Blue Collar Hunter - Part 1


The security light kept putting him off.
It was hard enough keeping his concentration right now without the blinding light piercing the corner of his vision every time it caught sight of his movements. Couldn’t they have found somewhere quieter to do this? It was his fault though; they were in a hurry and had to do it right now. He’d regret this tomorrow probably, but right now he was enjoying it despite the heaven-strength light flashing on and off, illuminating the scene like some seedy strip club.
The girl’s legs wrapped tighter around his waist as she let out a low moan, her wet breath condensing against his ear as he thrust deeper into her. She bit down slightly on his neck and be damned if he didn’t quite like it. He couldn’t remember her name, but it was on the tip of his tongue he was sure; Kate, Kerry, K-something…or was it Michelle? Never mind. His thoughts were more in the moment and anyway they’d slip away after and odds-on never see each other again. One night stands weren’t a first for him, but admittedly this was the first since he’d started seeing Claire from Human Resources. He was sure he felt guilty somewhere deep inside, but right now with her (Jennifer?) pressing herself close to him, moaning, pushing her tongue deeper, probingly into his mouth it certainly wasn’t the over-riding emotion. Her legs were smooth and rubbed silkily along the side of his chest where his shirt had bunched up. He thrust into her again enjoying the feeling of conquest and oncoming orgasm. She bucked her back; arching against the wall, her body tightening against his – she was going to come before him! That was a first for him; “this girl must be really horny” he thought, the words making his balls tingle just a little more. His conscious thoughts slipped further away. The strobe effect of the light lost its bothering tone as he felt the flush of heat spreading from his loins. The shadow that crossed in-front of the light would have been a cause for concern (and dampened his ardour instantly) if he’d ever seen it.

It slipped through the shadows of the alleyway like a wounded dog, cautious, creeping, right up until it was ready to strike, then no longer acting wounded, the ‘dog’ charged.

He could feel it coming, any second now and they’d be nothing more than a sweaty tangle of limbs, individuals once again; breathless, damp, sticky individuals. They’d smile at each other, go back into the club and go their separate ways. The smell hit him first before his body’s other senses could catch up. Something that smelled like shit wafting up to his nostrils, setting his senses on fire, the taste of iron in his mouth; his own blood which rushed to fill the void around their tongues. He came automatically, his body unable to stop what it had started as his eyes rolled down to see the gaping wound in his belly. The creature’s claws had disembowelled him effectively; if a little untidily. A coil of intestine looped out of the wound before his knees started to buckle. The girl broke away from her own private reverie to see her one-off lover fall to the ground, dragging her with him in a mess of untangling internal organs and thick bodily fluids pumping out of him and onto her, mingling with the warm semen starting to run down her thighs.

The creature’s eyes burned; its own senses torn between the choice of instant feeding or the chance to secure a meal for later. The girl started to scream, pulling herself up from the mess on the floor, her feet sliding through the slime and threatening to dump her back on her ass. She looked up into its eyes and seeing nothing but death staring back knew she was already dead, the monster just hadn’t killed her yet. She looked down one last time at the body of the man she’d just known so intimately, tears streaming down her face as the creature circled slowly, growled a low guttural sound then leapt atop her; claws slashing sinew, tearing through flesh, finding bone and not stopping even after the last gurgle had choked out of the hole in her throat. Then, satisfied with its kill the vampire knelt down in the warm pool of its victim’s blood and began to feed.

Vampires eh? Whatever happened to the dandy, cliché spouting fops with frilled lace cuffs on their velveteen jackets? Or better still the toothless, romantic idealists who are forever losing themselves to an English beauty? Maybe, if the worst came to the worst, perhaps the sullen strangers of the night… you know the ones seeking redemption for their past actions?

Not a fucking chance.
Twice as bloody unlikely on my patch.
So like everyone else on the planet I’m starting this blog, letting the world see what I do for a living, baring my soul online so that countless teenagers looking for porn (hint – try typing ‘porn’ in the search engine) can stumble across my great big life-whinge. So that you the reader can see the shit I put up with on a daily basis, what my team goes through, what happens in a job that most of you don’t even give a second thought to. I’ll try and update this page regularly/whenever I get time to myself to fritter away on such a vanity project. And for those of a nervous disposition; it’s going to have some fucking bad language in it.
Online blog site – 05/09/05


Welcome to the world as it is today.
A world full of shifty politicians, overly biased press organisations, over-inflated bus fares, third world poverty, chewing gum-spattered pavements and the hoodie menace. A world where your hard earned council tax goes some miserly way towards our department’s yearly budget. And a world where vampire hunting is another low-paid, piece of shit job – we’re currently ranked somewhere between Rentokill and animal control, the modern day equivalents of Van-Helsing’s lackeys (would Van Helsing ever get hired by the city council? – maybe if he got struck off the medical register…) And don’t even get me started on those stupid “pro-life” vamp activists that make my job twice as hard as it needs be. Like my life really needs to be any tougher.

