(Year is 2021...4 years after the Personal Apocalypse)

 

Surprise was Setanta’s immediate reaction whenever a person told her how they viewed her father. Such descriptions, never told within earshot of Cul, painted a picture of a man who was either mildly intimidating, or outright hostile. This always struck Setanta as odd and unfair. Though, she was Cul’s daughter, so perhaps her objectiveness was somewhat compromised.

I guess I do kind of get it.

She had analysed this topic, as was her way with all topics. Her theorizing had led her to the conclusion that the impact Cul had on strangers arose from three reasons, which Setanta had christened the three fear factors. The first fear factor was the easiest to spot – this being Cul’s overall physical appearance. He stood closer to seven feet in height than six and possessed a back that had more in common with a brick wall than the human anatomy. This massive physique was clothed in attire that could only be described as “mercenary” – a battered trench coat fell to his knees and tanned khaki pants were stuffed into heavy duty military issue boots. “Modern day Viking” would be a fitting name for Cul’s style if it ever became a fashion trend.

The second fear factor centred on Cul’s head. While his clothing was a solid guestimation of what a modern-day Viking might look like, Cul’s face and hair were how Vikings had actually looked. He was a handsome man, as Setanta had been told many a time to her annoyance, but it was a wild, ultra-alpha male type of attractiveness. Think Conan the Barbarian, rather than James Bond.

As was the way with their family, Cul’s hair was split into three unique colours – black on the bottom; blood red in the middle; and blond on top. The black part was shaved tight, but the blood red and blonde strands had been allowed to grow long and were interwoven into a braided ponytail that fell down his back. Setanta often wondered if she stopped offering to braid her father’s hair would he decide to cut it off, or simply let it run free. The braiding certainly wouldn’t continue by his hands, that was for sure.

The most potent element of this second fear factor, and one that perfectly captured Cul’s overall threatening demeanour, was his eyes. These eyes were the type that instantly snuffed out any potential of things such as small talk or prolonged eye contact. They were steel grey, stern, and in no way friendly. It would take a brave person, or a crazy one, to meet this gaze and ask Cul did he watch the game last night. Or if he thought the weather was mild for this time of year. Instead, gulping was the usual reaction followed by a strong desire to be someplace else.

The third and final fear factor was not always present, though when it was, then it instantly overrode the first two factors. Or rather they did. Indeed, if a five foot nothing, mild mannered, bespectacled schoolteacher possessed this third factor then he or she would too be met with wide eyed stares and fearful gasps. This third fear factor possessed names as well as a breed type – they being Bran and Sceolan the shaggy Celtic wolfhounds. Much like their owner, Bran and Sceolan were heavily muscled and managed to exude an impressive amount of menace without actually doing anything. The dogs wore thick leather harnesses around their chests, with silver chains connecting them to the hands of their master.

Ye Ok, I really do get it, conceded Setanta.

With Bran, Sceolan, and his work clothes on, her father resembled a character straight from the pages of a comic book. Or straight off a Norse raiding longboat. On several occasions, Setanta had tried to convince Cul to tone it down a bit. You know, perhaps wear a tailored suit of the ilk that Finn McCool was fond of. Or even take the dogs to a groomer. Anything that could perhaps dull the air of imminent violence that enshrouded the trio. Cul would listen; he would respond with a nod and a “good idea, daughter”; and then he would change nothing whatsoever.

As Setanta was giving her father and his dogs a sceptical once over, Cul went ahead and acted in a way that encapsulated why his daughter dismayed. Tightening his grip on the steel chains, Cul raised his head to the starry sky and sniffed the air. Bran and Sceolan instantly did the same. Then all three bared their teeth ever so slightly.

‘There is evil here,’ announced Cul. ‘No doubt. The dogs can smell it too.’

Bran and Sceolan growled in agreement.

Setanta couldn’t help but sigh out loud. ‘Yes, Da, we know that. That’s why we’re here.’ She repositioned the duffle bag that hung from her left shoulder. It was light, containing only one object.

Cul didn’t take his eyes off the entrance to the Belvedere Hotel. ‘It is not enough to simply know evil is somewhere. You must also smell it.’ To emphasize this point, he sucked in a massive breath through his nose and then exhaled loudly out of his mouth. ‘Knowing and smelling. That is what is needed. You will understand this in time, daughter.’

Setanta shrugged her shoulders and smiled slightly despite her exasperation. She always enjoyed her father’s little titbits of wisdom, even though they tended to be rather odd. ‘What can I say, hay fever season is in full effect for me. Guess I’ll have to skip the smelling part.’

Cul nodded solemnly, not quite catching his daughter’s attempt at humour. He took one more hugely impressive inhalation of air before setting off at a march up the front steps of the hotel. Bran and Sceolan immediately sprang forward without their master having to say a word.

