This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
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It took some time for the noise to register as a cellphone, let alone Chelsea’s own.  The haze of many shots of tequila and amazing food blended with the dark hotel room. Only her dog, Bentley, warm at her feet, felt familiar. For a woman used to living out of her car, the single room just big enough for the bed seemed vast and empty.

Jackson groaned a laugh and pulled her phone out from under his head. “Yours.” 

She swayed as she sat up and barely managed to grab the phone. “Hello?”

The strong nasally tones of a native yinzer hit her. “Chelsea?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you drunk, girlie?”

“Still drunk. It’s only like three in the morning here.”

“It’s ten your time.”

“Yeah, and that’s like three for hunters.”

Rita Green snorted. “It’s more like late night– ya know what. I don’t care. I’ll call you back inna few hours. Or better yet, you call me when the hangover’s gone.”

Chelsea flopped back down, eyes closed. “Nah, I’m good. I ate a ton. Hit me with the next monster.”

“Monster?” Jack rolled over. “Is that Rita?”

“Yeah. Hold on.” She rolled on her stomach and studied the phone, ignoring the squawking from the other end. Eventually, she found the speaker button. “Okay, Rita, Jackson’s here too.”

“Hi, Rita! How is the sexiest bartender in Pittsburgh?”

“Oh, me laundry. I thought ya had more sense than this.”

Chelsea laughed. “Who do you mean?”

“I don’t know anymore. Anyway, I got something for yinz right in Albuquerque. There’s been a sighting of a crying man.”

“Men are allowed to cry, Rita.” Jack winked at Chelsea. “That doesn’t make us monsters.”

“Anyway,” Rita’s voice turn to pure steel as she stayed on topic. “I’ll text ya the address for the local haunt. Ask for Miguel.”

Sobriety threatened as adrenaline kicked through Chelsea’s system. “That huge guy with the braid?”

“No. There’s lots of other people named Miguel in the world.” Resignation rang clear. “I’ll let him know to expect ya tomorrow morning.”

Jackson snaked a hand up Chelsea’s naked spine. She couldn’t help but purr. “Probably for the best.”

“Just make sure ya hunt sober.” The call beeped to an end.

“She just wished she could have slammed that receiver. Cellphones ruined being mad on the phone.” Jackson pulled her close. “We do need some sleep before we hunt some crying dude.”

She snuggled up against him and Bentley settled at their feet once more. Warm and content as she hadn’t been since Brooklyn, she slipped back to sleep immediately.

She awoke with the evening, dehydrated but mercifully free of a hangover. Jackson swore his head was fine, but Bentley whining to go out caused pained looks. Still, they headed into Old Town as the desert grew dark.

The address Rita sent them lead to the usual: A bar, dirty, small, and full of surly regulars that eyed them with suspicion. Miguel was the bartender, to neither of their shock. Round of face and body, he had the lone smile for them, under the halo of black hair left to him.  “Chelsea and Jackson, right?”

Chelsea nodded and waved away the bottle of beer he immediately proffered. “Water, please.”

A knowing laugh came from the bartender. “Rita told me to expect you tomorrow.”

“We sober up fast.” Jack settled on the bar stool. “What is a crying man?”

Miguel sighed. “Nasty fucker and they hunt in the suburbs. You know you found it when you hearing crying but there’s no face on the person.”

Jackson laughed. “How does is cry without a face?” 

“No idea.” Miguel handed them the waters. “But you’ll hear it long before you see it. I’m glad there’s two of you on this.” He studied them for a moment. “These things are local monsters, so we know them. Nasty fuckers, but solitary. Two on one is just about even odds. They are fast and strong. They may not have a face, but they can still fight. Well.”

Chelsea got some relief as she gripped her axe. “How do they fight? Grapplers or something kind of weapon?”

“Grapplers, I guess.” Miguel shrugged. “They tend to rush in, swinging hard. And they don’t let up. They either take you out immediately or they pound what survives into the ground.”

“Oh.” Chelsea sniffed. “I knew guys like that at the gym. I can handle it.”

Miguel looked to Jackson with wide eyes.

Jack shrugged. “She’s a brawler.”

“Well, then.” The bartender swallowed. “I’m glad I’m stuck in the bar. We tend to survive here in the bar.”

“Tend to?” Jack grinned as he sipped his water.

Miguel shrugged. “Not many monsters are dumb enough to attack a haunt, but it does happen.” They shared a laugh before the bartender gave them directions to the latest sightings. Forty minutes later, Chelsea and Jackson were following Bentley as the huge mutt snuffled at the lovingly watered grass lawns. 

It was Jackson who heard the monster, though. At first, concern painted his face. Then he held up a finger. Chelsea clutched at Bentley’s leash as the crying washed over her. They turned together, heading for the sound.

The sidewalk ended before the street did, but eventually, they found themselves on the edge of the desert, following the crying. Chelsea undid Bentley’s leash and his fur went on end. She pulled her axe, following the dog into the darkness, Jackson on her heels.

The weeping lead them to a gully. The oversized ditch was dry, but the half-dead plants proved that water ran through here easily. Bentley, growling softly, slipped into the weeds. Chelsea shared a shrug with Jackson before following the huge mutt.

She froze when Bentley did. The crying continued, carried by the wind that shivered through the dry weeds. She and Bent turned to the right at the same time. The crying man still surprised them when it burst out of the tall grasses. Shorter than herself, it was thick with muscle as it sobbed at her.

The sudden movement startled Chelsea and Bentley into defensive crouches, but not Jackson. He burst past them, an ax in either hand, and leapt onto the lip of the gully. He removed the monster’s raised hands with one swipe to the left. The sobs turned to screams.

Then Jackson opened his arms, almost looking like he wanted a hug. The crying man, still screaming in pain, didn’t seem to notice. Jack’s arms closed, bringing the axes to meet at the crying man’s neck. The monster slumped over before falling into the gully.

Jack turned to her, smiling as he cleaned his axes. “Hope Miguel can send someone out to clean this up. I don’t think we can lift it. Damn thing is huge. Also, my head is killing me. I think it’s the dry air.”

Heart pounding with her fading adrenaline, Chelsea laughed and straightened her knees. “Next time, maybe we wait out the hangover.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe.”