The stairs leading up to the Winding Stair Restaurant are just that, winding and thin. The restaurant itself is a unique place, atmosphere hangs on the walls, brought from pictures of the multitude of book groups that frequented the place over the years. So many hopes and dreams, the faces of the people coming forward with their hopes of somehow looking for hidden meaning in the plain face of their weekly or monthly choice of book.

It had been four years since Winding Stair had changed owners. Business had picked up, and then dropped, but the new owner didn’t care, his plan for this site was more than making money, it was making history. Bernard Lett, was just about to turn forty, and had known for years that his soul could only be saved with the death’s of all those who crossed him. He lived for vengeance, he lived to redeem his life through the ending of others. Don’t take Bernard the wrong way, his destiny didn’t involve the serial killings for others, its hard to say what it did include, all that he knew is that if his loved ones were still alive, then he would probably be planning the rest of his life without homicidal planning going into it.

Below the restaurant there is a book store, run down, tatty, the kind of place that you wouldn’t look in for that special book, unless the major book stores were out of it, even then you would want to check online first. Still though, the shop had heart. Bernard had been a teacher of secondary children, home economics they called it then, now it was domestic engineering. His two little girls, his darling wife, he adored them all, he wanted to live forever, now his life was a planned event. Revenge then death.

It was late at night, coming home from a school play, the girls Marie and Alexandria, eight years old, his wife Mary, was thirty when they were born. The official police report showed that some sort of gang violence had erupted outside the school, and Bernard’s three girls were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The report went on to say that only canine and another indistinguishable animal DNA were found. The Detectives in charge of the case interpurpted this as Animals contaminating the scene, and therefore no evidence could be found on the human attackers. Something didn’t click with Bernard, the two month’s of solid grief he went through first clouded his mind. After that he was all business. Thoughts came into his mind, the police were hiding something, and badly. He had seen enough cop movies and shows to think that a bribe may have been offered to the Garda. Then another logic came into play, if there was a bribe, then surely another bribe would secure the information. What would Bernard have to lose? After-all he had lost everything that had mattered to him.

The insurance money was more than enough to help Bernard. Mary and Bernard had made sure that provisions were set in place to take care of the children financially should anything happen to both of them. Now Bernard was the sole beneficiary of the insurance.

The first bribe went to a junior Detective. After that the grades of Detective’s went up, as did the cost. Finally the official police report into the death of Bernard’s was released. The last paragraph of the document would change Bernard’s life once again forever more.

‘It is the judgement of the city of Dublin Garda Siochana, and that of the city coroner of Dublin, that the unnatural deaths of Mary Lett, an Adult of thirty eight years, and Marie and Alexandria Lett, children of eight years, was caused by creatures who’s nature was not human. We suggest that this information should not be released to the family or the public.’

This raised more questions. Also gave Bernard a new direction, the Coroner.

The documentation didn’t give the name of the Coroner, it turned out that they were corrupt, not stupid. Thousand after thousands of Euro’s were spent, seeking information. One night, and for free, the information that Bernard sought fell into his lap. A taped discussion from the police chief himself, who had began to tape his discussions when his name was mentioned in a pay off scam. The tape was between the chief, the coroner, and someone called Talmas. Talmas didn’t speak as much as the other two, but when he did speak the others listened, and while listening to the tape, Bernard could feel cold fear running down his back.

Talmas’s only sentence, ‘We remain hidden.’ Was followed by a swift loud exit. The conversation in the room died there. But Bernard had taken all that he needed from it, Vampires and Lycanthropes were running wild in the city.

Since then, long ago, and fresh in the mind, Bernard had come to the conclusion that he needed to rid the city of this ‘vermon’. A task that he was not ready for, nor implied in the mind to do. Two nights ago, in a chat room that is full of wannabe vampires and occult followers, Bernard met a strange Canadian, just returned from Ireland. This Canadian, full of information, gave Bernard one name, Paul Synnott.

Women, especially those seeking a husband of stature, use an internet search engine, to make sure that the man they are with is the man they say they are. A useful practice for your average gold digger. This Café owner would use the Irish Occult search engine to research this name, the search engine Ugin gave countless testimonials for Paul Synnott, a hit-man of both human and parahuman. Synnott’s home page, painandagain.com gave full accounts of his work, his subtle fee, which Bernard could easily afford. There was also a reason link, which would lead the reader to see that Synott was in this solely for the thrill.

