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He stalks the night and he brings you a fright. Hood Bat is a vampire that is unkillable and is the Turnsville Dark Knight who is also the world's story as a monster that drinks blood without a single thought about it. Once a young personal detective enters Turnsville's grounds he is bound to never get out because Hood Bat lurks in the shadows waiting for the kill... View table of contents...


Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Submitted:Dec 4, 2012    Reads: 25    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   


"Brett, what is this?" Brett shrugged his shoulders and his client Mr. Bosley slid him a folder that was full of pictures typed infromation and graphic charts. "If I had to say than it is the information I gathered for you." Mr. Bosley frwoned and continued. "Brett honestly, these pictures look nothing like bigfoot. This information is bull shit, and these charts mean nothing to me at all whatsoever." Brett rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair. "If you don't like it than just give me my money and I'll just be on my way." Mr. Bosley's frown deepened and he spoke softly, "Brett take the money and get out. Your fired." Brett smiled as Mr. Bosley wrote his check and sent him away. It wasn't the first time a client of his was un satisfied with his work. It had to be at least his eightieth. Or was it his one hundred eightieth? It didn't really matter now. He was going to go home and relax without anymore annoynces for the day but, he was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

As Brett exited the building he overheard two men dressed in grey slacks and boutton down shirts conversation about a masked sireal killing going on at a town two miles from where they were. It sounded intersting enough to... investigate but he wavered the thought from his mind. Brett never got a murder case. The chances of him getting one was highly improbable.

Brett entered his apartment and sat on the couch. He couldn't stand people like Mr. Bosley. Always wanted the impossible. RING! RING! Brett grumbled and stood up almost hitting his head on the celing. His apartment was small and shabby. His sink hardly ever worked and the plumer he called hardly ever fixed the sink. She would sit there examning it than she would get to work. But, of course her butt would be hanging out and Brett would see her butterfly tatoo and before you knew it they were in bed sheets getting stained the feet would be tangled together and her jet black hair would be spread across her back while she groaned. Her name was Christene and she was beautiful. She had high cheek bones her figure was slightly thick but that was on her breast and hips and the way she walked should've been illegal. Brett and Christene had an open relationship and Brett didn't know or care for love. Brett got up and answered the old wall phone. "Hello?" Breathing entered Brett's ear and he finally, heard a raspy voice speak. "Hello Mr. Dickens. I've called because I wish to have you help me with your services." Brett smirked and lied, "The pay will have to be big. I've got MANY clients that I'm already working for at the moment." The vocice gave out a soft chuckle and responded. "I see. Well I can have you rest and assure that you will be paid handsomely for your services. How about... two million?" Brett almost choked on his spit and he sputtered, "Tw-two million dollars?!" The voice sounded amused when he spoke again. "Yes money is no object for me. THat will be your first payment. The rest will be given to you through out the case I'm about to assign to you. As you may have over heard there is a masked murderer going on in a town called Turnsville. Rumor has it that the murderer is a vampire and I would like to see if this is true. Find out all the infromation you can about this 'man.' A cab will be there for you shortly." The person on the other end hung up and as soon as he did Brett got his clothes packed. Vampire? Brett had heard sighting of them but doubted there existence from time to time. This time he was going to finally, get some action. As soon as the cab came Brett got in and he was in Turnsville within 30 minutes.





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