A squat, grey building towered three stories high over an otherwise featureless landscape. Moonlight as faint and pale as a flickering light bulb shone over its rusty fence while the yellow tape read "DO NOT CROSS". Yet, it was Robert's job to do precisely that.

Built in Summer Hill's outskirts, the Paranormal Psychotic Encounter –PPE for short - Research Facility used to be the CIA's favorite storage bin for documents on supernatural encounters. Nobody knew why Summer Hill was such a haunted town. Those Salem mystics might possess answers, but Robert didn't care. He moved to this town because it provided better living conditions for him and his daughter. Now, it was his jurisdiction, his responsibility - no matter what the feds or the mystics said.

"Whatcha think?" Detective Phineas Devons asked. He was a small, heavy-set man with Donut food stains on his plainclothes who, despite his sweet tooth, had a strong enough physique that even Robert would not have liked his chances against him. "You think Brooks got overworked a lil'?"

"It's the only lead we have," Robert said, "The only speck of evidence moving us forward."

"You don't really believe in any of this, do you? That there's mystical mojo out there. When was the last time someone arrested a ghost or a demon? We're wasting our time!"

"Chief Brooks wants this case solved as quickly as possible! He gave us clear instructions. You will search this house for anything unusual and I will protect you from anything unusual."

"With all respect sir, I think you need to get over your ex-wife. I couldn't do my job with imbalanced hormones either. Y'know, I'm normally against gun control, but I know cuties that need gun licenses for their-"

"My private life is none of your business, Detective!" Robert snarled.

Detective Devons grinned and crossed the "DO NOT ENTER" line.

Chief Brooks had done basic research on ghost and demon myths. He observed that officers who carried crucifixes, salt shakers, as well as iron and silver items had longer lifespans. As such, Devons and Carter carried belts with all tools necessary. But for Robert, this wasn't enough. Alice gave him a rabbit foot that worked based on kinship and protected him even in the Otherworld. He carried it between his standard-issue semiautomatic pistol and a paintball gun that shot holy water balloons just in case. And he carried a chainsaw around his shoulder if anything with a weakness to cold iron showed up.

The crime scene specialists suffered no maladies, but Devons and Robert put on medical masks and gloves without question.

It was 10 PM. He was a terrible father. Marissa had changed since they moved. At first, she changed for the better. The people at her new school didn't bully her anymore and she finally found friends. But she also grew more distant. There were times when he tried to call her and she never answered, when he called her friends and they had no idea, and when he searched the whole house and he couldn't hear another soul besides him; not even that weird creature in their basement.

Most teenagers kept ugly secrets at some point, but he believed Marissa was better than that. He believed in giving her room and waiting until she told him what happened, but he was growing impatient.

While the facility was not used for research anymore, its library still attracted visitors and the building saw maintenance by Whateley University. Nonetheless, Devons opened its doors with utmost care. A good rule of thumb was to leave crime scenes as one found them.

Doors and corners. In any building, those two provided excellent hiding spots for criminals. But criminals weren't the biggest concern. His wife had already vaguely told him about the concept of Domains. The key point was that monsters could show up at any moment and if he and Devons walked into a Domain at once, it was over.

Nonetheless, they needed to maintain line-of-sight.

Through the crack in the door Devons left, Robert noticed the corpse of a girl in a kitty pajama. He did not want to enter the building, but maybe the windows helped.

He shone his flashlight through the glass pane at the girl's glowing corpse. Her throat was torn out, but he recognized the nose and the curly brown hair. No. This couldn't be. "Marissa."

Before he could process this revelation, the next shock came. His brother, his brother's son, and the rest of his extended family lay there with their mouths sewn shut and their eyeballs peeled out. Amidst those atrocious murders stood a gorgeous young woman in a white wedding gown with black hair, vampiric fangs, and a face as pale as a corpse.

"What is this?" he muttered.

"Those are your worst fears, my son," a voice said behind him as the woman dissipated.

Behind him, Robert saw a balding man with a cane. He was muscular, much like Robert was, but with a size closer to that of Denvers and a grin that made him appear as threatening as the black-haired woman. He had stains of alcohol over his plainclothes and a pinched expression that, along with his slicked-back hair, made him look like a rat. Robert recognized the man who used to beat him; his father, Francis.

"Still runnin' away from yer problems, Robbie?" Francis asked. "You're an even worse father than I was. Much worse, indeed."

Robert balled his fist. "I'll never sink as low as you did!"

"I'd have never let you get killed before killing the killer as well, my son."

Robert turned his back to his father and looked through the window. The corpses were gone. As was the black-haired woman.

