The Peculiar Cases of Simon Grim

Silver Shot

The soft grass crunched like a whisper under Alan's feet. Each step was laden with caution; sweat slowly dripped down his forehead as his tongue slid over his lips. His hands tightened on the handle of his rifle. The darkness before him turned green in his goggles. He kept his head on a swivel, looking for any sign of the beast he was hunting.

Alan was on a mission from the UK Ministry of Occultism. He was searching through a forest just north of the tiny village of Lividsteadt in south England. The cold, the silence, the motionlessness, all of it kept him on edge. He was deployed here to hunt the Black Beast, a wolf-like creature that has claimed five lives already. Some big shot from London named Simon was suppose to be with him, but he was long gone; Alan had no idea where he was.

Suddenly, a shadowy mass made an abrupt lunge in and out of his vision. "Shit!" Alan shouted, bolting after it. He muscled passed brush, shrubs, and low-hanging branches. With tattered breathing, he rushed after it – sure to keep a good hold of the gun. Then, the action and excitement ended just as quickly as it started. An eerie quietness once again settled over the forest. "Come on," he muttered to himself, "Come on, you furry freak! Show me where you are."

At that moment, he took notice of something, a sinister hint as to the location of his hunt. "Climb marks," he whispered under his breath, "Climb marks on the tree!"

His eyes shot towards the sky, seeing a large, black creature sat upon a branch directly over Alan's head. There was barely enough time to scream before it pounced on him, forcing him to the ground. He was crushed under the hundreds of pounds of fur and muscle. Alan struggled against the fierce, thrashing weight and strength of the monster. Desperate, his arm stretched out – reaching for the rifle. The gun contained five silver bullets, designed to kill werewolves just like this one. 

A shot rang out, overshadowing every sound. The monster flew back as a flash of silver tore into its shoulder. Alan looked back, seeing a man dressed in a black turtleneck and long, black duster. In his hand, a small revolver sat smoldering. "Hello," cheerfully greet the man, "Mr. Alan, correct? I'm Simon. Simon Grim."

Bang, bang, bang, bang. Four more bullets plowed into the creature, causing it to erupt howls of pain. It sprang back up, charging at Alan. He dodged to the side, barely escaping the claws. "Crap," Simon exclaimed, "I have only one shot left! Have to make it count!" He turned towards Alan and shouted, "Hey, I have a plan!"

An instant after, the Black Beast snapped it's teeth on his left arm, completely tearing it off from the elbow down. The arm twisted and turned as the beast tried to swallow it, blood squirting out from the torn veins. With a grotesque gurgle, the creature swallowed the arm whole. Alan looked to Simon, seeing him taking this with disturbing apathy. 

Simon casually looked at his stump of a limb, remarking smugly, "Yep, just as planned."

Alan looked at him like he was a madman, screaming, "How does any of this even resemble a plan?!?"

The werewolf howled in a satisfied blood lust when a silver bullet tore from its chest. An agonized wail came the confused creature as it stumbled, eventually falling to the ground. Blood trickled out from it's mouth and the various holes across its body. Simon nonchalantly approached the corpse. He pulled a knife from a leather holster on his belt and began to carve away at the chest. Once a reasonably sized hole was made, he slipped his right hand in. He rummaged around for a few seconds before he found his target, excitedly declaring, "Bingo!" Out from the chest, he pulled his left arm - a smoking gun still clutched in its grip. Without so much as a word of explanation, he shoved the arm into his stump. The skin and flesh seemed to stitch itself back together, any scars fading away. Alan stood there, both dumbfounded and terrified. Only a few words escaped his frightened lips, "What the hell are you?"