Tales of the Hidden Worlds

Stories in of incursion events


The big hunter let out a grunt of pain. The zombie had grabbed his calf with its supernaturally strong fingers--the same leg he had twisted chasing the voodoo priestess across the cemetery earlier that day. He drew his suppressed 9mm from the long shoulder holster and placed the muzzle against the forehead of the snarling beast. Thumbing off the safety, he moved his trigger finger less than half an inch. The report of the 147 grain hollowpoint was a loud “clack,” sounding more like a small firecracker than the handgun itself. The contents of the creature’s skull exploded out the back, scattering fluids and rotting brains down the back of the creature. It slumped to the ground, dead once again.

Pete McCarthy stood and looked across the vacant lot toward the bustling French Quarter, making sure that his fight with the creature had gone unnoticed. It was the middle of February in New Orleans, two days before Fat Tuesday, and the Mardi gras festivities were in full swing. With the noise of the fireworks, parties, and raucous music, there was no chance his shot was heard even a couple hundred yards away. He scanned in all around him, first to Henriette Delille St, then at the houses to the southwest. The big hunter turned back north, toward Treme St, and spotted the waiting panel van. He watched as David threw open the sliding panel on the side and hop out onto the sidewalk. The smaller hunter started across the lot, looking around to make sure they weren’t discovered. Pete nodded at his mentor and turned to the church to the northeast, and the gaping doorway to the basement.

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Written by Bryan Donihue, Published 07/18/2017

Birth of a Hunter

It had been a long day. Up at five o’clock in the morning to get ready and make the two-and-a-half hour drive to be at the range in Brighton, Michigan by 9am. The match started an hour later and lasted until just before 4pm. It was a long drive back, but it was worth it for the 3-gun match. Pete was pleased with his scores, placing second in his division and beating his previous best score. It was just past nine as he pulled his aging pickup into his driveway. He was already thinking about his bed, dreading the early hours of the following morning at his shop.

Pete shut off his truck and wearily climbed down from the cab. At just over six feet tall, he easily reached into the bed of the truck and opened the lid of the steel cargo box. He lifted out a rifle case, a shotgun case, and a range bag that was much lighter now, after he had spent all day shooting the ammunition that he took to the match. He closed the lid, picked up the gun cases, and walked up to his front door, which he now realized was standing wide open.

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Written by Bryan Donihue, Published 06/29/2017

Cleanup in Aisle 28

“Did that gnome just move?” The young woman pointed at a shelf about halfway down the aisle. 

Her co-worker wiped her long dark hair out of her eyes and looked at the woman. “Seriously, Kel. What did you drop in the bathroom?” Concern flashed through her eyes. “You know they do random drug tests, right?” 

The target of concern looked back at her friend. Her eyes absently took in the worn and dirty apron covering a purple t-shirt and jeans. “You know me better than that. I haven’t touched anything since I found out. I can’t have shit wrecking my baby.” She looked down at the orange apron covering her slight baby bump.

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Written by Bryan Donihue, Published 04/29/2017

Shadow on the Wall

Davey was terrified. He had been hearing noises from his closet every night for the last two weeks. They weren’t good noises either. There was usually a scratching sound at the bottom edge of the doorway. At other times, the clothes and hangers in the closet were rattling around, like that time he got shut in the closest and couldn’t find he door in the dark.

The first night, the boy had called for his dad, sobbing hysterically. His dad had come in and looked in the closet, making a big show of searching for “monsters” and had found nothing. “See, Davey.” His father had explained, “Nothing to be afraid of.”

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Written by Bryan Donihue, Published 11/26/2016

A Touch of Fur

The young girl tossed and turned in bed. Sweat soaked her pillow and nightclothes as she tangled herself in her sheet. Her eyelids fluttered in her sleep and she moaned, telling of the turmoil that haunted her slumber. In her nightmare, the young girl ran through a darkened woods, chased by a dark growling mass. The howling, snapping, snarling mass had long, dark hair and red glowing eyes. The lupine form snapped at her heals, and the girl screamed in terror. The young girl ran for what seemed like miles with the howling wolf at her heals. In her dream she was exhausted, terrified, and stumbling. Her foot caught on a root, and she sprawled face first into the dark soil. She turned her head and saw the jaws open. Just before the gleaming fangs grabbed her throat, she woke with a scream.

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Written by Bryan Donihue, Published 7/9/2015