Startled by the sudden movement, Setanta hurriedly followed her father up the stone steps. Cul tended to alternate in-between two states – either being as still as a statue, or else an explosion of movement. The trick was to not jump in surprise when the latter state kicked in.

Upon reaching the front doors, Cul stepped between his two dogs and brought a huge boot up to hip height. He then proceeded to front kick the doors open.

Setanta winced at the sound. ‘Absolutely no need,’ she muttered as she took the steps two at a time.

Cul strode into the hotel lobby with the two wolfhounds padding in front of him. A man in a nicely tailored suit stood behind the check-in-desk. He had one of those funny little square hats perched atop of his head that were common in the fancier hotels. The man had been in the middle of a phone conversation when the door of his employment had been kicked in. He stared at Cul with a rather stupid look on his face. Cul completely ignored the man, his face, and the stupid look that covered it. Instead, he began turning on the spot, scanning the lobby's roof in a methodical manner. Bran and Sceolan did the same.

'Um, I'll ring you back,' said the hotel porter and put the receiver down. 'Can I help you, sir?'

'Setanta,' murmured Cul absently as he continued to peer upwards. Bran and Sceolan were following their master's eyes. The chains that held them were taut with tension.

Hearing her cue, and knowing her role, Setanta strode past her father and made a beeline for the desk.

The porter blinked in surprise for a second time. ‘Hello?’

Setanta beamed a smile. ‘Hello, there. My name is Setanta Cullen and that is my father Cul. We’re the exterminators your hotel hired to fix your little infestation problem. Something about damaged bed posts?’

The porter had returned his stare to Cul and the dogs. He managed to tear his eyes away with obvious difficulty. ‘Oh? My manager said he’d be ringing someone soon…but I didn’t realize he’d gotten around to it. Um, is it not a bit late?’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It’s 3am.’

Setanta shook her head, having anticipated this response. ‘Not at all. We prefer to work at this time so to not disturb your guests. Besides, bed bugs don’t sleep, so why should we?’ Setanta had been quite proud of this little joke, believing that a bit of humour always helped to make a lie more palatable.

But alas, for a second time that night, her joke didn’t land. ‘Uh-huh,’ said the porter as his gaze once more flickered back to Cul who was still prowling the lobby whilst eyeing the ceiling.

It was with supreme force of will that Setanta managed to keep both her business-like smile in place as well as to remain facing the Porter. She was sure that in a different reality she was currently screaming at her father to look up the words “subtlety” and “inconspicuous” before telling him that she quit. Instead…

‘Well, all we need is the room number and key so we can begin our work. It shouldn’t take us more than a couple of hours to sort your issue.’

Behind her, Cul was gently rapping his knuckles on the far wall and placing his ear to it. Bran and Sceolan were salivating all over the nice, lush carpet.

The Porter was still paying only the slightest bit of attention to Setanta. ‘Are the German Shepherds really necessary?’ he asked without looking at her.

Another anticipated comment.

On every job, without fail, Bran and Sceolan brought with them questions and concerns.

In fairness, though, it’s hard to argue with the confusion. Why in the hell would two massive dogs be needed to deal with a case of insect infestation? Or a gas leak? Or an escaped hunting dog from Dublin zoo? Actually…the inclusion of Bran and Sceolan had fit quite well into the cover story for that last one.

'They’re Celtic wolfhounds, and they’re specially trained,' replied Setanta in a matter-of-fact tone. This was her standard reply and, so far, it had always worked. She had quickly discovered upon entering the family business that if you said something in a way that conveyed the thing in question was common knowledge, then it would usually be believed out of hand. So far, not once had anyone had a follow up question...

'Specially trained in what?’ asked the bemused porter. ‘Surely you just spray the affected areas of the building to kill the insects? Why would dogs be needed?'

Well I'll be damned, stated Setanta's mind rather unhelpfully. She was, to her embarrassment, caught off guard. Setanta prided herself on her organizational skills and considering every possible scenario. This was her role in the family business – she was the brains, Cul was the brawn, and Bran and Sceolan were the teeth. Usually, it was in these exact situations where her skills came to the fore; where her ability to think on her feet and solve problems with logical reasoning sprang into action. Normally, this was when she’d showcase her undeniable skill of being able to talk her way out of any given situation; to verbally beat and batter her opponent into submitting to the reality she was creating before their eyes. Most of the time, this is exactly what happened. Most of the time.

'Emmm, sorry, could you repeat the question?'

Genius.

Then, with inspiration belatedly kicking in, Setanta snapped her fingers. 'The dogs sniff!! Um, I mean they sniff out where the nests are, so we can then figure out where to position the repellent cannisters. It’s more economical that way.'

