Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: The Varcolac's Diary Read online

  by

  D.C. McGannon and C. Michael McGannon

  Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters:

  The Varcolac’s Diary

  Written by D.C. McGannon and C. Michael McGannon

  Copyright © D.C. McGannon, C. Michael McGannon 2012

  Published by Wyvern’s Peak Publishing & Entertainment, LLC. 2012.

  Front and back cover design by Matthew D. Smith

  Copy editing by Dale Cassidy

  e-book formatting by Guido Henkel

  Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: The Varcolac’s Diary / by D.C. McGannon & C. Michael McGannon – 2nd ed.

  Summary: Five friends in a quiet town gather to discover the cause behind the recent disappearances, uncover the truth about the town’s history, and confront the ancient evil that lies behind it all.

  2 4 6 8 10 12 14 16 18

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9854088-1-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that is shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  For Michael.

  My son. My friend. My conspirator in all things creative.

  I love you and am honored to have labored with you in this.

  It sounded good‌…‌are we there yet?

  D.C. McGannon

  To my mom and dad, who have been waiting for me to finish a story for nearly a decade. Couldn’t have done it without either of you (literally, with this story!). Love you guys more than you know.

  And, no. But‌…‌we’re halfway there!

  C. Michael McGannon

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Bloodshot

  Chapter 1: Missing

  Chapter 2: Trouble with Troublemakers

  Chapter 3: The Varcolac’s Diary

  Chapter 4: Dangerous Discoveries

  Chapter 5: Loch & Key

  Chapter 6: That Which Was Hidden, Revealed

  Chapter 7: Truth or Dare

  Chapter 8: Crossing Over

  Chapter 9: The Otherworld

  Chapter 10: A Witch’s Warning

  Chapter 11: A Thrice Death

  Chapter 12: Into the Dark

  Chapter 13: The Lights of Hunter’s Grove

  Epilogue: Remembrance

  Prologue: Bloodshot

  The Prince stood atop Hunter’s Key, looking down at them from the mansion’s tallest tower. His eyes glowed like coals from the belly of Hell. Only five stood between him and the town below.

  Charlie was there. He was one of the five. But who were the others? They seemed familiar to Charlie, but he couldn’t remember….

  Something happened. The world turned upside down, and suddenly one of their number was ripped away. Now there were only four facing the Dark Prince.

  Someone was going to die. Or had they already?

  The Dark Prince flew forward from the mansion, his shadow spreading over the town. His eyes burned a hole through Charlie’s mind.

  Charlie sat up in bed, tangled in his sheets. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  It was just another nightmare. He got out of bed and opened the window for fresh air, then headed for the bathroom. In his experience, going right back to sleep after a nightmare was not a good thing to do.

  Charlie splashed his face with warm, soothing water and checked his eyes in the mirror. They were getting worse.

  After his nightmares, Charlie always had the worst headache, and his bloodshot eyes looked terrible.

  Maybe I have an eye infection, he thought. I wonder if I should see the school nurse. But then mom and dad would hear from the school and freak out.

  It wasn’t really that bad. His eyes were just a little bloodshot at night, that was all. Charlie was sure they would get better, as soon as the nightmares stopped.

  If they stopped.

  Charlie sighed and flicked the bathroom light off, slipping back into bed.

  I’ll be fine, he thought. Winter break is coming up soon and I won’t have school to stress me out. I’ll be able to sleep without any dreams bugging me and my eyes will get the rest they need. Everything will be okay.

  Charlie was right about one thing. He would not have to worry about school for much longer.

  But everything was not going to be okay.

  Chapter 1: Missing

  Very few people dared venture into the woods of Hunter’s Point, especially after the last two years. Perhaps the only people who did were one Fish McCollum and one Wardley Dink. The last two years had been hard and, yes, frightening, but life went on.

  And for Fish and Dink, life was best spent scouting through the woods to find the best fishing spots. Such scouting was accomplished in the early hours of the morning, and the fishing was done, well, for the better part of twenty-four hours, if they had any say in the matter.

  “Downright snippy, if I do dare say.”

  “Problem is, Dink, you do ‘dare say’ non-stop,” quipped Fish. “And I do dare say I wish you would just up and shut your trap sometimes.”

  “Sure, sure,” Dink said, unoffended, snow and twigs crunching under his boot.

  It was approaching late fall in Hunter’s Grove, an aptly named small town known for its quaint charm and hilly countryside. The air was crisp, and the snow just starting to tumble from the sky. The leaves were dark and brittle, congregating to dance lightly on the wind, over streets and sidewalks. The town was picturesque, and a favorite resort of people who enjoyed a quiet cabin in the hills as a vacation getaway.

  Or so it used to be. Hunter’s Grove was still picturesque, but there was something that now made it feel dark and cold, isolated from the rest of the world. Fear lingered in the thoughts of the locals, and oppressive weather seemed to haunt the small town. Snow fell earlier each year, ice imprisoned the waters faster, and the sun lingered just out of reach come springtime.

