I lowered my voice to a whisper. It was time to beg.

“I promise you, things will change.”

“They certainly will.” She wouldn’t drop the smile. It remained plastered on her leathery face all the way out the door.

I just stood there, dumbfounded. The last two remaining cops were still in the hallway staring at me. I walked over and slammed the door in their smug faces. On the wall near the door, a Speculator Magazine clipping, brown and aged, hung from a tack. The headline read, “Cal McDonald, Monster Hunter.” The picture of me was blurred and grainy. It was the only article Speculator had published about me that didn’t attempt to make me out to be a total ass.

I ripped the clipping off the wall, balled it up, and threw it down. It rolled about a foot before it slowed and stuck in a small smear of blood.

I looked around the apartment, at the yellowed walls and scratched wood floors. I scanned the sunken brown couch with the exposed stuffing and springs. The only thing worth a dime in the whole place was my desk, my files, and the collection of weapons I had stashed under the bed in the other room. I bet if someone took the time they could find enough powder to get high for a year, but basically that was it. That was my life; some wood, some papers, and a sack full of sharp things.

While I stood staring at my mess of a life, someone started tapping lightly on the door. It was an annoying little tap, but I knew who it was. I pulled open the door and Brent, the postman, stood there with a large square box. His face showed worry, but it always did.

“Guess I was wrong,” he said. “You got this.”

I took the box from him.

I stared at the short ghoul and turned my head. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

Brent sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

“What did you do when you were, you know, alive?”

The ghoul looked puzzled by the question. “What do you mean, what did I do?”

“You know. What job? Were you an adventurer in the 1600s or some crap like that?”

“I was a postal worker.”

He didn’t even blink. If I’d offended him, he wasn’t showing it. Then he timidly nodded and walked away. Fucking ghouls. They were harmless, loyal, and about as kind as a monster could be, but they were so fucking weird sometimes.

“Thanks, Brent!” I called after him and kicked the door closed before he responded.

Usually, nothing brightens the day like an unexpected package, but this one crawled up my ass and gave me the creeps right off the bat. It had an odd weight, heavy and shifting ever so slightly. It had a California postmark. The name and address on the label were mine, but there was no return address. It was trouble. I could feel it.