The porter shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh. Ok. Well, here you go. Room 513 on the fifth floor is the worst affected. The entire floor has remained empty since we started noticing the damage. The elevator is over there. Bit weird that it’s only the one floor, eh?’

‘Yup. Weird. Thanks, we’ll get out of your way,’ said Setanta and picked up the rucksack. She was eager to not push her luck any further.

The porter paused in handing over the room keys. He frowned. ‘Wait a minute, did you say your Dad’s name was Cul?’

Crap.

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘So…his name his Cul Cullen?’

Damn you, Da. Setanta nodded.

The porter shrugged again. ‘No idea why that sounds familiar. Must be just one of those names, eh?’

Ah good. A moron.

‘Must be!’ said Setanta with a big smile. ‘Ok well, we’ll get to it. Like you said, it’s late.’ Before the porter could respond, Setanta snatched the keys from his hand and moved to join Cul at the elevator. They stepped in, dogs and all.

The moment the door closed, Setanta punched her father in his arm as hard as she could. ‘Ow,’ she muttered, wringing her hand.

‘Always keep your wrist straight and locked when punching, daughter,’ said Cul absently as he scanned the roof of the lift. ‘You will hurt yourself otherwise.’

Setanta glared at him. ‘I told you it wasn’t a good idea to use our real names. You should have given me time to create fake profiles. I bet right now he’s Googling “Cul Cullen”. He’ll only have to put in the first five letters before “Cu Chulainn” pops up. He’ll then soon be telling his friends that he met a man who’s name not only sounded like a mythological hero, but that the man also looked like one as well!!’

‘It matters little.’

‘It matters a lot, Da. We’re trying to keep a low profile, remember? I know you don’t understand things like social media, or online forums, or hell even the actual internet, but things can spread online like wildfire. One little mention on that guy’s Facebook page or whatever loser forums he posts on could be enough to catch the attention of people we’re actively trying to avoid.’

‘I understand more than you think, daughter.’

Setanta gave her father a deadpan look. ‘Oh really? The internet, how does it work?’

There was a pause. Cul raised his chin and sniffed. ‘Evil spirits.’

Setanta sighed and stabbed the button for the fifth floor. She had thoroughly scouted the hotel, which included formulating a cover story that would leave the entirety of the fifth floor empty. Setanta was always amazed at how easy it was to clear out a populated area in a short period of time. As with rendering a person unconscious, all it took was the correct force being applied to the relevant pressure point. In this case, the correct force had been a believable lie concerning insect infestation, with the pressure point being the utter fear that all highfalutin establishments have of falling from grace.

The Belvedere Hotel is one of the most prestigious hotels in Dublin, so when guests had started complaining about hearing strange noises in the night and waking up to find bite marks on the furniture, panic had swiftly set in amongst the hotel's management team. Indeed, the panic had been such that this team had failed to notice that the exterminators had contacted them first, rather than the more traditional other way around. It had been a bit of a gamble to do so, but Cul and Setanta had been waiting for this night for months; for an opportunity to commandeer one of the Bards’ sanctioned Hunts. They really had no other choice. Times were getting desperate.

Cul unclipped the chains from Bran and Sceolan’s harnesses. He handed them to Setanta and did likewise with the large trench coat that he’d shrugged off.

Setanta took the items without a word and passed her father the duffle bag in return.

Cul now stood bare chested. As suggested by his overall frame, Cul Cullen was massively muscled, nearly to the point of being grotesque. His muscles looked like they were straining against his skin, such was their definition. These toned muscles were enhanced in appearance by pale tattoos that encircled each and every muscle. Whether it be the massive slabs located in the chest and back, or the smaller ones in the shoulders and arms, every single muscle group had lines of intricate script tattooed around them.

'Ah, Gáe Bulga, mo chara,' murmured Cul softly as he unzipped the duffel bag. He removed what appeared to be a short spear – the silver arrowhead of the spear was connected to a haft that was only a foot in length. This silver head gleamed despite their only being the artificial light of the elevator.

Cul reverently placed his right hand around the top of the haft, precisely where it met the spear head, and then placed his left hand just underneath. Gripping the spear in front of him so that it was horizontal to the ground, Cul slowly started moving his left hand away from his right. When he reached the end of the haft he kept going and so did the haft. Cul moved slowly down the haft until he soon had a six-foot spear in his hands. The haft was made entirely from white bone. With a satisfied grunt, he gave the spear a quick twirl.

Cool, as always, mused Setanta. She had seen her father unsheathe this mystical weapon numerous times, but she was still impressed. The weapon truly was a thing of beauty. Setanta tried her best not to flinch as her father spun the spear a few more times. Elevators aren’t exactly the most spacious of environments.