  Dink opened his mouth to speak, already having forgotten Fish’s complaint, when a branch snapped in the distance. Fish held up his hand and they both stopped.

  “What is it?” asked Dink.

  Fish scowled and shook his head. He wasn’t a coward by any means, but he was a careful man. The residents of Hunter’s Grove might think Fish a few steps short of his destination, mentally speaking, but in truth, Fish was one of the most informed people in the small town. The same went for Dink.

  They waited a few moments before Dink slapped his friend on the back.

  “Aw, a squirrel got you again, that’s all! It ain’t for worrying about.”

  “We don’t know that, Dink. Can’t take anything for granted these days. Especially after last night.”

  Dink nodded sadly.

  Fish listened carefully and looked around the wo
ods one more time. Rubbing his rabbit foot for good luck, he ventured farther in, Dink right behind him.

  Several feet away, a small cloaked figure listened to their conversation. Its heart hammered a mad drumbeat through its chest. Clinging to the trees, it waited for the two men to pass until it moved back into the human town‌—‌back to Hunter’s Grove.

  Jack Sullivan picked up the first copy of THE GROVE DAILY, which was really more of an every-other-day-or-so paper, as it only came out twice a week. One came on Sunday for sure; that was never missed. And one on Wednesday, or Thursday, or perhaps Tuesday if there was enough news to bother printing. In fact, THE GROVE was often more of an extended town bulletin than a town newspaper, on account of having so little to print most weeks.

  Mr. Sullivan flipped open the snow-damp copy and read through soggy print, bracing for what he might find.

  And then he found it. Exactly what he was dreading. It wasn’t the main headline, of course. Front page news, but not the headline for THE GROVE DAILY. No, it was decided long ago, by the Mayor himself, to never make these events main headlines.

  2nd PERSON MISSING IN AS MANY WEEKS;

  SUSPICIONS TURN TO HUNTER’S POINT

  As if the air suddenly got colder, Mr. Sullivan pulled his coat tighter. The sunlight seemed to tuck further behind the gray, pre-winter clouds.

  Back inside the warmth of his kitchen, Mr. Sullivan wilted as he continued to read. The missing person was a local boy‌—‌Bobby Muldor. Old Mrs. McBranson had disappeared just the week before.

  Two years ago, people started to go missing at an alarming rate, at first once a week, but then doubling in number. The Grove Disappearances, they called it. It was the town’s dirty secret‌…‌the skeleton in the closet.

  But it had stopped. Now it was starting again.

  The strange thing‌—‌the really strange thing‌—‌was that the police had not been able to find a solid connection between any of the missing persons. No trace. No clues. Nothing. They were there one day, and the next day‌…‌a secondary headline in THE GROVE DAILY.

  That makes ten, thought Mr. Sullivan. Ten people gone in the last two years.

  His son, Charlie, barged into the kitchen.

  “Dad! Dad, we’re going to be late!”

  Jack put the paper down, relieved to do so, and turned to his son. Charlie had just walked out of the bathroom, his hair still a disheveled case of bed head, with a backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder. He squinted blearily in the morning light, and Mr. Sullivan noticed how bloodshot his son’s eyes seemed.

  He ruffled Charlie’s light brown hair‌—‌it was a mess anyway‌—‌and grabbed his coffee mug. “Well, get on to the car, Charlie. I think we’ll make it in time.”

  “I hope so,” Charlie muttered gravely as he headed for the door. “If Mrs. Pinkerly calls me tardy one more time, I’m doomed.”

  Darcy shivered in her autumn coat. She stepped up next to her father, Mayor Witherington, onto the front porch of TAVERN’S QUICK-N-GO. She stooped to pick up the bundle of snow-crusted newspapers lying miserably against one of the scattered rocking chairs. The ink was smudged from wetness.

  Mr. Witherington was a well-rounded fellow that, it must be said, sometimes resembled an upright light bulb. Patting his pockets, he clumsily pulled the door open for Darcy, and she quickly moved inside, shivering from the cold. The damp newspapers she plopped onto the checkout counter just left of the door. Darcy smoothed back her blonde hair from the light, windblown tussle and breathed over her fingers for warmth.

  Tavern, the store’s owner and namesake, stood behind the quick serve breakfast buffet. “Thanks, Darcy. Morning, Mr. Witherington! You two drop in for some breakfast?”

  The mayor scowled at a copy of the paper, the soggy sheets crumpled in his shaking fists. He looked up when Darcy tapped him on the shoulder.

  “What? Oh, yes. Yes indeed, Mr. Tavern.”

  Darcy and her father walked to the right side of the QUICK-N-GO‌—‌a building whose left side was a convenient store, and whose right side was a convenient “tavern”‌—‌where they sat down at one of the empty tables and scanned the menu.

  Tavern, a square shouldered, sturdy man who looked as if he had been a lumberjack before becoming a store owner, came over a few minutes after the Witheringtons set themselves down. Tavern knew the mayor liked to look thoroughly at the menu, even though he always got the same breakfast. And that was the extra cheesy Omelet Supreme, without the onions.

