Preface to "Monster Hunter"

I was five years old when I met the monster under my bed. First I heard a muffled shuffling, like the noise the neighbor's dog made turning in a tight tail-chasing circle before he settled down for a nap. But we didn't have a dog.

I clutched my stuffed rabbit, Sister Resistance, and told myself there was only a mouse under the bed. A friendly talking mouse, like the ones in the books Mom read to me.

Then I heard, quite distinctly, a burp. I didn't think mice burped, at least not loudly. A fishy smell wafted up.

Maybe if I'd shrieked or run to Mom, my life would have taken a more normal course. I might have become a beekeeper, or a race car driver, or a quantum physicist.

Instead I leaned down over the edge of my bed and hissed, "Be quiet."

In the dark, behind a scattering of toys and fugitive socks, a glowing orange eye looked back at me, a single oversized insectile compound eye in an undersized puny brown monster. Even at five, I couldn't be scared of a monster no bigger than Sister Resistance.

"Go away," I told it. "This is my room."

The glowing orange eye slowly blinked at me. "Prithee," said the monster in a raspy growl. "May I stay until thy mother hath read the nightly fable?"

"Ummm. You want to listen to Mom's bedtime story?"

"Exactly so."

And that's why I became a monster hunter, seeking out the remnants of the supernatural, trying to create a refuge for them. That's why I became a monster hunter. As to the how of the matter, you'll have to read the book.