The spear had been passed down through the generations of the Cullen family, with every owner having the option to rename it in their own unique way. As a result, it had possessed many names over the years, ranging from the creative to the dull, from the witty to the bizarre. Setanta’s personal favourite was the Spear of Mortal Pain. Cul chose to refer to the weapon by its very first name – Gáe Bulga – insisting he did this to honour the native Irish language as well as the spear’s origins. Setanta didn’t buy this, knowing the truth was that her father couldn’t think of a cool name that hadn’t already been used.

Cul suddenly stopped his spear twirling. 'Fatality Spear!' he exclaimed in triumphant fashion.

'Twas used back in the 1800s,' said Setanta with a grin as she neatly folded her father's trench coat and placed it away into the duffel bag. ‘Good attempt though. You could’ve screamed “FATALITY” every time you threw it.’

Cul frowned heavily and thumped the spear off the elevator floor. He scowled at the weapon out of the corner of his eye.

A small ping sounded, signalling the arrival of the fifth floor. The doors opened. Bran and Sceolan immediately stepped into the hallway; their backs were straight and they quivered with anticipation.

'Are you ready, daughter?' said Cul, glancing down at Setanta.

Any other person would not have caught the change in Cul’s demeanour. His voice was calm and in control as always, but Setanta noticed. She noticed the pain, the worry, and most off all the regret that was now present deep in Cul’s grey eyes. She smiled up at her father. ‘Of course I am. I’m a Cullen.’

Cul placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and nodded. Again, to a bystander, this would have seemed like an innocuous gesture from a father to a daughter. Once again, Setanta knew better. She knew that these two simple gestures were her father’s way of expressing the enormous love and pride he had for her.

Setanta blinked away threatening tears. These tears partially came from seeing her father’s inner torment; partially from the pride evident in his eyes; and partially from what was to come.

‘This should take only one Spasm, if any. I should…I will be able to regain control without…’ Cul trailed off and looked down the hallway. The muscles in his jaw and forearms sprang into life as he clenched them in frustration.

A small, sad smile crossed Setanta’s lips. ‘It’s ok, Da. It is what it is. Come on, we’re on the clock with this one. The real reason we’re here should be arriving in the next hour or so. We need to get this job done and get ready for him.’

Cul nodded stiffly and stepped out of the elevator, Gáe Bulga in hand. Setanta placed the duffle bag down across the threshold of the elevator entrance, to keep it open, and followed her father as he stalked down the hallway. Bran and Sceolan led the way, again without the need of a command.

Setanta felt all too familiar nerves beginning to awaken in her stomach. She did her best to ignore them. 'Ok, the first room that gained complaints is just up on the left. It’s as good as anywhere to begin. There seems to be four or five rooms that have been affected, so hopefully that means the pack is spread out. It’s definitely preferable to pick them off one by one.'

Cul straightened his shoulders and gave his spear a menacing twirl.

Setanta smiled slightly despite her growing unease. She loved seeing her father in hunt mode, knowing full well this was when he was at his happiest. Hunting, fighting, and killing things were what drove Cul Cullen. He was a warrior. It was as simple as that.

The four Cullens came to a stop outside room 513. It was at that precise moment that they heard it for the first time.

'Nibble.'

The word was barely a whisper and floated through the air like an errand breeze. The only reason they had indeed heard it was because both Cul and Setanta had been awaiting such a noise. As had Bran and Sceolan – low menacing growls rumbled from the back of the wolfhounds’ throats.

Setanta couldn't help but shiver. 'At least we know we're in the right place.'

Cul's hand tightened on his spear and he grinned wolfishly at his daughter. 'Let the games commence.' With that said, he resumed his assault on the Belvedere Hotel by front kicking the bedroom door. The door exploded inward; its lock turned into a shattered ruin on the side of the wall. Normally, this unnecessary destruction would have irritated Setanta to no end, but this was no normal night, which was saying a lot considering what the Cullens did for a living.

The group of four slowly entered the room where Cul and the two wolfhounds instantly began scanning the walls and roof. They gave the room a good once over before visibly relaxing.

'No sign,' said Cul, turning back to face his daughter.

'Are you sure? Leps have a nasty habit of hiding–'

Almost too quick for the eye to follow, a child sized shape emerged from under the bed on the far side of the room and launched itself between Bran and Sceolan, straight at Cul’s exposed back.

—————

“When hunting nibbling leprechauns is only a secondary concern, you know something serious is about to go down! Who are the Cullens planning on meeting? And, more pressingly, can they stay un-nibbled before said meeting occurs?? You know the drill, click below to find out!” :)

- Aj