Monster Control Inc. 24
Hunting the horror
Chapter 7: Hunting the Horror
I woke to silence.
After twelve hours of wind howling like the damned, the sudden absence of sound was almost startling. Pale sunlight streamed through the motel room's thin curtains, casting everything in the blue-white glow that only comes from fresh snow reflecting winter sun.
I checked my watch: 6:47 AM. Carl was already up—I could hear him moving around in the common area, probably organizing gear and checking weather reports. I pulled on my thermal underwear and joined him.
"Storm's passed," he announced without looking up from his laptop. "Weather service says clear skies until tonight, but the temperature's dropped to twelve. With wind chill, we're looking at five to ten. But at least we’re above zero, so that’s something."
"Zero Fahrenheit," I said sourly.
I peered out the window at a transformed landscape. The parking lot was buried under what looked like two feet of fresh powder, and the Suburban resembled a large, geometric snowdrift. But the sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun was shining with the kind of crystalline clarity that made everything look like a postcard. It was going to be a cold one, for sure.
"At least we'll have good visibility," I said, pouring coffee from the pot Carl had already started. "How long to dig out the truck?"
"Already called the front desk. They've got a plow guy coming to clear the lot in about twenty minutes." Carl gestured to his laptop screen, which showed a detailed weather radar. "We should be on the road by seven-thirty if we move fast."
"Should I try calling their comms?”
"If you like. I already did. Still nothing.”
We spent the next hour methodically preparing for what we both knew could be a very dangerous day. Carl checked and rechecked the flamethrower equipment while I organized our cold weather gear and emergency supplies. The northern Minnesota winter wasn't just a backdrop to our hunt—it was an active threat that could kill us as efficiently as any supernatural creature.
"Remember," Carl said as we loaded the Suburban, "hypothermia starts affecting your judgment long before you realize it's happening. If either of us starts acting strange, the other has to call it out immediately."
"Define strange," I said, trying to inject some levity into the morning.
"Stranger than usual," Carl replied with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
The drive back to the search area took longer than expected. The secondary roads hadn't been plowed yet, and even with four-wheel drive, we had to navigate carefully through drifts and around abandoned vehicles. The Suburban's heater worked overtime, but I could still feel the cold trying to seep in through every gap and seal.
By the time we reached the forest access point, the sun was well up, transforming the winter landscape into something that would have been beautiful if it weren't potentially hiding a cannibalistic monster. Everything was white and pristine, unmarked by human passage. The blizzard had effectively erased any traces of yesterday's search.
"New snow's both good and bad," Carl observed as we strapped on our snowshoes. "Good because any fresh tracks will be obvious. Bad because anything older than twelve hours is completely gone."
We began our trek toward the ravine system we'd identified as our primary target. The snow was deep but powdery, and our snowshoes handled it reasonably well. Still, the going was slow, and every step required deliberate effort. The cold was intense—the kind that made your nose hairs freeze and turned breathing into visible clouds that lingered in the still air.
"Damn, it’s freezing out here," I muttered after about twenty minutes. "How do people live in this climate?"
"They stay inside," Carl replied. "And develop a healthy respect for what winter can do to you if you don’t. It’s not even December yet. Imagine how cold it gets in January!"
For the first time in my life, the concept of an ice hell finally made sense.
As we approached the coordinates for the ravine system, Carl suddenly held up a hand, signaling me to stop. He was studying something ahead of us through binoculars.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"Dark patches on those trees. About fifty yards ahead, see that cluster of birch trees."
I pulled out my own binoculars and scanned the area he indicated. There—irregular crimson splashes that didn’t quite fit the natural black patterns on the white bark. From this distance, they could have been anything, but they didn't appear to belong to the natural landscape.
We approached cautiously, weapons ready. As we got closer, the dark patches resolved into something that made my stomach clench with dread.
Dried blood.
"Shit," Carl breathed, reaching up to touch the largest stain. "This is relatively fresh. Definitely within the last week. We need to see what’s under the snow here"
Once we dug down a bit, what was left of the scene told a violent story. There were dark red stains marked where something had bled heavily into the snow. And we dug up two brass shell casings, glinting gold in the morning sunlight.
"Nine millimeter," I said, picking up one of the casings. "Standard MCI issue."
Carl was examining the blood patterns on the sides of the trees with the clinical eye of someone who'd seen violence before. "Whatever happened here, it was intense."
I began methodically searching the area, looking for any other evidence. Near the base of a large pine tree, underneath the new snow, I found something that made my heart sink: a tactical radio, its case cracked and stained with blood.
"Carl," I called quietly.
He joined me and examined the radio. "MCI issue. Serial number..." He squinted at the small print. "This is Khang's."
We continued searching the area, finding more three shell casings and increasingly disturbing evidence of a fight. There were gouges in the tree bark, as if something with very large claws had raked across the wood. One birch tree had been snapped in half about eight feet up, the break showing splintered wood and frozen sap.
"Whatever did this is strong," Carl observed. "Stronger than any normal animal."
"Stronger than a human, too," I added, examining the claw marks. "These gouges are deep. Look at the spacing—this thing has claws at least six inches long."
But it was near the edge of the disturbance that we found the most ominous evidence. A sunken channel of snow revealed an iced-over indentation underneath that led away from the main area of the fight, heading toward the ravine.
"Dragging a body," Carl said grimly, following the marks with his eyes. "Leading right where we thought it would."
The ravine opened before us like a wound in the earth—a narrow cut perhaps twenty feet deep, with steep rocky sides and a bottom hidden in shadow. The drag marks led right to the edge and disappeared over the lip.
"I'm going down," Carl announced, checking his flamethrower.
"We should go together."
"No. One goes down, one provides overwatch. If something happens to me, you retreat and call for backup."
I wanted to argue, but tactically, he was right. "Five minutes," I said. "If I don't hear from you in five minutes, I'm coming down."
Carl nodded and began rappelling down the rocky wall using climbing gear from his pack. I watched him descend into the shadows, my rifle ready and my nerves stretched tight.
His voice echoed up from the bottom: "Jesus Christ!"
"What is it?"
"You need to see this. But you're not going to like it."
I like that the chapter ends with a literal cliff hanger.
The zero Fahrenheit remark is a gamma tell.