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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Chelsea was raised on her father’s stories of Route 66. Theodore Childling had grown up poor, and worked hard so his daughter wouldn’t. Similar stories had always intrigued him and the histories of Route 66, the road of myth and legend that led to prosperity, were a favorite of his, and subsequently, his daughter loved them as well.

So when she’d gotten a job in Tucumcari, Chelsea could hardly contain her excitement. An authentic piece of Route 66 history. But like the highway system, the world had moved on.

The neon lights of the desert were broken and in disrepair. Most the of buildings were empty. The giant, concrete teepee full of curios delighted the tourist in her as she pulled up with the rising run, but the desert had crept up and over this particular oasis.

Once the shop opened, she grabbed a t-shirt off the sales rack and tried to find her contact. The two clerks, bronze of skin and black of hair, and looking enough alike that they had to be related, eyed her as she wandered.

Finally, one, a man with a long braid, coughed and said, “Chelsea?”

She nodded. “Rita sent me.”

The woman, her hair stick-straight to her waist, chuckled. “Yeah, she mentioned a dog, too. You can bring him in. It’s gonna get hot out there.”

Chelsea happily paid for her t-shirt and went to fetch Bentley. The backroom of the curio shop sat dusty and gray under the warming desert sun. The ancient fan whirring loudly on the table didn’t do much but blow hot air around.

The woman grabbed two waters out of a loudly humming fridge before spinning her chair around and settled on it. “I’m Kristin. My brother out there is Jim.”

“This is Bentley.” The huge mutt extended his paw for a shake and wrung a smile out of Kristin. “What are we helping you with tonight?’

“Spring-Heeled Jack.”

“Okay….”

Kristin grimaced at the fan. “It’s a monster, a type of vampire, we think. We haven’t seen one in over a century.”

Chelsea leaned forward. “Really?”

“Yeah, there was a nasty nest of them in the UK in the early 1900s. Some idiots think we need to study these things. So they captured one and brought it here. Damn thing escaped and then started breeding. It was a hell of a time getting rid of it.”

“And now they’re back?”

Kristin nodded. “The idiots who study these things think they laid down some kind of marker here. Basically, they imported a foreign species and now it’s flaring up again.”

“A century later?” She didn’t mean to sound doubtful, but it just seemed not quite right.

“Don’t ask me.” Kristin shrugged. “I don’t study monsters for fun. I just kill them before they can hurt more people.”

“Damn right.” Chelsea pushed back on her chair, tipping it up on two legs and balancing against the wall. “So what are we doing about Spring-Heeled Jack?”

Kristin smiled at her. “Well, we think we have his pattern down. These things apparently chase cars, like dogs.”

Bentley yelped, an indignant sound.

“Not you,” Chelsea chided him. “Idiot dogs.”

Bentley let out a snuffle and crawled under the table, grumbling as he settled.

Kristin’s eyebrow dipped in confusion. “Did the dog just accuse me of doggy racism?”

“Maybe.” Chelsea shrugged. “He might have felt the need to correct an outdated stereotype, but he licks his own ass, so don’t take him seriously.”

The other woman looked from her to Bentley a few times, more than a little concerned.

Chelsea raised a hand. “Meaning, we’re all stereotypes sometimes, and he needs to stay out of the conversation unless he has real input.”

“Does…” Kristin took a long drink of water. “Does he understand us?”

“Loaded question, ‘cause, like, he’s a dog. I know that. But,” Chelsea shrugged and rocked her hand back and forth. “He definitely makes his opinions known, and he seems to follow conversations. And, on the other hand, I live with him out of my car. I spend days on end with just him to talk to. So, yeah, I know what I think, but he is just a dog.”

Bentley let out a low, short growl, closer to a groan.

Chelsea had had enough though. She leaned back further and met sulky blue eyes. “Look, if you want back up front, stop stealing food from tourists. Your farts stink and I’m not dealing with it anymore. And that’s the last time I’m going to say it.”

Bentley stood up, slamming his back into the table and setting the fan to bouncing. He pranced out of the room and settled by Jim at the counter.

Chelsea rolled her eyes and set her chair back on four legs. “Sorry about that. You were saying?”

Kristin stared at her for a long moment and then laughed. “Anyway, Jack’s been spotted between here and Santa Rosa more than a few times. We think we can lay a trap for him at a crossroads.”

“And I’m the bait?” She sighed.

“We’re all bait sometime.” Kristin giggled. “But he’s never seen your car. Jim and I have chased him a few times now. He knows us.”

Chelsea nodded in understanding. “So it’s chase then?”

“Can you handle that?” Kristin’s eyes hardened.

A belligerent camaraderie warmed Chelsea. Hunters were hunters. She smiled widely. “Ever hear of Taku-He?”

Kristin shook her head.

“Well, I lead him on a chase through the prairies of South Dakota. Give Florence at the Blind Bronco a call. It’s a hell of a story.”

A laugh from the door broke the slight tension. Jim beamed at the two of them, his smile bright. “Sounds like we got the right hunter after all. Ma and Rita are gonna be so fucking smug.”

Kristin laughed with her brother. “Guess you’re right. Get the maps.” Jim vanished out the front door of the store. She rested her chin on the back of her chair. “Tell me about Taku-He.”

Chelsea took a long drink of cold water and set her mind back on the prairie.

***