When the world was woken to this menace nearly six years ago, we thought for a time that everything would change, that the world would have to start again, learn everything from scratch. Of course that was without our foresight at how political spin on the whole phenomena could soon subdue the masses. What started as panic and uncertainty quickly metamorphosed into something akin to police cracking down on local dealers or red-light districts. And of course taxes went up to fund the whole endeavour. Which is where I come in; Robert Stanley Mann, committed Wiganer and ergo major-league pie fan. Stan to my long suffering work colleagues when they think they’re being clever – Rob when they’re not, Robert or Mr Mann to Richard Aithie my immediate superior and department head. Robert Mann, vamp’s nest exterminator, dismemberment expert and all round bad motherfucker.
Or, to put it in council rhetoric: “Afterlife crisis resolution”.
What it actually boils down to is this; on a good day, lots of sitting around drinking tea, finding new combinations of biscuits to dunk in tea and exploring the science of brewing said tea. On a bad day things get messy. We’re not only supposed to flush out any nests, but like New York rat-catchers we have to kill them and clean up after ourselves. I don’t suppose anyone wants us leaving black bin bags full of internal organs and sunlight blackened ash on the pavement for collection a week on Tuesday…

It’s a risky job too, damned risky. Not just from attacks by the actual vamps but any incidental contact too. Just a scratch from one of those suckers can get you any number of blood-borne diseases. Some new diseases have even cropped up since the dead decided they didn’t necessarily want to stay that way. Science is rushing to catch up but it is already ten years behind a five year old problem. We’ve lost a number of our guys to carelessness and plain old-fashioned bad luck since the agency was formed, but the core group of us has been here since day one. Maybe it’s true what they say about the staff who are there from the start of a new business; they only stay because they’re like frogs in a pan of water. Drop them in when it’s boiling hot and they’ll jump right out, start them off in cold water and slowly heat it up and they’ll just sit there and boil to death. Stops us realising how badly managed our job has become. That’s probably as near as dammit, but we’re good at our job and its something we’ve made our own – it might not be nice work and sure I’d rather be off rubbing tanning cream on supermodels backstage at Paris fashion week, but I’m neither gay nor lucky enough to catch that break.

Anyhow, high risk means high job turn-over, whether through work-related mishaps (could being separated from your head really ever be construed as a mishap?) or plain old fear for your life or getting a proper nine-till-five job; which means we nearly always have a junior on our team. A trainee, greenhorn, work-experience, intern, whatever you call them, as long as they make good tea they can stay on the team. Now the worst thing about taking on a trainee is the risk factor involved with picking the right person. Interviews somehow never really weed out the freaks and gawkers. Probably one in four applicants is a fang-freak, people who just want to get close to a real vampire, think it would be “kinda neat” to see one in the flesh (as it were) think that all that Lestat business is…well, the business. Swear down I’m not lying, our last intern lasted a grand total of three days. On his first clean-up he stopped to take pictures of one of the vamps; whilst it was charging at him.
Got some good snaps too…we had the film developed after the ambulance crew removed the camera from what was left of his chest cavity.

So now we have a new guy starting with us later this week, said in his interview that vamps killed his mother, so I don’t think he’ll be stopping to take any pictures. But people that have had someone taken away usually just have revenge on their mind and that makes them just as dangerous and careless as any other sort of wacko, so I guess we’ll have to wait and see how he turns out. Not to mention how long he lasts.

We’ve had a call-out to a farm in one of Manchester’s outer, outer, suburbs so with the team one short until the intern starts we’ll be heading out to investigate and possibly exterminate on site. Because it’s not a local call-out we don’t bother with spotters (we only tend to use them in built up areas where there’s lots of places for vamps to hide). Besides, the farmer who called us says they’re taking up residence in one of his barns. He only found out after losing a farm-hand so at least we know one thing – they’ve fed recently and will be faster and stronger as a result. That means we’ll be using extra caution when we go. Vampires that have recently fed can cause us a lot more trouble than I’d like. We suit up, grab our gear and head out to the van.


Red brick, crumbling and dusty to the touch dislodges and falls onto the collar of my uniform. Burnt orange, iron-oxide coated hinges cold next to my face. The metal rubbing slowly against metal, the noise shrill and piercing next to my ear as we wait, my breath holds tight in my chest as I peer through the narrow slit of space between door and frame. I can see two of them moving around, no sign of any more but that means nowt really. If they smell us too soon then the plan is a bust and hell breaks loose. I’ve managed to stay downwind of them so far keeping my scent mainly to myself and my uniform (which is good because this nylon nightmare doesn’t half generate a unique aroma). I glance over to my left and see Dave coming up alongside me on the opposite side of the barn. He reaches the door and sneaks a look through the hinge-gap too. He looks back across to me and using our specially developed (read – stolen from S.W.A.T) silent hand signals tells me he sees two of them loitering inside. I agree with his numbers and we signal to the rest of the team to take up their positions. They move to their points like a finely tuned team should, carefully and quickly.