A swirling vortex of rippling spacetime tore open below his feet and captured him before he could escape. It was a trap. Someone had played an illusion on him to lure him near the window, one that worked despite his protections and his rabbit foot.

Robert stumbled. He rolled down a steep slope, a slope so steep that, before he could catch his fall, his knee caught one of the jagged rocks. He somersaulted, again and again, before he came to a still-stand on the barren floor.

He lay on the ground for half a minute. Slowly, methodically, he rose to his feet and checked his pockets to see if he had all the items he needed to last against the forces of evil.

Mist covered the landscape like a grey shroud drifting in the wind. It veiled the poisonous plants, towering coal trees, and the putrid sea whose surface reflected the silver moon like black glass. Monsters that reminded him of the Kelpie or the Loch Ness monster drifted through the fathomless sea like abandoned shipwrecks. Despite their movements, they caused no ripples, no waves, and if they did, they became invisible in the velvety blackness of the water.

Robert came closer to the shore, watching the stinky, salty, slimy, unmoving, swamp-like water before him. A head rose out of it. He couldn't make out any features so long as it was covered by sludge, but the more it rose, the more of its body he saw. He saw its limbs the length of telephone poles and its body marked by exposed muscle, yellow veins, and black blood pouring out of them. It was a skinless centaur sitting like a rider on an equine body defined by pulsating muscles and pale sinews. Both bodies had their own head, the rider's featureless head rolled back and forth while the horse's enormous, one-eyed, japing mouth emitted gases that mixed with the surrounding vapor.

He heard legends of this beast. Ever since he became aware of those mystics, he made sure to do basic research on mythology. This beast, taller than the tallest giraffes, heavier than the heaviest elephants, and with a heart blacker than the deepest pits of the sea it emerged from. Nobody dared to say its name without immediately praying afterward. The Nuckelavee.

"Did you make me see those visions?" he asked the monster.

The Nuckelavee exercised its right to remain silent.

He cocked his pistol in the monster's direction. "RESPOND!"

The rider's head turned towards Robert. The horse opened its deadly, acid-breathing mouth and emitted an ear-drum-shattering scream. Robert's pistol malfunctioned from the Otherworldly matter around it.

But Robert wasn't going to run away. There were times when Marissa couldn't sleep because she feared the monsters under her bed, but he promised that there were no such monsters as long as he was there.

Before the horse's maw could devour him, Robert reached into his pockets and found what he needed. Iron nails. He threw them into the horse's mouth stunning it for just a brief moment.

Then, as it closed its mouth, he drew his chainsaw. Under most circumstances, chainsaws were ineffective weapons more likely to harm the wielder than the enemy. Unless said enemy feared cold iron.

In the brief moment the horse's jaw closed, he jumped onto its head, ran towards the rider, and cut his weapon through it as if his enemy were a garden hedge. Unfortunately, the chainsaw jammed from too much monster flesh and its teeth broke.

The Nuckelavee rider had no forehead or nose to wrinkle, no eyes with brows to lift, and no mouth that could form a harsh line, yet, despite its lack of any facial features, Robert could tell it had enough. In a split second, it closed the wounds all over its body. In the next split second, it moved its blasphemously long arms to snatch Robert like a fly.

It hoisted him in the air so that he got a better view of the featureless landscape beyond the Nuckealvee's lake. An Alder tree stood out between the dead rocks and hills. Bark covered his trunk like dragon scales while he wore his branches like a stag wore its antlers or a king wore his crown. Small willows surrounded him like daughters.

The tree swung one of its branches like a wand and let an open, crackling tome appear right before Robert's eyes. Despite its page count that put [i]War and Peace[/i] to shame, all its pages were blank, yellowish parchment. Its current page had no ink and no letters on it other than a note.

"Write your True Name here and you return to the mortal world. I give you my Word that I shall not lay a finger on any kin you might have.

The Erlking."

Robert now understood the Erlking's game. Oftentimes, he had to deal with civilians who received phone calls from people pretending to work for the FBI. These frauds used various psychological tricks and blackmail to fool their victims into divulging personal data like ID numbers or bank account data to commit identity theft.

The Erlking was similar. This vision where his daughter and his relatives had their throats torn out and the physical threat posed by the Nuckelavee were his blackmail. It might have worked on his previous victims, but Robert knew one lesson from his career. No matter who they claim to be, no matter what they say, no matter the blackmail: Never, ever divulge personal data to criminals.

Robert stared at the book and, through the sheer power of his Unawakened will, letters manifested.

In the field where he was supposed to fill in his True Name, he filled in a bunch of cuss words directed at the Erlking and singed with "Yours Sincerely, Officer Nameless".

The Nuckelavee rider who squeezed the breath out of Robert's lungs still had no face. But he could tell that it looked really, really angry.