Vic Owens: Paranormal Advisor

Ten years ago all world governments, unable to keep Pandora's box sealed any longer, did the unthinkable—they announced the existence of the phenomenon. This term covered everything imaginable: Vampires, monsters, aliens, demons, angelic beings … all of it … everything … was real. Disclosure allowed for all the otherworldly and monstrous creatures to crawl out of the shadows and step into the limelight as equals to the humans. The suits and ties expected everything to go swimmingly. They were horribly wrong.

All hell broke loose—metaphorically and literally—simmering first with riots and looting. Mass religious hysteria spread like wildfire, followed soon after (quite naturally) by the formations of murder cults. Creatures such as vampires and demons, struggling to control their natural and feral instincts, continued hunting and killing humans, which resulted in angry human mobs taking up arms and slaughtering those beings in the streets. It was pure suburban supernatural warfare.

The US government, in all its infinite wisdom, decided to intervene by assigning what they called “paranormal advisors” to every town in America. A paranormal advisor had the authority equivalent to that of a mall cop. Their duty was to patrol and essentially persuade others not to murder the opposite species. Lethal use of force was not allowed … unless it was to kill other monsters to stop them from harming humans. So much for equality of monsterkind.

Even with its small size, the town of Raven’s Hope was in worse shape than bigger cities. Violence and destruction cascaded out of control. What it needed was a heroic paranormal advisor to swoop in and save the day.

Instead, Raven’s Hope received Vic Owens …

Vic Owens parked his rusted-out nineteen-eighty-something station wagon and turned off the engine. The car was just barely hanging on—the only thing missing was the official certificate for being a bona fide piece of shit.

BANG!

The exhaust backfired, which wasn’t uncommon to him, but might be an alarming nuisance to the quiet cul de sac he had arrived in. Well … quiet wasn’t the right word, not with the annoying bickering taking place in a certain front yard. The heavy metallic groan of the car door opening didn't help tame the combatants, either.

Houses in this neighborhood must be as old as the town itself, Vic noted, taking in his surroundings as he approached the scene.

"Vic Owens, paranormal advisor," Vic said, holding up his badge and stepping in front of the middle-aged human woman with disheveled hair and runny makeup.

The woman was busy arguing with a purple monster. Vic couldn’t tell what specific breed the monster was, but could see that he had four arms and a single horn protruding from his head. He was likely college age, judging by his pockmarked face and t-shirt that read ‘party monster’. How fitting. The fully-lit frat house in the background, blaring music, and other monsters staring out the windows and elbowing each other helped solidify Vic’s hunch.

"Oh, great," the woman said with a heavy emphasis on sarcasm, throwing her hands in the air quite absurdly. "This ought to be good. I called twenty minutes ago and the city sends an elf instead of a human police officer. What woodland forest did you stumble out of? I have a d-o-m-e-s-t-i-c dispute. Now, why don’t you do your job and go tell your kind over there to shut the hell up.” She snapped her hands against her hips and her neck jutted out. Vic fought the urge to readjust her posture.

I don’t get paid enough for this bullshit, Vic thought, lighting a cigarette and taking a quick puff.

“Oh! That’s real rich coming from you,” the purple monster said in a nasally voice. He turned his attention to Vic. “You tell this Karen to mind her own business.”

Vic let the cigarette dangle on the edge of his lips, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What exactly is the problem here? And what would you like to see happen?”

The “Karen” cleared her throat. “Every night with these stupid parties. Kids today don’t have any respect. They’ve got music blasting all hours of the night through open windows, and there’s always monsters blacked out on the lawn. Some of us adults around here have jobs. Hard to sleep when you have to worry about these demons running amok.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared. One of her sandal-adorned feet tapped impatiently against the grass.

“What’s your side of the story, scrawny?” Vic asked the purple monster.

“Scrawny?” the monster replied. “I benched one-fifty the other night.” He flexed and slapped his bicep. “Oh, did she conveniently forget to mention what her adult job is? She sells drugs—a real life drug dealer. Me and my buddies buy from her all the time.”

With a gasp, the woman jabbed a finger at the monster. “You’re a filthy liar!”

The monster swatted her hand away in response. “Hands off, hag.”

