Page 5 of Hollow

The audience roared when they took in Jack. Some let out frightened yelps, others uncomfortable giggles, but mostly loud cheers of excitement.

Sheepishly, Jack waved a hand. No, he didn’t have a modest bone in his body, but Jack knew a little humility went a long way. And since he couldn’t exactly make his pumpkin head blush, he conveyed shyness with his body language.

After the briefest of moments, Jack let the humility wash away and threw his arms out wide, letting the remaining flyers he had flutter into the crowd. Jack’s expression shifted between deranged to menacing to some haunting cackle as he bellowed with laughter.

“If you think this mortal’s magic is entertaining, you should see what I have to offer.” Jack twisted the shadows from the projector into harrowing images of slaughter until the entire backdrop turned black.

Daxter shot him a look—one that said, ‘I’m going to figure out how the heck you do that one of these days,’ but he wouldn’t. The fact was, Daxter didn’t believe in any of the magic or monsters he peddled, and as far as he was concerned, Jack was just some human influencer hungry for views. He believed Jack held some love for the craft of old school magicians, which was true. Jack often found himself fascinated by Daxter’s sleight of hand.

After the little performance, Daxter continued with simple tricks to wow the crowd and open some wallets when he ushered them over to his little shop down the road.

Jack waved a farewell and got a toothy grin and thumbs up from Daxter as he led patrons into his store.

With the performance over and Jack’s flyers all handed out, he led Astaroth toward the forest so they could return home.

“I know you said no killing,” Astaroth said with a mischievous lilt in his telepathy, “but there’s a monster hunter on our trail.”

“Wait, really?” Jack’s shadowy eyes widened in disbelief.

There hadn’t been anyone brazen enough to hunt him down in decades. Maybe the 1970s…or was it the 80s? He struggled to keep track of the years with so many all blurring together. He should have been offended someone came to kill him, but he found himself a bit flattered. It seemed his monster presence online had perhaps garnered more attention than he realized, and his performance was so majestic, someone suspected he was an actual monster.

And yes, Jack most certainly was a cryptid of legend, but most people didn’t believe the truth, no matter how many times he declared it in his videos.

“Yep. Sniffed the fucker out a few blocks back, and he’s been lurking around trying to size you up.”

“You sure he’s not just enamored by my good looks?” Jack playfully ran his hands down his muscular abdomen, hooking his thumbs around the loops of his jeans and posing suggestively.

Astaroth stared at Jack with a pouty face. “I would consider him enthralled by your ridiculous bulbous head, but⁠—”

“How many times do I have to remind you this isn’t my actual head?” Jack pointed to the pumpkin he wore. “This is a prop. It’s for my costume.”

Astaroth squinted, seemingly very suspicious of Jack’s words and likely doubting the pumpkin was not, in fact, attached to Jack’s body.

“The point is, he’s carrying iron,” Astaroth said, sniffing the air. “Has six pointy yet pointless weapons.”

Astaroth’s floppy ears perked up slightly as he tilted his head.

“And seems to be communicating with a team via satellite phone.”

“Seriously? Deep pockets.”

Astaroth scoffed. “Please. I would buy a far more effective arsenal if I sought to dispatch with the likes of you.”

“Maybe he’s after you.”

“Hmm, doubtful, but that would be entertaining.”

“Whatever,” Jack said with a shrug. “I don’t have time for hunters. Let’s go.”

“I could kill him quickly. Quietly, even.”

“Liar.”

“Fine. But if he wanders into the woods, I’m eating his soul.”

“Deal,” Jack said, leading the way into the woods as fog rolled up around them.

Jack looked back to see the mysterious hunter rushing ahead to catch them, but as soon as he reached the edge of the forest, Jack and Astaroth vanished behind a magic cloak of fog.