As I stood at the back of the Grimsby house, the place that had become more than just a home in these past few weeks, I couldn’t help but reflect on how far I’d come. It felt surreal, almost like someone else had lived the life I was now looking back on. It hadn’t been easy, nothing worth having ever is, but I had grown in ways I never could have imagined back in those first chaotic moments of my life as an agent.Back in Chapter 1 of this memoir, dear reader, I was just a professor, a man in the right place at the wrong time. I didn’t want to be part of this world of supernatural threats, this world of danger, conspiracy, and unimaginable creatures. I wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life, teaching my classes, maintaining my distance from the dark, twisted things lurking beneath the surface of our world.But life doesn’t work like that, does it?I had been thrust into this world and, slowly, reluctantly, I had adapted. The journey I had taken since then had shaped me into some
The small, humble church was filled with the familiar sounds of whispered prayers and creaking pews as the congregation settled into their seats. It was a warm Sunday morning, the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows and casting colorful patterns on the worn wooden floor. There was a sense of finality in the air, a weight that even the most seasoned parishioners seemed to sense. Today would be Elijah’s last service as the pastor of this church, and everyone knew it.I sat in the pew beside Mitch, both of us quietly waiting for Pastor Elijah to begin his sermon. The rest of Field Team 42, with the exception of X, who was still recovering from his injuries, had made it to the service, though the heavy atmosphere didn’t seem to lighten their usual demeanor. J, still new to all of this, seemed to take everything in with wide eyes, his attention shifting from the other churchgoers to the front, where Elijah stood.Elijah was standing behind the pulpit, his Bible open before him,
The cold night air seemed to sharpen as we moved into the clearing, the land stretching out around us like a canvas, ready for whatever would come next. The skinwalker, Victor, was waiting. His form loomed in the distance, a twisted shadow standing in stark contrast to the flickering light of our torches. Even from this far away, I could feel the weight of his presence, dark, oppressive, and charged with a palpable menace.I could hear my heart beating in my ears as we advanced, the ground beneath our feet soft with dew, the earth itself seeming to pull us toward something inevitable. This was it, the moment we’d all been preparing for, and I could feel it deep in my bones. No more hiding, no more running. The time for confrontation had arrived.X moved forward first, his tech weapons ready. He’d taken the lead in the past, blasting away threats with his advanced technology. But tonight, it wasn’t the Hitchhiker he was dealing with. This was something entirely different, something old
The night had fallen with an unnatural quiet. The kind of silence that wraps itself around you and makes you aware of every small sound, every creak in the floorboards, every snap of a twig outside. After the events of the day, the house seemed eerily still, but it was a stillness charged with anticipation. Mitch had returned with the blessed knife, the one adorned with the sacred white eagle feathers. The weight of what was to come pressed down on all of us, and we knew that the time for waiting was over.The house felt heavy with unspoken thoughts, but we couldn't linger in that silence for long. It was time to act.X had been poring over his equipment, his eyes darting over maps and old notes, looking for any clue about where Victor might be. The rest of us sat in the parlor, trying to make sense of everything we’d learned. Mitch, who’d been deeply affected by his spirit journey, sat silently, the weight of the blessed knife resting in his lap. It was clear that this had all become
I have to thank Mitch for being yet another guest writer in this journal. I don’t think you’d have a complete picture of things, dear reader, if he hadn’t recounted his Spirit Journey and if X hadn’t written earlier about his escape from Phoenix and his last encounter with Mr. Y.Mitch might have returned to the physical world, but his journey was obviously weighing on his mind, and I could see the weight of everything Mitch had learned in the somber way he carried himself. The truth about Victor and the way the darkness had taken hold of him, it weighed on all of us, and yet, there was no time for grief. We had to act. And for now, we needed to keep moving forward.The next step in the process brought us to the Dust Bowl Native American Cultural Center. With Mitch by my side and J tagging along, we made our way through the streets of town, still layered with the dust of the land, but now with a sense of urgency. J hadn’t spent much time out of the Grimbsy house, and his life before ha
Grandfather and I stood in the living room of Victor's house, though the house around us had changed. The furnishings were different, and the air seemed heavier now. It felt like a dream, or perhaps a vision, something intangible, fading with every passing second. This was it, the end of my spirit journey, the final step in this chapter of my path. My grandfather had guided me this far, but I knew, deep down, that he was about to leave me for good.His old eyes, full of wisdom and age, turned toward me, and I could feel the weight of everything he wanted to say, everything he knew he had to pass on.“Mitch,” he began, his voice soft but firm, as if carrying the weight of his entire lifetime. “This is the time. My visit was allowed only this once. The spirits, the ancestors, they knew you needed this final lesson, this final understanding. After this, it will be up to you.”I felt a lump in my throat, my heart heavy with emotion. I had so many questions, so many things I needed answers