• I was in my bed when my alarm clock started bleeping. I got up and turned it off and since I was already vertical decided to go to work. I grabbed all of my normal work things, coffee, thermos, sword, shurikens, smoke bombs, colt revolver, you know, the normal stuff. I then walked out the door and got into my red pickup truck which had gotten some new shiny high caliber hood ornaments recently.
    I drove off to the police station which had a new section of building added to it where The Department of Supernatural Homeland Defense or DSHD set up HQ. Yeah I know it’s not a catchy name, leave me alone.
    The DSHD was created when a massive attack consisting of half of hell was sent to the mortal world. The attack was stopped by yours truly but now that the world knew about demons the government decided to hire every supernatural expert they could find including me.
    I walked through the door and sat down at my desk. It was covered in folders full of alien sightings and moms thinking their teenage kids were possessed. I took a sip of my coffee and started writing in my notebook. Then my assistant Greg walked in and handed me a phone.
    “This early Greg?”
    “Sorry boss. Can’t do anything about it.”
    I sighed and said into the speaker “Agent Bobagnoosh speaking”
    “Your name is really “Bobagnoosh”?” he said with a sense humor behind it.
    “Sir this is an emergency line. Either state your reason for calling or I’ll fine you.”
    “Oh, right.” his voice became more serious. “ Well I run a cemetery at the south side of town and there are these kids who keep writing things on the tombstones. I can’t recognize the writing so I just wanted to make sure they aren’t doing anything satanic.”
    “Well actually Satan is ... never mind I’ll send someone out immediately.
    I handed the phone back to Greg and said “ get Lieutenant Jessy Bobbagnoosh and grab you things Greg. Tell her to meet us at this address with some trainees.”
    “Right away boss.”
    It was about a half hour drive to the cemetery and there was my little sister right at the front gates. I got out and me, Jessy, Greg, and about five new recruits walked to the main office area or whatever you want to call it. There was a man standing outside of the office and he pointed us in the direction of the tombstones. I looked at it and said to the recruits “who can tell me what language this is written in?”
    A show of hands went up and I said to the first one “Yes you, Henry is it?”
    “Yes sir.” he said with a bit too much enthusiasm.
    “Calm down Henry, this isn’t the military. What do you think it is?”
    “Old Celtic I think sir.”
    “Close, it’s actually New Celtic, similar but with subtle differences. Who can tell me what it sais?”
    Another show of hands went up.
    “ Carlos what do you think it sais?”
    “It’s an old symbol they would put on graves wishing the dead a safe passage to the afterlife sir.”
    “Very good Carlos. You get a cookie.”
    I went on asking them at least half a dozen more questions and came to the conclusion that it wa a bunch of kids who were merely trying to be nice and pay their respects to the dead. I told the owner and he looked relieved. I then went and had a conversation with Jessy.
    She was sitting on a foldout chair she had brought in front of a rather large tombstone with my brother Freddy. I sat down next to them and looked at the name on the tombstone. It read “Martin and Jessica Bobagnoosh. We will never forget you.”
    We sat there for a few minutes and then Freddy finally broke the silence and said “It’s weird. When they were alive we wished they were gone and now that there gone we wish they were still here.”
    “Yeah.” Jessy and I said at the same time.
    We didn’t have the worst parents of all time. They were just out having romantic dinners when they probably should have been watching the kids. So what they usually did was have our grandpa babysit. He was a master illusionist and when I say illusionist I don’t mean he could make coins disappear. He would use magic to create matter from nothing and as long as you thought it was real it was. He would use it to entertain us and he would tell us stories. But once our parents learned that he was using magic to entertain us they kept him from ever seeing us again. We never understood why.
    Just then Jessy’s cell phone went off and we were all called off to a warehouse close to the cemetery. So Freddy, Jessy, Greg, The recruits, and myself all piled into Jessy’s SUV. On the way there me and Jessy discussed what to do with the new recruits.
    “How many languages is Carlos proficient in again?” I asked.
    “19 I think.”
    “We could get him a job on the communications team.”
    Carlos stuck his head past the seat and said “Really?”
    “Sure, why not.” I said.
    We pulled into the warehouse and the lights were on inside or so I thought until I saw they were green. We all got out of the car and we all grabbed our gear. We then moved to the back door and Freddy kicked in the door. That’s when we saw it.
    There were about 50 teenagers in robes all standing in a circle around a summoning circle. In the middle there was a large man about 9 feet tall with goat horns and legs. They all turned and pulled out knives. That’s when they charged.
    Well the recruits, Greg, and Jessy set up a defensive line while Freddy and I drew our swords. The line of cultist kids hit us hard but we kept them at bay. Freddy and I would keep them away from the recruits while the recruits, Greg, and Jessy would fire shotguns and keep them from overwhelming us. That’s when goat man charged past his troops and slammed into Freddy and I. We must have flown back at least 10 feet and a bit upward because we got up behind the recruits.
    Goat boy pulled a axe and started swinging at Jessy and Greg but they rolled out of the way. Jessy got off a few rounds but she only hit his leg. He screamed and moved to an easier target, Carlos. He screamed as the goat swung at him. He dodged the first three swings but the fourth struck him right in the chest. He looked down at the wound and collapsed.
    I felt a sudden burst of rage and I jumped over the other recruits and upwards right onto the back of the Goat man. I started flailing at it’s neck with my sword, cutting it to ribbons. The others had no problem with the other cultists. And after a minute or two we had taken several into custody and killed several more.
    I ran over to Carlos who was bleeding everywhere. I picked him up and got him onto an ambulance and I sat with him all the way to the hospital. When we got him there we were running to the emergency room and he woke up and said “Sir.”
    “Yeah Carlos.”
    “I only know 16 languages,”
    “Well you’re going to learn three more once we patch you up. And then I’m going to recommend you for communications team. So no dying ok.”
    “Ok Sir.”
    He died before they could get him stitched up.

    Why is my life always so disappointing?