Violet the Monster Hunter

Prologue: The Beginning

Desperation clings to her grandmother's words as the clasp clicks into place at the back of Violet's neck. "I want you to have this necklace. The stone will protect you from the bad things, my sweet girl. Never take it off. No matter what. Promise me."

"I promise. It's really pretty, Grandma," says the lanky thirteen-year-old girl. She has just hit this phase in her life and suddenly was like a baby giraffe—all elbows and knees and lacking any sense of grace—but the rest of her is mature beyond her years. Family means everything to Violet, especially her grandmother. She was always the one to read her a bedtime story. Even this young, her mother pushed her away at every turn. Her safety was in the arms of her grandmother.

Fingering the stone, she admires its simplistic beauty. The wire curls around the shiny blackness in a delicate pattern; one that as she traces spreads a warm layer of calm through her. Violet stops as grandmother breaks the loving moment; tilting her head away like she hears something in the distance.

"Is everything—" Violet begins, only to have Grandmother push her index finger against her lips; leaving the rest of her question to hang in the air.

Violet's mom and grandfather see this motion and freeze; neither of them so much as takes a breath as they wait for a signal from matriarch. Grandmother's eyes widen, before her hand moves swiftly to take Violet's arm. The family photos hanging on the hallway walls are a blur as Violet is schlepped to her bedroom.

Urgency lacing her voice, grandmother says, "Listen carefully. You hide. Do not come out unless your mother comes to get you. Do you understand?"

Violet nods her head. She knows this is bad, but not how or why. Following orders is the only thing to do, even if the mere thought of hiding while her family handles danger scares her to death.

Her grandmother lightly kisses her cheek. "Don't ever take that necklace off. Remember that, if nothing else. Now go. Hide."

She gives Violet a little push, then rushes off with her long skirt billowing furiously behind her. Before Violet can turn to get one last look at the magnetic woman who runs their family, she's gone. Even in the silence of her room, Violet could pick out the voices of her loved ones—the whispering—even though it was clear she wasn't to understand what was being discussed. But she did.

She understood. Grandmother and grandfather would fight whatever was hiding in the shadows. They would die protecting her. No matter what, Violet's mother had to find a way to get the two of them to safety. Somewhere they would never be found.

Then there is emptiness and the air went still.

The whispers ceased.

And Violet had instructions—hide.

There are only two places to hide: under the bed and in the closet. Neither was a good choice. In every horror movie, if the girl hid under the bed, she would be dragged out by the killer. At least with the closet, there were possible weapons she could use against an attack. So, with the closet being the better of the two choices, she ducks in beneath her hanging clothes and closes the door. The hems tickles the top of her head, but she forces herself to be silent; to stay put, hidden amongst the folds of fabric.

As the shouting from outside becomes louder and louder, and smoke pours underneath the door frame; filling her lungs and making each breath feel like death itself had set its claws into her insides, Violet stays until fear surrounds her; entices her to give up. To give in and allow Death to take her. But Violet won't allow him to take what was not his. She knew all that her family had sacrificed tonight. In that second, Violet knew what he had taken from her. Her family was gone. She could not and would not allow him to take her. Unable to sit in the dark any longer; the threat of death overrode Grandmother's warning. Violet turns the knob and slid the door open. Knowing there isn't much time left, she is driven by the need to find someone; to get out and get away. It is her only motivation to leave her hiding place and disobey Grandmother.

Leaving the safety of that closet, she's thrust into chaos. Tendrils of flame lick their way up the bedroom walls. The heat—so consuming that her precious collector Barbie dolls begin to resemble her grandmother's dripping wax meditation candles. There is nowhere for her to go. Violet is trapped by the inferno raging around her. Rooted in place, Violet searches for an escape route as her grandmother's words pounded in her head. She had to wait for someone. That's what she said.

Wait for Mom.

Instead of defying another order, Violet worries the stone in her necklace and waited. The warmth beneath her touch spreads across her chest, calming her pounding heart.

Violet jumps, startled at the tinkling sound of glass as the window behind her shattered; bringing with it a whoosh of intensified flame. She ducks away from the shards of glass and the burning heat, just in time to avoid the flash of flame that boils the last of the oxygen away. Holding her breath, Violet moves blindly toward the broken window—one size five footstep at a time. As she gets closer, the breeze brings with it the promise of clean air and the whisper of her mother's voice.

"Come on, Violet. Stand on the table and grab my hands. Hurry."

Violet does as she was told and using the bed as a step stool, then shifted over to stand on the wooden bedside table. In the struggle to escape, she knocked over the framed photos of her best friends and the life she had until this very moment. Silently, she mourns the loss of her things. There is no time to save them; only herself. Her mother's stern face shone with sweat as Violet tugged on the hands reaching through the window frame to pull her out; delivering her to safety. Her feet barely touched the dew-covered grass before her mother urges, "Run!"

When they are far enough away, and the night had covered their tracks, Violet drops her mother's hand and stops running. Bent at the waist, Violet takes deep breaths to calm the pounding in her heart. Her nose still clogged with smoke, choking her. Coughing, she turns to take one last longing glance at the family farm. From the cornfield, the tall stalks limit her view, but Violet can still see that nothing is left except the shell and the still burning embers of her life. Only Violet and her mother remain; scared but alive. Mom stands next to her, arms crossed. While scratches, blood, and dirt covered her, Violet looks as if she survived a war instead of a house fire.

And when the buildings crumble into mounds of ash, taking with them everything that had ever loved her—her grandmother, grandfather, and her horse Painted Moon—she hears the mirthful pealing laughter of a madman echoing through the darkness.