Who is Killing the Monster Killers?

Danny Scurry leant against the door frame watching his colleague, Doctor Roxy Muller.

“You been working all night?”

Muller pulled off her mask. Exhaustion etched on her face.

“What do you want, Scurry?”

Scurry offered her a cup of steaming coffee, which she took gratefully, nursing it in her hands as if it was something precious.

“Just fill me in on what you’ve found, then you can go home for some rest.”

“It’s pretty much what it looks like. He’s been dead for approximately five days. Death was by massive blood loss. No blood was found at the scene, and no marks on the body except for this.”

Scurry’s eyes followed where Muller was pointing. All around the skull was what looked like a ring of raw flesh.

“What is it? An allergic reaction? A rash?”

“I can’t say at the moment. I’m waiting for a toxicology report. What did you find out about him?”

“His name is Father Charlie Collins. He came into town two weeks ago. Part of some Vatican investigation into the supernatural. The landlord hadn’t seen him for a few days. When he discovered the room was locked from the inside and no-one was answering his knocking, he barged the door down. Apart from that, no sign of forced entry.”

“So, you think something went bump in the night and killed him?”

“You tell me. What could kill a man in this way?”

“You OK, Scurry? You drifted off for a moment.”

“I’ve had an idea. The room where they found Collins is secured, isn’t it?”

“Totally.”

“Then meet me back there in, say, three hours.”

Muller’s car pulled up outside an apartment block. She flashed her ID card at the officers posted outside, strode in, and knocked on the door of the investigation scene. Scurry opened the door, pulled her in, and secured the door behind them.

“Look at these pictures, Muller. Notice anything familiar?”

“Ivan Helsinki, about a year ago. He has the same mark around his head.”

“He was involved in a vendetta against certain eastern European families. Two days before he died, he brought a lead box into the country from Romania. When he died, the box was found empty.”

“You think whatever was in there killed him?”

“Look at the next set of pictures.”

“That’s Buddy Winters, the werewolf hunter. I remember reading about him. He died last Autumn in mysterious circumstances. Case unresolved.”

“Same marks again. And on his minder, Robert Gale. They were looking into Helsinki’s death, and whatever killed him, killed them.”

“Who is this woman?”

“Sally Kane. Comes from a long line of ghost hunters and witch finders going back to the 17th century. She was the last of her line.”

“Cardinal Lex Anders?”

“Again, the same ring around the skull. He worked with Father Calhoun who died a month afterwards. I’m thinking that it was the deaths of these two men that Collins was investigating.”

“John Rook, Dick Bayliss, Annie Black, Harvey Coe.”

“All died the identical way. All were paranormal investigators of one kind or another. And so we come back to Collins.”

“And you think whatever killed them is still here?”

“It has to be, Muller. Look around for anything unusual. Anything out of place.”

“Heyy, I’ve been wanting one of those?”

“What’s that you’ve found?”

“They call them Russian Trooper Hats. This one looks like real fur. It feels so warm.”

“Can we concentrate on the job in hand?”

“Hold on, Danny. Let me try it on.”

With one quick movement, Scurry grabbed the hat and threw it to the floor.

“What’s got into you, Roxy?”

“Sorry, Scurry. I don’t know what I was thinking about.”

They searched everywhere, in the cupboards and wardrobes, in the bathroom, but they found nothing unusual.

“Well, Roxy, I’m stumped.”

“Have we finished now?”

“Why?”

“Because I want that hat.”

She went to pick it off the floor, then stopped.

“There’s something inside it, Danny.”

Cautiously Scurry flicked it over. The hat was empty.

“Look around the rim at the hat-band.”

“That’s a curious design. It looks like rows and rows of tiny teeth.”

“That’s it, Roxy!”

Scurry grabbed a wooden chair, smashed it, broke off a leg and thrust it into the fur. A pool of blood flowed from the hat across the floor.

“That’s what killed all those people?”

“Yes, Roxy. It made people want to wear it, then it fastened itself to their head with it’s teeth, then it sucked all of their blood.”

“You mean?”

“Yes, Roxy. It’s a vampire hat.”