The woman slapped at the monster, who slapped her back, leading to an uncoordinated hand battle. Vic stepped in the middle to break up the fight and caught a stray hand across the side of his face, knocking his cigarette to the ground.

“Enough,” Vic shouted, grabbing the two assholes by the wrists. “Knock that shit off, the both of you.” He let them go and their arms dropped sheepishly to their sides.

“Sorry,” the purple monster said.

“Hmph,” grunted the woman.

Vic picked up his fallen cigarette and gave it another light, taking a quick puff. “Now, I’m sure we’re all aware that I have the authority of a janitor … if that. I can’t do anything legally to help either of you. What I can do is what my job title states—give advice on solving a monster versus human dispute peacefully.”

“Useless,” the woman muttered.

“You’re not wrong,” Vic replied. “But, the city pays me and here I am. I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen.” He pointed to the woman and gave her the coldest glare he could muster. “You’re going to stop selling drugs to these guys. And in the extremely likely chance that you stay in character and do sell to them again, you won’t paint yourself as a victim and run crying if they don’t want any. If I get called out here one more time for a stupid argument, I’ll be sure you receive extra special attention from the people in uniforms with authority.” She gave the faintest of nods, like she understood and agreed to the terms.

“Nice, man,” the monster said, reaching for a high-five. “From one monster to another.”

“You’re not off the hook, pipsqueak. You and your little buddies need to stop being so damn loud. At least close the windows when you’re having a party. Hell, turn the music down every once in a while. When there’s people blacked out in your yard, pick them up and drag them inside. This poor woman doesn’t want to see that shit. Give her a break. She’s trying to make a dishonest living and doesn’t need to be tripping over dipshits every morning. And we’re not the same, you and me. I’m an elf—tall and graceful. And you’re … gross.”

The monster went slack-jawed.

Satisfied with the meeting of the minds, Vic smirked and went on his way, confident that his words of wisdom would keep the two from fighting anymore tonight. Both were muttering insults about Vic under their breath so, at the very least, they were now united against a common enemy. There would be a repeat call on a future evening. That he was sure of. But for now, he could go home and sleep. The car creaked and groaned and resisted starting, but finally gave in and turned over. He checked the rearview mirror and saw the two watching him drive out of the neighborhood.

After leaving the mediocre burb, Vic drove to his place which was seated on the outskirts of Raven’s Hope, an area solely designated for the untouchables. He turned the car off and rummaged blindly in the backseat, picking through old food wrappers and empty drink bottles. Brushing the garbage aside, his hand drifted, for a moment, over the old booster seat until finally finding the handles of the plastic grocery bags. He grabbed them and hoisted them over the backseat.

The trailer house he called home greeted him with warped siding and plastic-covered windows, while his boots crunched along the gravel driveway. There were no houses on either side or across the street, only woods. And this was no problem for Vic. He couldn’t stomach the idea of neighbors and neighbors couldn’t stomach the idea of him. The lights and businesses of town were in sight, but far enough away that they didn’t pay him any attention.

Things were better this way. However, he hadn’t always had such secluded thoughts. There had been a time when he was full of dreams and vibrant energy. The paranormal advisor job had fallen into his lap and he was happy to have accepted it to help people, very important people. A lot of good that had done him. Vic had found out the hard way that life doesn’t always bend to your dreams. He had watched his better life wither away before his eyes. All that was left now was himself and the bleak, cold town of Raven’s Hope.

Once inside, he set the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and threw his keys in a wonky-shaped ceramic tray on the buffet in the corner of the living room, narrowly missing the three picture frames that had been turned around to face against the wall so that only the dust covers were visible. He opened the fridge and hooked his finger around the empty ring of a six pack of cold beer and plopped down on the couch. After turning on the TV, he cracked a can and took a long drink, finishing the contents in a matter of seconds. It was watered-down, cheapest on the shelf, and tasted like how he imagined piss would taste. Then he fired up the DVD player and turned on an episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer. As the show started, a smile spread across his face, but turned sour when he looked over at the empty spot next to him on the couch. His breath caught, until a deep sigh escaped him. He set the beer in the open seat and went back to watching the show. It wasn’t many years ago that he would’ve had a companion joining him to watch their favorite show together, but a dark shadow now loomed in the unoccupied spot as a permanent reminder of things that would never be again.

