Nothing hurts more than being alone at Christmas time.

  Damn holidays have it out for people like me. We just sit in our homes, staring at the television, or looking at our phones, waiting, hoping and praying someone calls to say ‘Hey, come out with us!’.

  I reached across the couch for my cane and strained to stand. My knee, or what was left of the damned thing, threatened to buckle. The metal pieces inside ached with the cold coming in from my shitty apartment windows. Years on the force, years in the military and I was stuck in a shitty apartment, on the crappy side of the city, eating left over take-out two weeks before Christmas.

  Captain Harrison told me I shouldn’t have been poking my nose around in that alley. Said they were gonna ‘look’ for the guy that shot me. It was all horse shit. The higher ups knew something they weren't telling me; trying to keep me away from whatever this was. Something was going on in that damn church and I was gonna find out what.

  I still couldn't shake the look on that creep's face when he shot me with my own gun. His damned eyes, red and bloodshot. Came out of the damn shadows. But he stopped me from shooting that girl. Took a bullet to the shoulder for her and didn’t even flinch. That shit wasn't normal.

  I looked over at my desk and ran my hands through all the files and papers I had collected; news articles about strange happenings, police reports never looked into, sightings of strange and dangerous creatures, like that huge antlered thing from the alley. It was all like those Mothman conspiracies.

  The man in the grey suit had warned me to stay away too and it only made me want the answers more. Years of hard work, and nothing to show for it but articles and clippings and a damned hole in my leg.

  I pounded the desk and knocked everything off and onto the floor. Glass shattered, and it brought me from my rage and I noticed the tiny picture frame on the floor.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” I apologized to my most treasured possession.

  When I picked it up, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach. The glass was everywhere and the frame had cracked. Even the picture was a little torn up.

  I ran my fingers along the faces of my wife and kids and I felt the sadness settle in. It was all I had left of them now, and it was ruined.

  I stumbled my way across the small apartment to my bedroom. I grasped the wall with one hand, while guiding myself with my cripple stick, into my room. Hanging on the wall were pictures of my war-time buddies. The ones I lost to, whatever the hell was going on, on Partridge Island.

  I reached for one of the picture frames, the one containing a picture of my platoon, and unscrewed the back. I removed the photo from the frame, and replaced it with the one in my hand, reverently.

  After putting my family back up on the wall, I stared at my platoon. I was the only man left on my squad; only man to come home. My hands started to shake and the lights flickered.

  Damn it, I called it to me, I thought.

  Rushing to my bedside drawer, I could feel my knee start to ache from the pressure. I threw myself across the bed and tore open the bed side drawer. Scrambling, I reached around the drawer for the old dagger wrapped in wolf skin. The shaman had said it would keep The Guilt away.

  Damn Doctor told me it was PTSD. But PTSD doesn’t kill your family.

  My head throbbed and my vision blurred; I could tell it was close. The world around me shook violently like someone was clearing an Etch-a-Sketch. I scrambled against the wall behind my bed, dragging my useless leg. I stared at the door in horror, waiting for The Guilt to come torment me again.

  It entered the apartment through the walls which shook with vibrations. The horrid, high pitched screeches followed, making my head throb even worse.

  I started to get flashbacks from Partridge Island when it came near. It injected these memories, trying to wear me down; to make me feel like their deaths were my fault. It showed me my family and what it had done to them.

  It rounded the corner to the bedroom, in a jerking motion. It looked like an emaciated grey person, void of gender or features. Nothing on its bulbous head except for that damn slit where its mouth was, no eyes or nose. Frail and trembling, it took jerking steps towards the bed.

  “Get away! Get back!” I shouted at it, brandishing the bone dagger in front of me like a tactical knife. My vision got worse as it moved closer. It crawled up onto the bed, so I threw myself off.

