The Monster Hunter

The Monster Hunter
by Jason Earls
author of Cocoon of Terror, Red Zen, Heartless Bastard In Ecstasy, & How to Become a Guitar Player from Hell
http://becomeguitaristfromhell.blogspot.com/
http://www.youtube.com/user/zevi35711


My partner and I burst into the restaurant. A hundred people were scattered around the place, all of them dead. Bodies on the floor, blood on the tables, body parts severed, hair clinging to walls, brain matter floating in drinking glasses, miscellaneous gore splattered over plates of unfinished food. Disgusting.

Almost directly above us, we knew someone was still alive. We heard him squealing and growling animal-like noises. We looked up and saw that he was completely naked, swinging from a golden chandelier. Most of his body was covered with blood and the other parts were streaked with long brown marks – obviously fecal matter. We knew he had to have been the killer by his aggressive behavior, not merely a survivor of the tragedy.

We both pulled our Colt .38’s and aimed them at him. He dropped twenty feet to the floor, stared at us and growled with his arms held out and head ducked down in attack mode. My partner and I both dove forward, flipped a table over in mid-air, and ducked behind it. The naked man started screaming, jumped onto a chair, then leaped from table to table, crashing over dinnerware, swinging his arms, debris flying around us, blood and shit flying off the man and hitting the already stained walls.

I leaned up, waiting for the nude man to stop running. When he did, I took aim directly at his throat and said, “I’ve got a good shot, I’m gonna put him down.”

My partner grabbed my arm, “No way! Hold off man, we aren’t supposed to kill him. We have to take him alive or just let him go.”

I scowled and looked into my partner’s face, “Are you totally insane! That fucker killed all these people in this restaurant. Over 100 citizens are now dead because of this sicko!”

My partner stared back in disbelief. “But don’t you know who that is?” his voice a little shaky. “That’s Roan McGuilicutty. The best monster hunter in the world. There aren’t any other types of men like him left anymore. Sure, he goes off the deep end occasionally and kills a large group of human beings, like we see here in this eating establishment, but fuck man, for the most part, this guy is the only individual who can still protect our world from murderous monsters and deadly aliens and other outlandish beings who occasionally attack us – and which we law enforcement individuals can’t even begin to get a handle on. We can’t simply shoot this guy in the neck. He’s the best monster hunter we’ve got. You kill him and we won’t have one single monster hunter left worth a shit on this entire planet earth!”

“Fuck that,” I said. “I don’t give a fuck what his occupation is. Look around, man. We just can’t sit back and let this nude asshole covered with shit murder a hundred people and walk away. That’s fucking nuts, man. Look at him! He’s running around growling like a wild animal full of rabies! He’s totally off his rocker!”

We peeked over the edge of the table and saw Roan McGuilicutty running around squealing and holding a severed head, slapping the cheeks of his own ass.

I aimed at him again again and said, “That degenerate bastard is going down, NOW!”

“NO! NO! YOU CAN’T DO IT!” my partner screamed. He grabbed my arm and I jerked his hand off me.

“We need him!” he said. “Roan has saved thousands of people over the course of his career. Sure, he’s killed a few hundred too, but he does that to blow off steam. He’s the greatest monster hunter the United States has ever produced. Remember the alien invasion back in the early 70s that the government tried to cover up? Roan is the one who saved our asses then! He killed them all. Every single alien. With his bare fucking hands. He didn’t even use a gun.”

“Bullshit. No way was he responsible for wiping out those aliens in the 70s. I heard they called in the Navy Seals and those guys handled it. Roan McGuilicutty could not have killed all those aliens singlehandedly. Those were the most bloodthirsty aliens that ever landed on earth.”

“I’m telling you he did. Roan McGuilicutty is not human. After he saved us from those aliens, he drank a large quantity of extraterrestrial beer he’d found on the alien’s spaceship, and he got so wasted that he killed about 80 people at Burger King. Still, Roan was awesome for saving the whole planet from the aliens. He just has a hard time cooling down when the battle’s over. But he’s still a fucking cyborg, man! Some people really believe Roan is actually the result of an experiment conducted by some foreign country. They think he’s really half animal and half computer!”

