I hadn’t seen my father in five years when he called me yesterday evening. I didn’t even know he had my number, and when he explained that he was in town and needed to see me, right away if possible, I almost refused. Growing up, he’d be gone for months at the time. Usually off on some bizarre get-rich-quick scheme or insane “adventure”, and a couple of times for temporary commitment in a mental hospital until he got centered enough to be deemed fit for release. Either way, I’d counted his absence the last few years as a blessing, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to let him back into my life after all this time.
The thing that made me hesitate and ultimately agree to meet was how he sounded. When I was young, he would get cheerfully, almost aggressively, manic—he had all these plans and ideas and endless confidence on how he was going to succeed at this or that. Be rich, be famous, gain some knowledge or insight that had eluded lesser men before him. When he was like that, he was more than a little terrifying, and if you tried to talk him down, he usually turned on you. His smiling enthusiasm quickly became a sullen frown, and the words you meant out of love and concern were held up as evidence of some kind of betrayal. Over the years, I’d learned to be on my guard and choose my words carefully when my father’s voice sounded too happy or bright.
But last night, he sounded the opposite. His voice was dry and tight with stress and fatigue, like a thin ghost welling up from the core of him—a core so fragile that the slightest bump might split him in two. And there was no confidence there. Only a mournful species of dread, with the weight of each word being pushed across to me with effort and foreboding.
When I asked him what was going on, what was wrong, he paused for a moment and then reiterated that I needed to meet him and that he would make everything clear. I had a flash of when I was thirteen that made me grip my phone harder.
Us standing in the kitchen and me telling him that he shouldn’t go, that we needed him at home and that Mama was getting sicker. When he’d turned toward me, his eyes had been bright and strange, and I noticed he had picked up a knife from the counter. It was only for a moment and then he seemed to realize what he had done. Putting the knife down, he’d given me a smile and walked outside.
After that, I swore I’d never try to stop him again, and if he ever wanted help, he’d need to find it somewhere else.
Remembering that, I almost refused and hung up, but he seemed to sense that. Started begging me to meet him somewhere public—the parking lot of the library downtown, maybe. He sounded scared enough that I offered to have him come to my house, but he quickly refused. Said he couldn’t come to where I lived or worked, or anything else connected to me. That it wasn’t safe. But that he did need to meet with me, because I was the only one he could trust.
I’d begun rooting around in my desk drawers while he talked, and when I found the folding knife there, I slipped it into my pocket. Then, swallowing my own misgivings and fear, I said yes.
My father wasn’t as I expected to find him. Since his last disappearance five years before, I’d assumed he’d probably devolved into some kind of homeless crazy person as he continued to spiral down. Talking to him on the phone, I was imagining a dirty, bearded man draped in thrift store cast-offs and an aura of crazy that baked off him like heat.
Instead, he looked much like I remembered from the last time I’d seen him—neatly dressed, with a small, well-kempt mustache and hair that was long but clean. He might have been waiting to go to dinner at one of the restaurants downtown if not for the oddity of waiting by the fountain outside the public library instead of two streets over where there were more lights and people and reasons to be out in the night.
Parking nearby, I got out quickly. I didn’t want him coming over to my car, much less getting in, so I was better off going to him. Patting the knife in my pocket, I waved to him with my other hand as I approached, trying to keep my face and voice neutral.
“Hey Dad.”
His smile was awkward as he ducked his head in a small nod. “Hey, son. I…Listen, thank you for coming. I know it’s been some time.”
I gave a small laugh that sounded bitter in my own ears. “Yeah, you could say that. So what…”
“Did you have any car trouble on your way over here?”
I blinked at him. “Um, no. I don’t think so. Why?”
Looking relieved, he waved my question away. “I’ll explain that to you. Why I asked, I mean. But first, I need to explain to you where I’ve been and why I haven’t come around in so long. And why I called you now.”
I’d stopped a few feet from him, and now he gestured for me to come sit with him on the fountain’s edge. Coughing awkwardly, I shook my head. “No, I’m good where I’m at. But yeah, sure. Tell me.”
He frowned slightly at that, and seemed about to argue when his face fell slightly and he gave another ducking nod. “Okay. Well…you know how I used to be. Always looking for something, whether to make more money or find something special.”
I gave a small snort. “I remember Mama working double-shifts and taking care of us because you were never there.”