He closed his eyes to relive distant memories. Mercifully, he fell asleep before the opening credits of Buffy had finished and intrusive and haunting thoughts could flood his mind, leading to another night of drinking to obliteration.

***

The next morning, Vic drove around town in his trusted car, enjoying a pop and a donut, which was his morning routine while he waited for any distress calls to be transferred to him from the city. It wouldn't be a stretch to say he’d have a better time cleaning porta potties with his bare hands. At least his job would have an actual purpose then. After driving for over an hour and not receiving a single call, he decided to park in the business district and meander on foot.

Ten years would seemingly be enough time for humans to grow accustomed to seeing monsters and supernatural entities intermingled with them on the streets, but that wasn't the case in Raven’s Hope. People were still giving Vic the widest birth possible. A woman looked right at him, then jerked her stroller off the sidewalk and onto the road, jogging to the sidewalk on the other side before looking back to make sure Vic hadn't followed her.

“I'm a paranormal advisor for crying out loud,” Vic shouted at her. “I'm not gonna gobble you and your kid up like some tasty human morsels.” He rolled his eyes at the thought. Not my type, anyway.

Of course he understood why people were scared of some creatures—vampires, werewolves, and slimy things certainly were frightening and downright disgusting. But him? C'mon. He was just an elf. He was six and a half feet of slender and agility. The only thing different about him was pointy ears and gray skin. Maybe his superhuman strength and crazy-long-by-human-standards lifespan were too much for them to handle. But those were perks, not spooky devil things. Maybe it was because he sometimes dyed his hair from its natural silver color to black, to relieve his emo phase. At any rate, he truly didn't give a shit, it just meant less people he was forced to interact with. And that was a win.

Vic stopped by a newspaper stand and checked out the headlines, which were variations of the same two stories: “Human Disappearances Continue To Concern” and “Vicious Monster Attacks On The Rise.” Reading the bold words did little to persuade him on the subject. He felt like the craziness hadn’t changed over the course of ten years, just that everyone was paying more attention now and thinking things were getting out of hand when in reality, they were just as bad at the beginning as they were today.

Bustling shops lined both sides of the street, people scurrying in and out in a hurry to continue with their meaningless days. Vic opted to stroll at a slower-than-leisurely pace, OK with the fact that his daily activities were always pointless. Through the front window of the Broken Periwinkle Café, he caught a glimpse of a young human woman with curly, dark hair and wearing black-framed glasses, sitting at a table. The only reason Vic noticed her was because of the juxtaposition of her mousy features being surrounded by tall stacks of books that might be large enough to crush her in the event that they toppled over.

Suddenly the woman glanced up from her reading and her eyes grew wide with surprise. She waved wildly and jumped out of her seat, spilling multiple coffee mugs, brown liquid running across the table. A half-hearted attempt was made at mopping it up with a napkin, but she was in too big a rush. A second later, she turned and bumped into a waitress, and fell back against a stack of books that toppled over onto her, causing Vic to burst into a loud guffaw at the chaotic sight.

Vic shook his head, unable to stop from chuckling with delight. Some random street urchin passing by gave him the side-eye and harrumphed with disapproval. “Get over it,” Vic snapped. “I’d do the same for you.” And It’s true, he thought. Why shouldn’t I enjoy a good laugh? The humans laugh at my screw ups any chance they get. Seeing humans have any sort of misfortune, no matter how slight, was enough to poke his funny bone with a devilish satisfaction. He continued on his way to nowhere in particular.

“Hey! Hey! Vic Owens!”

He didn’t bother turning around—knowing it was the girl from the café. Instead, he opted to light a cigarette that he pulled from a pocket on his high-collared duster (a wardrobe choice that humans frowned upon in the warmer spring months, not knowing that elves weren’t as susceptible to hot and cold in the same manner) and kept walking.

But the girl persisted. “Vic, I need your help.”

“I don’t sign autographs, kid.”

The woman cleared her throat. “I don’t want your autograph, turd.”

Vic froze in his tracks, cigarette dangling from his mouth, much more amused about the pg-rated word choice than shocked that someone would speak to him with disgust. As he turned to confront her, he said, “It would be in your best interest to think twice bef—”

A hand zipped up at him and smacked a thick notebook against his face. “Listen to me! There’s a giant conspiracy afoot. And you’re the only one who can save me.”