October 13th, 2019
I need to address the monkey in the room right off the bat in this journal entry. I know it won’t directly assist anyone reading my journal for hunting monsters, but I keep this thing to help others as well as relieve my psyche.
My mentor was a strong proponent of writing things down for reference and to help her future self as well as any other hunters, fledgling or pro, with good information. She focused on keeping her journal factual and streamlined. I write mine to keep help myself and others as well as relieve my psyche of the burdens of hunting.
I put information on these pages that aren’t necessarily directly tied to the hunt because I need to get them out of me. A poisoned well benefits no one and I don’t want the well of my being to become poisoned.
So: Colby showed up at the motel. I thought it a little weird that he agreed to share a room since he had a partner already, but you know, a room split three ways (or two depending on the situation) is usually a financially sound thing to do. But he arrived sans Kelsie. He’s been kind of tight-lipped about it, but did let slip that she’s not precisely here any more.
Colby’s also changed a bit. He scared me before, like I read him as a psychopath when I first met him and he was scary efficient the few times we hunted together. Maybe his mentor tempered him some or, and death affects us all differently, maybe the falling of his partner changed something in him.
I suggested he take this one off. Just how bad can pixies be?
He’s refused, of course, but I’ll be keeping an eye on him.
October 15th, 2019
Finding the infestation of pixies was harder to do than we anticipated. I don’t think Indrid Cold told me wrong, but maybe he didn’t know the area as well as he presented. Colby said that he couldn’t lie, no Fae can, but the truth I heard from his pale face might not’ve been the one I thought I heard. He also said that a troupe of pixies isn’t necessarily bound to a set place.
What that translates to is that after a day of wandering town and the surrounding hills, we had to do homework. Find new exciting places that the little sprites (I’m using the term even though Colby said a sprite is different from a pixie and different from a brownie) might be.
They’re mischievous, which means looking into police reports of petty vandalism and nuisance claims. Not the most exciting thing, and certainly the sort of thing that would go overlooked by more official channels.
We’ve narrowed it down to a handful of places and we’re going to divide and conquer tomorrow. Colby recommended keeping an eye out for a place where the hedge might be thin. He couldn’t be more vague so I’ll keep my ‘feelers’ out while interviewing the families who filed reports.
I expect that we’ll be actually visiting a locale in a couple days.
Colby’s changed again since we started the active portion of this hunt. He’s focused and directed. I’m not entirely sure what specifically happened to Kelsie, but I’m pretty sure he’s definitely in the throws of grief. If she’s dead, which I suspect she is, I’m not going to tell the guy how to grieve her. It’s not my place. And he’ll work through this in his own way.
Speaking of working through things. I asked for a more comprehensive lesson on pixies and their weaknesses.
Colby indulged me.
Pixies, like almost all Fae, are weak to iron. Cold iron is best, but any iron will do. Packing a shotgun with iron shot is effective, but so is an iron club or, if you don’t mind hefting it, an iron baseball bat works wonders. His preferred tool for the job is an iron teeball bat.
The problem with pixies is they’re almost never solitary, so one needs to watch out as being swarmed is a very real possibility. They, as with other Fae, can work illusion magic, but are better known for their vicious little bites.
His recommendation: go in swinging and don’t stop until it can’t move any more.
I wonder how much of that sentiment is grief and a need to enact violence.
October 16th, 2019
The families I visited today were thankful for my follow up visit. Two of my three reported that they’d caught a mischievous little boy causing the mayhem, but weren’t going to press charges. The third’s culprit, however, was still at large and still aggravating them. I was considering not even bothering continuing with the hunt until they showed me a small, but growing, animal cemetery.
After a brief call to Colby, I confirmed a suspicion that this was going to escalate from pranks and pet murder to people injuries and deaths. Colby said it’d be a blessing if it were just deaths as pixies and other minor Fae tended to steal people. Next time we roll through here and it might be that kids’ve gone missing.
Or have turned into demented psychopaths having been replaced with dolls. I have some reading to do, compliments of my hunting partner.
Speaking of, he’s already preparing for tomorrow. We’re going out to our most likely spot (his families didn’t pan either).
While I’d like him to open a little more about what happened, I’m not going to pry it out of him. I just hope that it doesn’t affect his judgment or hunting ability tomorrow.
October 18th, 2019
True to his word, iron worked like a charm. I think I prefer to treat them like pheasants or other small game birds with iron birdshot for future hunts. Also true: the pixies (this troupe had nearly two dozen individuals) and are prone to swarming with very nasty bites. I’ve got a couple of quarter-sized holes in my forearm from them. Nasty little shits.
Colby went to town on them. His iron bat worked just as well as my iron club and our shotguns. He was a machine. More than efficient, just cold. I get taking monsters out, but even I have some hesitation at times.
Afterward we had a chance to breath and talk. The hunt, while brutal on the little Fae, seemed cathartic for him. He opened up enough to tell me, more confirm, that Kelsie died recently on a hunt and that it was his fault. He reaffirmed that it wasn’t the Fae that did it, but I don’t fully buy that.
I told him that a break would likely do him good and to take time to grieve.
If you’re not future me reading this, our job is a dangerous one. Hunters die. We face the darkness so others don’t have to. But that darkness doesn’t need to live within us and we look after our own.
Before we parted ways, I told him he could count on me and to never hesitate to reach out. For anything.
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