My father seemed to wince slightly at that. “You’re right, of course. I wasn’t a good husband or father. And I see now that my mistakes, my weaknesses, were leading me down a path that…well, I’m not in a good place.”
I felt a flicker of anger stir in my chest. “I’m not giving you money, if that’s what this is about.”
His eyes widened. “Money? No, no. I have money. Plenty of money. That’s part of why I needed to meet with you.” He glanced around. “Are you sure you won’t come sit with me on the fountain? Please?”
Sighing, I looked down at my shoes as I shook my head. “Dad, what the fuck is this? Are you off your meds again?”
“No. This isn’t me being crazy. I just…just listen. Okay? Can you just hear me out?”
I wanted to say more, but I bit the words back and just gave a nod.
“Okay. Good. So when I left the last time, it was because I’d found a way into some new circles. People that trade in very specialized goods and knowledge, among other things. I know you think your old man is a kook, but I’ve actually gotten very good at smelling bullshit, so imagine how excited I was when I decided these people were legit? There was money to be made, sure, but more than that, it felt like my chance to join an exclusive club that really understands how everything works.”
“How what works?”
He gave me an exasperated frown as he gestured to the parking lot around us. “Everything. Oh, Todd, there’s so much more to this world than what they’ll tell you. This world and others. And the people in power, the people in the know? They’re the ones gatekeeping. You find something out you shouldn’t? They put you in a looney bin or disappear you. The only way past their gates is to become one of them. To be of service. For me, that meant being a broker of rare goods.”
Sniffing, I took a step back. “Are you saying you’re a drug mule?”
“A drug…no, God…Look, there are people dealing with things most people can’t even comprehend. Invaluable items, information, those kinds of things. But they sometimes have to be bought and sold, right? And they look for certain kinds of people to handle that business for them.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Someone like you? Because you’re so reliable?”
My father snorted. “Touche. But you have to understand, they have very specific criteria. Ideally, they want people without ties or that are going to be seen by others as unreliable, even crazy. It makes it easier if they ever tell someone they shouldn’t or need to be disappeared.”
“Okay…but again, why is someone going to trust you, or someone like you, with their priceless shit?”
His expression hardened slightly, and I wasn’t sure if he looked angry or proud. “Because as big of a piece of shit as I was to you and your mother, I’ve always been predictable. I’ve always gone after money and the things that really mattered to me, and to those things I’m loyal. Dependable.” He sniffed. “So to those people, who have plenty of cash and secrets to share? I’m just what they’re looking for.”
Nodding, I glanced at my watch. It was already after eight. “Okay, fine. What does any of this have to do with me?”
“I’m getting to that.” He paused then, peering into the deepening twilight for a moment before looking back to me. “Four months ago I was offered a job. Picking up a small artifact in Poland and smuggling it to London. Customs isn’t really the issue for something like that. Even if they found it, they wouldn’t know what it was. But if someone on the inside knows you’re carrying it…well, that’s where the real danger is supposed to come in.” Waving his hand, he went on. “Anyway, I’m on the way to the drop-off in Bayswater when I get a call. The transaction has been delayed. They want me to hold onto the object for an unspecified amount of time. I’m about to object when they say they’ll pay me an extra five grand a day and imply that doing this favor was a way of proving myself. Of progressing toward the real inner circles. So I said I’d keep it safe.”
Glancing around again, he pulled out a tightly-folded purple silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket. Unfolding it, he held it out for me to see. It was hard to say for sure in the amber-tinge of the parking lot’s lights, but I thought he was holding a small but thick silver hook. I glanced up at him and then back to the hook. It was clearly well-made, looking both strong and delicate, with carvings along its side and a ring of silver at the base that looked designed for a string or chain. Still, how was it special or worth a bunch of money or trouble?
That’s when he told me where the hook had come from.
I met a guy once a few years back that told me that as a species we are now, at the pinnacle of humanity’s information technology, more ignorant than we have ever been since the early days of man. The problem is accessibility, he said. When you make so much available at the click of a button, it’s overwhelming. People don’t know what to believe, but they yearn to believe something, so they find one thing and believe it without question, discarding everything else and complacent in their arrogance and their ignorance. That idea of the general population, it’s shared and cultivated by the people I work for. I’ve seen pictures of it hanging in offices and homes that date back hundreds of years. All variations of the same picture.