  When I hit the floor of my bedroom, I was suddenly back on the Island, dragging myself across the ground of the laboratory, the walls pulsing with pockets of grotesque flesh. Membranes and muscles reached out connecting shelves and birthing pods. The pentagram drawn in blood on the floor, was covered in bodies. That’s where The Guilt came from. It tore apart my squad, one at a time, hunting us down; playing on our fears.

  I struggled to crawl, pain radiating through my body, blood trailing behind me like a slug. I could hear the screams of my platoon mates as The Guilt tore through them viciously. The fleshy ground had a heartbeat, that thumped away in my ears. I couldn't breathe. It killed till it was just me left alive.

  I was suddenly back in my room, and The Guilt looked over the edge of the bed, cocking its head. A thin tongue flicked out from its slit of a mouth and licked non-existent lips.

  “Damn you, you’ve ruined my life!” I shouted, swiping at its face with the bone dagger, but it jerked back. It rocked its head back and forth like a snake, watching me without eyes.

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  I dragged myself back against the wall, and used the lip of the window ledge to help me stand. The Guilt scrambled off the bed, bending like a contortionist. It hummed and hissed in strange frequencies, like a radio that couldn't catch a station, until its head opened back like it was on a hinge and revealed its horrible mouth. Rows of endless teeth spiralling down into the abyss of whatever was inside. The screech it let out was deafening. My senses went numb.

  I could see it killing my wife again; grey tentacles probing at her body, its huge maw wrapped over her face. Draining her fear, her pain, and her life. I had shot at the thing so many damn times, I had wasted at least three clips. It would just face me and bob its grotesque head.

  And then it took the kids. It had mutilated my son. Unlike my wife, my kids could see the damn thing and they screamed as it came near them. My wife had just stood there, calm, almost expectant. But it cornered my kids in the playroom and my son stood in front of my little girl, arms out, not letting the thing passed.

  The Guilt had ripped his arms off and stuffed them down its throat, tentacles bending and breaking my poor boy in inhuman ways.

  I tried to grapple the thing, but it had strength unlike anything I’d ever seen. It flung me around the room with its god awful tentacles coming from its back, while it used its thin, bony fingers to poke and prod my daughter. When it was satisfied, it grabbed her by the leg and disappeared through the walls. That had been ten years ago.

  “You’ve taken everything already, why are you here?” I screamed at it. I cocked my arm back and whipped the bone knife at it. The Guilt screeched, but in confusion. It didn't seem fazed.

  Damn shaman and his stupid knife.

  The tentacles shoot from its back and it took jerking steps towards me, slowly. Like it was taunting me.

  “So you’re here to take me this time? Just be on with it then!” I screamed as it got closer.

  And closer.

  Closer.

  My vision and hearing was gone and everything was fading to black. There was nothing but me and The Guilt. I imagined that this was what death felt like.

  The infinite nothing.

  I heard The Guilt screech once more, like it was inches from my face. So close, I could feel its breath.

  “Are you alright?” The voice was feminine, but gruff. I looked up to see a my old partner, Nadia Sanchez, standing in front of me, armed with her pistol.

  “Did you see it? It was here again. It came back to get me." I groaned, the pain in my leg finally kicking in.

  "Jesus John, all I heard was screaming. See what?" Sanchez asked.

  "The thing that killed me wife...my kids..." I looked around the room, stunned. I realized I was shaking.

  "John, we've been through this. It was a break in. A robber killed your family. Are you taking your meds?" She asked, reaching to help me stand all the way up. I sat on the edge of the bed and rummage through the top drawer where the knife had been. I grabbed a pill bottle, opened it and took a few. Sanchez holstered her sidearm.

  "Fuck John, I thought someone was killing you in here." She said, sitting on the bed beside me.

  "I'm fine. Must have been a nightmare." I told her, glancing quickly, before turning back to my window. The rest of the force had written me off, but Nadia had stayed by my side, even when everyone thought I was crazy.

  She had initially helped me collect all the information on the Cathedral and the guy in the grey suit, but when I started looking up cryptid sightings, she left me to my own devices.

  “You wanna tell me what's actually going on Callum?" Sanchez said, patting my shoulder. I shook my head.

