WHEN THEY HUNT

THE THREE MANDATORY D's FOR HUNTING: DICKS, DONUTS, AND DEMONS

THE THREE MANDATORY D's FOR HUNTING:

DICKS, DONUTS, AND DEMONS

I'm writing this down in hopes of that someone will know that my sister and I never meant for the world, as we know it, to end. We were just doing what we were taught to do: hunt monsters or die trying. It wasn't deeper than that.

If you're reading this, I hope that means I've just lost this journal and not that I'm dead somewhere with my veins sucked dry or my head ripped apart from my body. If you're reading this journal, I highly suggest that you put it down wherever you found it and move along with your perfectly normal life. I highly suggest this because my life is anything but normal or anything the average human could recognize as a life. It is absolutely batshit bonkers.

Maybe you already know some parts of my life as it has blended into your reality. I may have caused a couple of explosions at some pretty memorable places but just so you know I was only trying not to die. I didn't mean for the Notre Dame to go up into flames. But you tell me what you do if your portal wasn't working and there was a nest of European wendigos coming after you. That's not important, right now, what's important is to talk about where this all began.

I was born in Callaway, Texas in the middle of nowhere. I know this because every time I tell someone I was born in Callaway, Texas they look at me as if I've grown three heads. Callaway may be in the middle of nowhere but it is not a nowhere kind of city. It's the axis point where the supernatural world and the human world blur into each other. It's also the birth spot of the renowned Hunters.

Hunters with a capital H because it's an international organization founded by none other than my great, times six, son of a bitch grandfather — Theodore Starling — and his four best buddies Roman Cargan, Edri Abernathy, Francisco Bourbon, and Bahar Mewar. These five teenagers, at the time, had been blessed with the sight. It's a genetic thing that some say only the five familes' descendants can possess. It is the ability to see beyond the glamour of magic. Their families had been fighting monsters for generations before they started Hunters because they all had the sight.

After more and more monsters were fleeing from their home dimension from a war destroying their lands, the Hunter gang, when they were just mere seventeen year olds, headed an organization that would defeat the monsters invading our home. Theodore was known for his strategy as he had been in more wars than he could count. Roman was known for his intellect as he had studied supernatural beings of all kinds his entire life. Edri was a skilled fighter that had lost her family to a vampire when she was thirteen. Edri had learned a spell to hone and weaponize sunlight into a special metal — a metal they say has been blessed by the gods. Francisco had partied with monsters and after they had betrayed him he grew a hatred towards them that knew no bounds. Francisco knew how to trap any and everything. Bahar had the mind of an inventor — he created so many weapons that they claim that his skin had been burned with gun powder and nightshade.

Which brings me back to my second great, times six, grandfather, Bahar Mewar who was a delightfully crazy man who had about thirteen children with his wife Aneesa Mewar — who I am not related to. To make a long story incredibly short, I am the descendant of Bahar's illegitimate bastard of a child Sevi Starling. Who was born after a one night stand with Theodore's younger sister, my great, time six, grandmother Eleanor Starling. Eleanor died giving birth to Sevi about six days before Bahar died after getting eaten by a ghoul on a hunting trip gone severely wrong. Anyways, Aneesa didn't want her husband's bastard child so Theodore out of the cruelty of his heart adopted my great, times five, grandfather and made him into a slave for the family. Well, it's written in the records as just adopted but in a diary note of Theodore Starling's papers, he vehemently hated his adopted son and treated him like utter garbage. This depressing and cruel history of my less than normal family is vital to understanding my less than normal life.