It’s a man surrounded by mounds of books. They’re to his left and to his right, they tower over him. He’s even sitting on a pile of books. And in his hand, he’s clasping a book so tightly that you might think it’s a life preserver. He’s squinting from behind a pair of thick glasses, and it’s clear from his expression…at least in the best versions of this tableau…that he is a fool, but a self-satisfied one. For all of the books around him are the same, and when they have titles at all, they are nonsense.
They call these pictures, or the scene they represent, The Blind Scholar.
For the handful that aren’t blind…well, the world is much deeper and stranger than you’ve been taught. It is filled with many things that you might call fantasy or delusion, but I assure you are very real. Magic…real magic! True terror and wonder there. And things that aren’t human, but have knowledge and culture far deeper and older than our own. They are sometimes mentioned in superstitions or folk tales, of course, but we’re all too smart and modern for those now, aren’t we?
One of those things is called a nachtjager. It has other names, as it exists everywhere to one extent or another, but I learned about it from an Austrian woman who was raised by her grandparents in Germany. They lived at the edge of the Black Forest, and would always tell tales of the nachtjager, or night hunter. She said it wasn’t just a fairy tale to keep her away from the woods, but a real danger that she saw play out a couple of times growing up. Times when locals would go missing and be found later, hanging from trees with most of their skin gone.
Because the nachtjager is true to its name. It is a hunter. And while it is terribly strong and fast, it relies more on its intellect and cunning when it goes out to look for game. Some of the stories talk of a lonely traveler meeting a nachtjager on a road. They think it’s a chance encounter with another man or woman, at least until they see their schirm…ah, she said it means “shield” or “umbrella”. Maybe here it means both.
The nachtjager has two large wings, skinless and terrible, like the bones of a bat, but rather than spread up for flight, they curl down to the ground. When they wish to appear human, they can tuck them against their back, but when they unfurl them, they can cover their entire form with their span, as though they were in a bony cage or hiding behind the ribs of an umbrella.
That is part of why they hunt, you see. When they meet an unsuspecting wanderer, or they corner someone in the woods, they fall upon them, use their tools upon them, cutting long strips of flesh from them while they still live. The nachtjager licks the stolen skin and cures it almost in an instant—it becomes sticky and more durable, covered in a million little crystals left behind by the slime of the thing’s tongue. These crystals…they act like biophotonic structures in a peacock’s feather, but they don’t just diffuse light into a colorful display. They bend the light, and when the strips of flesh are applied to the thing’s wings, it can shift and shudder its stolen skin in such a way that its next victim will not see or hear it when it comes.
“Just…just stop.”
My father looked up at me, confused. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s wrong? You’re telling me about some forest monster that skins people and uses their skin for its fucked up bat wings so…what? It can turn invisible?”
His expression darkened. “Arrogance and ignorance walk hand in hand. You’re better than that.”
“No. I’m so tired of your haughty, crazy bullshit. You’re the same as when I was a kid. You always know better. You were too good for your life. For your family. For me. You expected us to kiss your ass when you graced us with your presence for a few months, but I heard the nights you cried to Mom and begged her to take you back. Promised to change. To take your meds. To not leave again.” I snorted. “And look at you now. Still the same crazy fuck.”
Face red, he stood up and shook the silver hook before wrapping it back into the purple cloth. “I’m not crazy. This…this belongs to one of those things. It was taken ten years ago and has been shuttled around ever since. No one keeps it long because the nachtjager always comes looking for it. I didn’t find that last out until I started questioning why I was getting paid to hold onto it so long. They wanted to try and trap one, using me as bait.”
I rolled my eyes. “So what, you’re being hunted by this thing? And you come here and drag me into it? Thanks, pop.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. They can’t cross water. Can’t even approach you from behind if your back is to water. The chance of something following me here all the way from Europe, I don’t see how that’s even possible.”
I stared at him, my stomach cinched tight with anxiety. I didn’t believe him, of course, but…he didn’t sound crazy either. Not exactly. Maybe someone really was after him and he was just dressing it up in a bunch of spooky bullshit?
“Okay, I’m about to walk away now. I don’t know what you’re involved with, and I don’t want to know. But don’t contact me aga-“
“Five million!”
“I don’t know what the fu-“
He took a step forward and then glanced around before stepping back to the fountain. “Five million dollars. I have it in a bank account in New York. If you take this, it’s yours. I can give you all the information. You can verify the money and the transfer before you ever take the artifact.” He waved his hand. “On your cellphone or whatever.”