  “What can I get for you today?” Tavern asked, taking the pencil down from his ear and a notepad from his apron.

  Darcy folded her menu and handed it to Tavern. “Blueberry pancakes, for me.”

  Mr. Witherington peered over the top of his menu. “Are you sure, dear? Those can be quite‌…‌sticky.”

  Expertly, Darcy withheld her exasperation and continued. “With extra whip. And one of your caramel macchiatos. Those are so good!” she added with a grin.

  Tavern nodded. “And for you, Mr. Mayor?”

  But the mayor wasn’t listening. “Darcy! Coffee, again? It’s not good for a young woman, and it certainly hasn’t been helping your studies lately.”

  Darcy crossed her arms. “Whatever.”

  Tavern looked between the two, unsure of what to write down now.

  Mr. Witherington took one last, studious look over the menu.

  “I think I shall go with the Omelet Supreme today, Mr. Tavern, with a coffee, just black. And, ah, if you could hold the onions on that omelet, please?”

  Darcy rolled her eyes and shared a grin with Tavern, both escaping Mr. Witherington’s attention altogether.

  “One order blueberry pancakes, one Omelet Supreme, comin’ right up! Holding all onions, of course.”

  Charlie lazily made his way to the lockers, doing what his teachers found unacceptable and called “daydreaming.” Maybe he had not been paying enough attention to his classes lately, but such was the teenage mind.

  Currently, Charlie was absorbed in thought over his nightmares. In almost every nightmare he could recall, Hunter’s Key made an appearance. It struck him odd that so many of his dreams came back to the Key. He had never gone up there, and….

  Charlie did not see Donnie Wickles until it was too late and the two collided, sending up a flurry of books and notebook paper.

  Of course, Donnie had been aiming for Charlie.

  “Hey, doofus!” he called roughly. “Watch where you’re walking!”

  “Sorry,” muttered Charlie, picking himself up off the ground.

  Donnie grabbed the lapels of Charlie’s jacket. “You always stuck up in that head of yours?”

  Charlie did not answer, which bothered Donnie. He needed a reaction of some sort, especially this morning.

  “Course you are, loner freak.”

  He shoved Charlie away and moved on, looking for someone who’d put up a fight.

  Charlie’s face burned, but he kept quiet, focusing instead on picking his books back up. He tried to ignore the few people watching the episode, diving deeper into his own thoughts.

  Every morning after breakfast, Mr. Witherington would personally drop Darcy off into the waiting arms of her devoted followers. And every morning, unbeknownst to Darcy, he carried a box in his pocket, meaning to give it to her. He was just waiting for the right time.

  Mr. Witherington patted his coat pocket, feeling the long, thin box within.

  “Darcy, wait.”

  Darcy huffed. “Yes, Daddy?” She waved to her friends, hand hovering over the truck’s door handle.

  “I wanted…”

  She looked at him impatiently, and he hesitated. That casual look hit Mr. Witherington deep, digging up old feelings of fear and guilt. And that hesitation decided it; he would give the necklace to her another day. Perhaps a day when people stopped vanishing into thin air. A day when he was stronger.

  “I just wanted to say, be careful, dear.”

  “Was that all?” Darcy asked. She
sighed and nodded, opening the door to her awaiting crowd.

  Mr. Witherington patted his pocket again, as if that would bring Darcy’s mother back. He watched his daughter walk up the school steps and then drove away.

  Climbing the steps, Darcy was trying to forget the disappearances in her own way, which is to say discussing the latest school gossip with her gaggle of chattering friends. One by one, the girls went to class, until it was just Darcy and Caitlin.

  “Creepy,” Darcy said in a whisper, scrunching up her nose. “That’s what I think. They’re just creeps!”

  Caitlin nodded, pigtails bobbing enthusiastically. “I know, right! It’s like something that should be cool, like from a book or a‌…‌a movie, only it’s in real life, so it’s totally not cool. Just‌—‌”

  Darcy rolled her eyes. Of all her friends, Caitlin was the worst at subtle gossiping. “Shhh! Keep your voice down, or they’ll hear you,” she said.

  They were talking about the Vadiknovs. The school’s one and only set of twins, and an enigmatic pair at that. Many rumors drifted around school about the two, some of them true. The twins were said to run a “paranormal investigation” service, but no one would admit to using said service. In truth, no one was desperate enough to ask Lisa and Liev Vadiknov for help with the paranormal, or anything else for that matter.

  Caitlin, who had become very concerned, ducked behind Darcy and tried her hardest not to look at the twins, who hung out by the stairs. “How can they hear us from here?”

  “They just can,” Darcy explained, lifting her chin. “It’s part of their creepy witch powers.”

  “They’re WITCHES?” shouted Caitlin. Lisa and Liev both turned to look at her, and then turned away dispassionately.

  “I don’t know,” said Darcy, tiring of her friend, “but I’m sure if they heard you, you’re cursed! First, you won’t be able to talk, then all of your fingernails will rot and fall off. Then….”