Page 2 of Dybbuk's Detritus

Theodore “Theo” Adler 2.

Fates, I’m exhausted. I’ve been flying for days with little to no rest. My bald eagle and I are in desperate need of real sleep, non-processed food, and maybe a good wank to settle the nerves.

Unfortunately, we are so close to the dybbuk, I hate to waste time resting when so many could be in harm’s way. Double unfortunately, I’m still not sure how to stop it.

I come from a long line of proactive shifters determined to keep the Paranormal community safe from Supernatural threats. And the dybbuk is a particularly nasty one. A ghost-like soul sucker created centuries ago when the soul of a fairly wretched dude failed to cross over after death. It has survived by consuming the souls of the innocent, their bodies no more than mummified remains when it has had its fill.

The dybbuk has been operating under the radar for decades, after almost being caught and destroyed by my grandfather. I owe it to him, to my convocation, and our kind to succeed where others have failed.

Which leads me to now, circling high above Sheboygan, Wisconsin hoping for a brief respite before following the soul sucker to its next destination. I have a feeling where it’s headed, but there is no way my eagle and I can fly that far without a break.

I spot an old motel on the outskirts of town that looks decent enough to rest my eyes and regroup. Landing softly behind the building, I shift quickly, changing into the clothes I wear in a bag around my neck when flying. Most people know about shifters, but it’s still unsettling to see a grown ass naked man behind a sketchy building at night with glowing yellow eyes.

Rounding the building, I open the door to the lobby, ignoring the grating tinkling bell announcing my arrival. I ding the old-fashioned bell on the counter and wait for someone to help me.

And wait. And wait. Finally, a man I’m sure wandered the desert personally with Moses, shuffles to the counter from a doorway behind it. He eyes me up and down with his lips pursed, then sniffs. His features brighten slightly, softening. “A bald eagle? I haven’t seen one of you in ages. Where you from, son?”

I inhale deeply, drawing the musty scents of the motel into my lungs, filtering through until I can pick out his unique odor. “Rabbit?”

He scoffs, leaning his fragile frame against the counter. “Come on, if I can tell you’re a bald eagle, rather than just ‘bird’, surely you can narrow my species down.”

I mirror his stance so I can get a better whiff of him, “I want to say…cottontail?”

His lips tip into a semblance of a smile briefly, “I’ll accept it. Eastern cottontail.” He says proudly.

I incline my head in respect, “I apologize, I haven’t had much interaction with the rabbit community, and I’ve been traveling for what seems all my life.” I answer honestly. My convocation is in Alaska, at least those of us not out hunting for baddies.

“No harm, son. Let’s get you a room to rest before I have an unconscious bird in my lobby.” He teases, though, his face remains the same. When I’m given my key, an honest to Fates key, I struggle to put one foot in front of the other long enough to make it to my room.

I barely shut the door before I’m collapsing on the firm, creaky bed, face first.

I’m not sure how long I sleep before I jerk awake. My room is dimly lit with the early morning sun, and from the bed, I see I’m alone. I’m not sure what woke me, until I remember why I’m here. Fuck!

I scramble to my feet, rush through my ablutions in the bathroom, strip, repack my bag and step out into the cool air. I shift immediately, the bag around my neck, and take off, less than gracefully, from the parking lot.

There is a tug in my gut that connects me to the dybbuk. It’s an irksome discomfort that has plagued me for the last year as I track it from city to city around the world. I’m always a step behind.

Allowing that tug to guide my eagle, we fly above the city for only minutes before I’m unable to stifle the urge to land. There in the house in front of me, with its picturesque wrap around porch, blue shutters, and matching door, is the evil that I’ve been tracking. I pray I’m not too late.

Shifting on the porch, I bust through the front door to find a young woman cradling her baby, screeching to the heavens, as her alpha mate struggles to keep his soul intact.

“Shift!” I urge, the overwhelming scent of feline suffusing my nose. The woman moves behind me, the sound of her clothes tearing fill my ears. She growls and then the baby’s cries are muted into a whine as I presume it shifts as well. “Run!” I yell again, leaving her to figure it out as I grab hold of the man’s arm and pull him back. It doesn’t break the connection, only weakens it. Standing in front of the man, I ignore the chilling cold of the dybbuk and push the man with all my strength.

His eyes, dull and nearly lifeless, meet mine. His lips are cracked, and his flesh begins to harden beneath my fingers. No. No. No!

“Take…care…of…them.” He whispers. I nod, continuing to push him. That is until he just gives up, gives in, and allows the dybbuk to consume him.

I spin around and face the darkness that clouds my vision. “I will find a way to end you. You have my word.” I seethe, impotent to affect any real change until I find someone who can help me.

As I run back outside in search of the mother and child, I can’t help but get the feeling it’s laughing at me.

No matter, I will defeat it in time. I pray not many suffer the consequences of my delay.

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