Once everyone is ready I take the canister from my belt and pull the pin gently from its holding. I double check my angle then toss it in through the gap in the doors and turn away waiting, for the phosphorous grenade to go off. The blinding light burns through the doorway and a second later Dave and I bundle through it, axes raised and ready. The vamps are reeling from the flash-bang still, it burns their eyes and senses in a way that only sunlight could better. With them disorientated, I change my stance as I charge the nearest. My axe comes down clean and the head rolls towards me as the body falls to the ground, its momentum keeping it running towards me for a moment before it falls. Dave scores a straight hit on his target also and we immediately look around for any more activity but all is quiet. The rest of the team have secured various points in the barn and are keeping their eyes peeled too.
Dave looks across at me. “Is that it? I was kind of expecting a little more.”
“Yeah, quiet for a big hideout like this.” I reply looking around at the huge barn we are in. “Thought the farmer said he’d seen more than five or so too?” Mike adds as I tighten my grip on the axe, six years of the job teaching me that when I think shits going to go down it usually does.
“Keep checking and watch the perimeter.” I whisper.

The team break off from their holding position and begin to investigate the barn a little more. Over in one corner is some old farming machinery that looks like its seen better days (Wednesday 21st June 1902 or so…) with the rest of the barn stacked with sacks of cattle feed and equipment. As I take in the air and the smells of the building, a solitary strand of straw falls past my ear along with a little dust.
“Above!” I shout as the last three vamps drop to the floor amongst us. John and Frank tackle one to the ground and begin to stake it, but it’s putting up a fight and starts dragging them around the floor as they attempt to subdue it. Carl slides through the dust and tackles the second to the floor, Mike and Steve jumping in to help. Dave and I get the third. It gives us both a quick evaluation before choosing to take on both of us at once. Our axes strike as one, both meeting at chest height and taking some of the fight out of the vamp. Another swing and I remove one of its legs disabling it further. I press my boot down hard on one of its arms, pinning it to the ground. Its other arm flails at me, the long ragged nails aiming for my ankle. Before it’s razor-sharp claws can lay down on my skin Dave’s axe separates its hand at the wrist. He pins down the bloody stump with his boot as I pull a stake from my tool-belt. It slides in easily, the fetid vamp’s breath stinging my eyes as I hammer the wooden shard deep into its black heart. It gags on its own brown, sludgy blood then lies still. Carl has staked his target too, a crimson spurt across his uniform a memento of another days’ hard work, somehow Steve and Mike got away clean from Carl’s brutal bit of impaling. John and Frank however, seem to have struggled with their vamp. It’s managed to get back to its feet but they are able to lift it off the ground before it can get any more leverage and hoist it up and onto the dilapidated farm machinery. The spiked barbs burst through the vamps chest and pin it to the machinery causing it to struggle even more and scream the whole place down. John and Frank pause to catch their breath as we all walk over to offer assistance.
“Are you playing with that thing?” I needle.
“Bit rusty eh?” adds Mike.
“Shut the fuck up and pass me that stake, I lost mine over there somewhere” replies John.

Dave passes him one of his stakes. John wipes his hands across his trouser legs and grips the wooden dagger, resting the point on the vamps chest as it continues to struggle and scream.
“Will you shut that thing up” says Frank. “Damn screaming is going right through my skull”.
The stake pierces flesh, sneaks between two death-brittle ribs and finds its mark. The toughened piece of muscle that makes up a vampires heart is punctured and frantically fluctuates as if attempting to remove the hunk of wood itself. One last final flutter and then it’s as silent and still as the vamp within which it resides. John eases back his grip on the stake and we take a chance to take stock and check for any injuries – luckily we all made it through unscathed. We drag the bodies out of the barn and over to a bare piece of ground where Frank is unrolling the requisite number of body-bags for today’s hard graft. Carl is trying to sponge off some of the blood that cakes his uniform.

“Damn stuff won’t come off, it’s thicker than the wife’s Sunday roast gravy” he mutters.
“You should try that Vanish stuff, it gets most of my stains out first time these days,” chips in Dave.
“Uh might do that then” replies Carl “as long as it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg for some pissy little amount” he adds.
“Well it is a little expensive, but it’s either that or hand washing and scrubbing…” Dave replies.
“Fuck that for a game of soldiers” barks Carl and we all laugh at the thought.

And that’s it, a day in the life of an exterminator; tension, fear, violence, blood, camaraderie and washing tips. As I said, welcome to my world.

Blue Collar Hunter - Part 1


Joined July 2008

  • Artist

Artist's Description

First part of my long put-off horror novel attempt. And for any funny buggers who say “it should of been put off longer” I’m waaaay more critical than you could ever be :-)

desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

10% off

for joining the Redbubble mailing list

Receive exclusive deals and awesome artist news and content right to your inbox. Free for your convenience.