In the late eighties, Synnott was part of a paramilitary hit squad, but something wasn’t clicking. Sure killing a couple of people a week would fulfil his bloodlust, but deeper down, taking a mark out with a single shot from 400 feet away wasn’t giving the satisfaction that it used to. Then one night, the mark was in a meeting of a new faction that wanted to get involved in the situation. The thought behind the hit was that to take out the broker, who would usher the new faction in, then the group would run for cover.

Paul worked alone that night, a building across the street, a clear shot through the glass. The broker arrived early, with sunlight still shining through the glass, later Paul would realise why the others didn’t show until the sun had fully retreated.

It was the summer, in Ireland the sun doesn’t hit it’s bed until past ten at night. Part of Synnott wanted to just shoot the broker and go, but the orders came from the top, and that meant any deviation from the licence would result in Paul becoming a mark. At midnight, tired and bored, movement stirred in the room. The room was plain and above a bar, a bar that few frequented. The fact that the room was over a bar, and the broker had resorted to using liquid courage before the meeting. The amount of time that he had spent waiting meant that he was the most courageous man in the world. An hour before the guests arrived, the bartender had started to bring very strong coffee, not Irish Coffee, to the room.

As the new faction arrived in the room, Synnott thought against doing the job, when he was honest with himself, he thought that it was a Willem DaFoe, Shadow of the Vampire fan club, but better dressed.

Their appearance and clothes aside, Synnott had a job to do, the Broker looked nervous, and to be honest, in that circumstance Paul would too. Lining up the shot, the Broker had three breaths left in him before the bullet would pierce his heart, and splinter into a thousand pieces. Ready, aim, and fire, Synnott took the shot. If the situation wasn’t strange before it would get that way now. The second the bullet hit the back of the Broker, who had been kind enough to turn his back to the window, the new faction members all moved. There is ducking for cover, and then there is what happened in that little room over the bar. Those fancily dressed freaks, all moves to positions that would make it hard for Synnott to take a shot at them. Looking through the telescopic sight from across the street, Synnott tried to get a fix on them but couldn’t. Part of him respected that, but the major part of him, the professional part, wanted to at least wing one of the faction. It wasn’t an order, it was just a bonus.

Synnott had to weigh his options, although he used a silencer, the Police would still be called, the CCTV camera in the room would clue the barman that something had gone wrong. But still, Synnott wanted a clear shot at the new faction.

Standing up, leaving the sniper rifle on the roof, Synnott checked his side arm, a gloch with a shortened version of the splinter bullets that were in the rifle. Chambered the first round, and then to the fire escape ladder, ten seconds and he’ll be on the streets. Running over the distance to the bar, he placed the gun inside the waistband of his jeans. Even if someone had seen him with the gun there wouldn’t be a sound, it was common place.

The chambered round would do for the barman, who actually tried to shoot Synnott with a shotgun, the very minute Paul entered the bar. Talk about a welcome. The patrons of the bar started to flee as the first shot was fired. In his head, Synnott knew that he had little to do what he wanted, and that he was risking capture by the police, and repremand from his superiors.

The stairwell leading to the room that he had viewed from afar was dark, and a strange musk filled his nostrils. He thought that maybe the beer was off. There was no time for caution, Synnott took two steps at a time and went into the room hard and fast. It was empty, with the exception of the Broker, who was looking paler than he should. The sirens were getting clearer and closer, Synnott had two mintues. A closer look at the body, two puncture marks on the neck of the broker told Paul that the freaks were taking this fantasy of theirs too far.

By the time the sirens and all that they bring arrived at the bar Synnott was long gone, back to his home.

The modest house, with two bedrooms upstairs and a large kitchen downstairs, it was enough for Synnott on his own. Very little entertaining was done here, in fact, only two or three people knew where Paul’s house was, and the only reason they knew was that Paul didn’t consider them a threat.

The inside of the house was bare, Synnott was not a minimalist, he just never got around to buying the little things that make a house a home. He had a couch, a TV, a DVD Player. The kitchen was small, but it only housed a cooker, microwave, and fridge freezer. Not a home, but should Paul find himself incarcerated or suffering from an overdose of lead, anyone who bought the house should be able to move right in.