“Fuck you. What, is this some stolen thing you’re trying to dump on me? No thanks, I have a decent life and I don’t need you fucking it up.”
My father was growing pale now, and I could see a bead of sweat on his forehead as he leaned forward. “Ten million. It’s all I have. I don’t care what you do with it after. The man who hired me to obtain it is already dead.”
“I’m gone. Don’t contact me again.”
I started to turn away when something stopped me. Maybe the softest, muffled music of metal ringing against metal. Whatever it was, my father heard it too and his eyes went wide.
“Oh God. It’s here.”
The night next to him rippled and then unfurled, shifting impossibly as two flashes of silver lashed out, hooking into his face and chest. He began to scream, but in a moment he was yanked forward and then he was…gone.
But no, not gone. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I could hear his muffled cries—barely audible but still close by, though my eyes told me I was alone. Shuddering, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the knife, unfolding the blade before raising it up in my trembling hand.
“Let…let him go.”
There was no response, and the sounds of my father had grown silent as well. Was I still sure that the thing that had him was still in front of me? Heart pounding, I started looking in every direction, straining for any noise, searching for any disturbance in the air or on the ground. Nothing. I was helpless and blind out here and for all I knew, it could be coming up behind me right now.
A thought occurred to me and I looked at the fountain. Dad said they can’t cross water or sneak up on you if your back was to water. Terrified I was walking into the monster, I darted over to the fountain and put the back of my legs to the marble lip of its basin. When the fountain idea occurred to me, it travelled with a darker twin thought, but I pushed it aside. I needed to worry about surviving and trying to get Dad free of…
A slit of darkness appeared in the air before me.
It was as though a curtain had been slightly parted, a small window into the world behind the world. In truth, I was looking into the shadowy interior of the creature’s shield, its umbrella. I could just make out my father’s terrified face on the ground at its long, clawed feet. A silver chain was wrapped tight around his neck, and his cheek was painted red from the hook buried deep there. His body was harder to see, but in that glimpse, I could make out strips of raw meat where his skin had been flayed away. I saw all of this in a second, before my gaze was pulled away by something moving toward me higher in that dark.
I could see its eyes. Milky and large, they glowed softly in the shadow of his bone wings and stolen flesh. I thought I could make out a large, hooked nose and a pair of thin lips, but it was hard to say and I was too terrified to look closer. Too scared to do anything other than stare and hold out the small knife in front of me like a protective talisman. It was then that it chose to speak.
“Why do you defend this thief?”
Any other time, hearing the deep, intelligent voice coming from this impossible monster would have provoked a thousand thoughts and reactions, but not then. Fear of that depth and purity strips away any curiosity or wonder. It leaves only living or dying and the truth that lives within that choice.
“I…he’s my father. I love him.”
“Your father is a thief and liar.”
I swallowed and gave a nod. “I know. I’m sorry. But you have your hook back. Can’t you let him live? I’m sorry he stole and lied.”
I thought I saw the creature’s lips twitch upward in their shade. **“He did not lie to me.” **
Frowning, I did lean forward slightly now, despite of my fear. “What do you mean?”
“I was here while you talked. He pretended he didn’t know I was still hunting him. That I was close. He knew. That’s why he put his back to the fountain. Encouraged you to do the same.”
I leaned back again, the edge of the fountain digging into my legs painfully. “But…he said you can’t cross water.”
“As with much he said, a distortion of the truth. We cannot approach another near water if we have to cross it to reach them. It’s a child’s trick, and offers no real hindrance at all. But you are not a child, and your father has betrayed you.”
“I don’t understand.”
A soft, coarse laugh and then, “I think you do. His attempt to get you to join him at the fountain wasn’t a father’s love. He didn’t want you taken before he could hand off his burden. Could try to turn my anger towards you.” It gave a harsh noise that might have been a groan or a growl. “As though I am a dumb animal to be fooled or dissuaded.” I saw the chain running from my father’s neck jerk tighter. “He is the only fool here.” Its eyes narrowed. “Or am I wrong?”
A small part of me wanted to argue. To deny what it said and defend the man that I should be able to trust. Should be able to love. But this strange, terrible creature was being honest. And in that moment, peering into a horrifying world I didn’t know and didn’t want to know, so was I.
I dropped the knife.
“Take him.”
The creature gave a small, smiling nod, and then the night closed in again, leaving me alone.