I stared down at a corpse closest to me, one of the people Roan had murdered earlier in the restaurant. She was an elderly woman, probably someone’s grandmother, she had a beehive hairdo and was wearing a crude floral-print dress, half her face had been blown away and there was a huge hole missing from her bloated stomach region where it appeared Roan had bit out a large chunk of lard and probably eaten it.

The sight of that poor dead elderly woman enraged me. “FUCK IT! THIS SONOVABITCH IS GONNA DIE!”

I jumped from behind the table and took aim at the insane naked man. He was tucked into a ball at this point, doing somersaults in the air. As soon as he came out of the last one and was soaring toward the chandelier again, his hands outstretched, I fired three shots.

The first hit his shoulder and threw him off balance. The second hit him in the left eye, which caused his eyeball to erupt with a stream of blood and gray matter still attached, while the third shot hit his dangling penis, severing it at the base.

Roan McGuilicutty fell to the floor in a bellybuster-like fashion, landing with a loud smack and emitting a deep pitiful groan. The shot in the eye had been the one to finish him off, but shortly after hitting the floor his severed penis rolled across the carpet and stopped near my boots.

I reached down and poked at it with the barrel of my gun. It didn’t move. I ground the barrel into the middle of the severed penis, cramming it onto the end, then lifted it up. I turned to my partner whose eyes were wide, obviously worried that we would soon be fired for killing the greatest monster hunter in history. I held my gun in front of my partner’s face with Roan’s penis swaying back and forth like a dog’s tail.

“I don’t care what kind of monster hunter that sicko was,” I told my partner. “He killed way too many innocent people for my taste, and he did not save us from that alien invasion, the Navy Seals did. My uncle was a Navy Seal and he was a total badass. He could have taken Roan McGuilicutty out in two seconds flat. My uncle would have never agreed with his gratuitous killing of innocent people for no reason. So you can tell our bosses that I did this for my uncle. Let them fire me. See if I care. I’ll quite this job before I let some naked dickweed covered in human shit kill a hundred people and just walk away. Fuck that noise. I don’t play that shit, homeboy. And you shouldn’t either.”

After my speech, I whipped my gun forward and slung Roan McGuilicutty’s severed penis into my partner’s face. He winced at the motion but the monster hunter’s schlong still slapped against his forehead and he staggered back.

Then I strolled out the door of the restaurant, headed to my car.

Another day’s dirty work done. Thank God.


(Author’s Note: What would I like to put in my stories? I want to put the spirit of the earth in them and the soul of America, I want human yearning in them along with light and ecstasy and tragedy and fire. I will inject my stories with plasma from the sun and dust from the stars and liquid from the moon. My stories will have love and hope and fortune and mysticism and splinters from a whittler and tools that a master carpenter uses every single day. I want to include gravitas and murder and blades of poetic grass with a little gore as well. I want the spirit of strangers whispering and grasping and holding each other in the dark. All of these things will go into my sentences and paragraphs and their essence will dissolve the readers’ hearts into fountains of ecstasy and wonderment and true bliss. My words and broken rules will drip and seep with love and an all-devouring honesty and a gut-wrenching intensity. That is what I would like to put into my stories. I will.)

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(Thanks for reading. If you have any comments or know of any magazines that would like to publish this piece, please contact the author: zevi_35711@yahoo.com. Also, you would be helping out the author greatly if you purchased one of his books from Amazon.com or another online book store of your choice. Thanks again.)

http://becomeguitaristfromhell.blogspot.com/
http://www.youtube.com/user/zevi35711

Bio: Jason Earls is the author of Cocoon of Terror (Afterbirth Books), Heartless Bast*rd In Ecstasy, How to Become a Guitar Player from Hell, Red Zen (taught by Prof. Robert Siegle at Virginia Tech), If(Sid_Vicious == TRUE && Alan_Turing == TRUE) {ERROR_Cyberpunk(); }, and 0.136101521283655... all available at Amazon.com and other online book stores. His fiction and mathematical work have been published in Red Scream, Yankee Pot Roast, M-Brane SF, Scientia Magna, three of Clifford Pickover’s books, Mathworld.com, AlienSkin, Recreational and Educational Computing, Escaping Elsewhere, Neometropolis, Thirteen, Dogmatika, Prime Curios, the Online Encyclopedia of Integer Sequences, OG’s Speculative Fiction, Nocturnal Ooze, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, and other publications. He currently resides in Oklahoma with his wife, Christine.