Tonight as Paul entered the house, there was an unusual smell, a musky, marble smell, as though every piece of food and furniture had rotted. Paul takes his pistol from inside his belt and makes sure it’s chambered. Slowly the assassin moves, he smiles as his heartbeat becomes audible. Little does he know that it is not just heard by him, but by the predators on the other side of the door. As he reaches the living room door, Synnott lowers his gun, the smell is becoming unbearable now, his eyes start to water a little. Paul places his ear to the wooden door, trying to guess what instrument of his falling lays on the other side. The sound of bated hissing fumbles through the wood into his ear.

This could be his TV just making noise, maybe he forgot to turn it off, or sometimes the freezer makes strange noises. But after what he saw tonight in the room above the bar, Synnott was not going to rule out anything.

A deep breath. Another. One more for good luck. Synnott presses through the door, ready for a fight, ready to kill or be killed. But he finds himself alone. The darkness of the living room space greets him alone, he flicks on the light and nothing, a slight pain in his eyes at the brightness, but other than that nothing.

It takes a moment for him to relax his firearm, to adjust to not having to fight. Creeping a smile at his nerves, telling himself that he is too jumpy, and it’s not like his being to be this way. Only when he relaxes, and forgets about the smell, that it happens.

Opening the door behind him were the members of the other faction. To his credit, Synnott finally realises that these aren’t human, or maybe somewhere in time they were, but that is looking back, when their present incarnation should be thought of more. Now Paul realised they are Vampires. The shock reaction, that is to fire his weapon until all the bullets are gone, he does. But the lead hits them and falls to the ground. Doubting his correct conclusion, Paul believes that they are wearing body armour, one that he has never seen.

Then, when the three creatures reveal their features to him, their fangs, their bursting blue veins on their faces, Paul is no longer in any doubt.
Three Vampires, clothed the same, all with a stare towards Paul, as though they hadn’t feasted in a year. Thinking bent, Paul believes that he can get to his arsenal upstairs, his knives might help him. But in order to get up the stairs, unlock the cupboard, and choose his weapons well, he would have to first get by the reason he needed the weapons.

Paul turns to run to the kitchen, when another being is before him. A young man, wearing combat clothing, but no Vampire features, no hunger in his eyes. Milo Harmen, young, full of adventure and spirit. Paul thought that Milo was human, at last a being that could be killed easier. Paul started to think about all the Hammer Horror films that he had seen in his life. Nothing in them could be used in reality. “If you want to live, get behind me.” Milo’s voice was calm and authoritive. Two or three people ever gave Paul orders, you could now make it three or four. Paul stood behind Milo, who was standing at the frame of the kitchen door.

Behind Milo, Paul looked around the kitchen, if only he had bought kitchen knives.

The shield of the hunter fell as Milo took to battling the Vampires. It was outstanding, hand to hand combat, the skill of Milo outstanding, it took him only two minutes to turn the Vampires into ash.

Breathing deeply, Milo regained his calm exposure. Something stirred itself to life inside Paul, long had he felt that his thrill of killing was subsiding, but the renaissance had started.
“They may come for you again. You should move on, I won’t be here to help. I’ve got to go.” Milo’s serious tone said more than his words. With that the hunter left, leaving the ash remains of his Vampire foes.

The point of having little to no luxuries in his house came to the front. Packing a holdall with a change of clothes, his gun, throwing knives, and all the cash that he kept, Paul lit the rag in a petrol bomb and left home. With a new purpose, and a new smile, Synnott now wanted to hunt those creatures that he believed fiction until that night. In his heart he didn’t want to rid the world of evil beings, he wanted to kill something that could easily turn the tables on him.

Back at the café, Bernard was sitting at a window table, looking at the city rush itself to night time. At the entrance of the café, older, and still with a wicked smile, Paul Synnott, stood, a large leather case being carried in one arm, and a large Cuban cigar in the other. Bernard smiled, an unfamiliar exercise for him.

“This time of day, I almost love this place. You know the city is about to become peaceful.” Bernard let his smile fade.

“Well, it won’t last.” Paul came over to Bernard’s table. The heavy leather case is placed on the table, Synnott opened the bag and revealed a massive array of sharp objects, all made from silver, all designed for one thing. Paul and Bernard shared a smile and looked out to the resting city.