that you can live your entire life not knowing you have them. The supernatural world is buried within the subconscious of a select few. Until you're made aware of the true nature of the world, you could last an entire lifetime in ignorance. Unfortunately, once you are conscious of this power, you can never go back. That's why the first thing the mysterious cloaked people ask when they meet you is if "you're happy with what you have." If not, they'll break that obliviousness and condemn you to reality. Quite cynical, really. 

 

"FREY!" A boyish high-pitched voice sounds across the house, as a small child propels himself into Freya's lap. His small arms are locked onto her waist, while she struggles to sits up.

 

Chuckling at his fierce grip, "Monkey-boy, I've missed you." 

 

"I called you and called you! I even asked mom to text you! Why didn't you respond?!" He finally lets go, his big blue eyes meeting hers. How jealous Freya had been when the child was born--or rather, a month or so after melanin kicked in. Why, with all his cuteness, did he inherit fathers bright blue eyes? 

 

"I'm sorry, monkey. I was busy with work." Alex juts out his bottom lip, feigning sadness at her poor excuse. "I swear, Alex, I am staying longer this time." She smiles, rustling his black curls and admiring his innocence. At the age of eight, he could easily pass as six. 

 

"Dinner should be done soon," their mother interrupts, "Freya, please let Alex do his homework and bring your stuff upstairs." 

 

"Sorry, mom." Freya stands up against her younger brothers will, patting his head gently. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." He smiles at this, turning on his heel to go finish his homework. Little boys, so temperamental. 

 

 

Once in her room, Freya all but pounces onto the soft mattress. The green wallpaper brings a massive smile to her face, as she breaths in the musty smell of ancient perfumes and freshly washed throw pillows. "Man, I missed this place," she comments off-handedly, turning over so that she is on her back and facing the white ceiling. How many nights had she spent lying here, wishing that she could have a more eventful life? And now that she did, she wouldn't care much if she had to give it back. 

 

Her pleasant swirl of daydreams is rudely interrupted by a loud crash in the hallway outside her door. She jumps up automatically, adrenaline coursing through her. She opens her bedroom door, ready for whatever may be lurking in her house. She is met with a toothy grin and reddened cheeks.

 

"S-sorry, Frey," Alex manages to get out through giggles. "I was chasing Silas, and I slipped, and--" He looks up at her through his lashes. "I'm okay. Promise!" The child scurries off without another word, not allowing her a chance to reply. 

 

"Who's Silas..." Freya mumbles, staring after him, an overwhelming sense of affection welling up inside her. The feeling quickly turns to stone, as an all too familiar scent sickens her insides. The smell reminds her of death and decay, of blood and bone, of suffering and sorrow. Dread looms within her. It's here--this repulsive beast, this monstrosity--lurking among shadows and behind corners. Somewhere within her beloved home, it's biding it's time. Somewhere within her small townhouse in her nondescript town, a demon has taken refuge. 

 

"Vacation my a*s." She groans loudly, spinning around and kicking the door shut.

Author's Note

*Has yet to be edited. If you'd like to do so, please shoot me a reply!