  "You wouldn't believe me if I did." I chuckled, remembering what the man in the grey suit had told me.

  "You realize everyone thinks you're fucking nuts right?" She said, gripping my shoulder this time.

  "Yea, I know. But I know what I saw." I told her. She knelt down and picked up my cane, handing it to me.

  "They're still looking for the guy who shot you. No luck though." She said, changing the subject. I took my cane and stood, my knee throbbing.

  “I’m having a beer, want one?” I said, moving out of the bedroom, back towards the living room. She smirked and followed me out. In the living room, I looked at the mess I had made, throwing years of research on the floor. Nadia ran her hand through her hair, and tightened her ponytail.

  "I didn't notice all that when I burst in here. You still on about your Mothman shit?" She asked.

  "It has nothing to do with Mothman and you know it." I said, moving to the fridge and grabbing two beers. I came around the other side and stared at my front door, as I handed her the beer.

  "You're gonna fix that right?" I said, motioning to my kicked-in front door. Nadia almost choked on her beer as she laughed. The door had come off the top hinge, and the chain lock had ripped free of the wall. My door knob sat on the couch.

  "Yea, I'll take care of it." She said, patting my back.

  "Good, last thing I need is the landlord on my ass." I told her.

  We sat on the couch and drank beer for a bit, engaging in idle small talk, making jokes at the expense of others at the presinct. I had missed working with Nadia and I knew by now she would have been assigned a new partner. The Captain was likely going to try and keep me away from the force with this injury or worse, put me at a desk.

  "It just occurred to me you said you were having a nightmare. Its a little earlier in the evening for that, don'tcha think?" She said, turning to look at me. She was all attitude now that she had made sure I was okay. Her brown eyes stared at me, searching for some way to make sense of the mess I was becoming.

  "I was taking a nap. The pain gets to me a lot, and I take loads of pain killers that make me drowsy. I guess they give me bad nightmares too." I said, turning away from her judging eyes.

  "Mhmm, I see you John." She said, kissing her teeth. "I know you're not doing well, but you won't tell anyone what's going on. You should have taken a leave when Diane died." She placed her beer on my coffee table and fully turned her body to face me, making it hard to not look at her. I caved, and turned to face her.

  "Nadia, I'm okay. I'm just wrapped up in a lot of stuff that I wanna see through, okay?" I told her, patting her hand.

  "Like that guy in the suit and that old church?" She said, raising an eyebrow.

  I looked over to the pile of my research and back to Nadia, my eyes narrowing.

  "Okay, so I snooped." She said with a grin. "Listen, I know you think something is up with this guy, but as far as we can tell, that guy is some youth pastor to homeless kids, and the church is owned by some shell corporation that's owned by an even bigger entity. They're probably just letting him use the space until they tear it down for condos. Is that what it's gonna take for you to drop it?" She asked.

  "Maybe." I said, sipping my beer slowly. I looked back over to the mess of folders and papers on the floor and desk. "I just can't shake the feeling that he's tied up in something more. That day in the alley..." I stopped myself. Nadia eyed me, carefully picking apart what I had said, and what I hadn't.

  "It really left me rattled. Maybe I'm just not thinking right." I said, hoping that was what she wanted to hear. She stared at me for a while and then decided to drop it.

  "I'm gonna get going, please take care of yourself John." She said quietly. I nodded at her and she left, pulling my broken door as closed as she could into the frame. I sighed.

  I finished my beer and moved to the pile of papers on the floor. As I gingerly bent over, bracing my cane for support, I began to scoop up what equated to my life's work. How pathetic.

  Discharged from the military, on leave from the police force, no family, one friend. And all I had to show for it was a pile of paper.

  Part of me wanted to blame the man in the grey suit. Had he just answered my questions, I wouldn't have ended up in this mess. But I know that I saw a monster that day, same as when I saw my own monster. There was something out there, some darkness in my city and I was gonna figure it out.

  Or die trying.