“Thanks, Tom. I’m here at St Mary’s church yard in Putney live at the scene where the last sewer hunter has just emerged victorious and here he is now,” she introduced and turned me to stand in the right spot.

“You’ve just come back from another successful mission. Is there anything you want to tell the viewers?” said the reporter, thrusting a microphone in my face. The light over the camera dazzled me after such a long time underground. I looked directly into the lens and gave them my widest grin. I remembered my training and had to keep up appearances. 

“The complaint I’d received didn’t have much detail, just the usual stuff about rattling noises and screams under someone’s house. I’ve not been in charge for long, but I’ve already hunted down two spooks and a giant sewer croc,” I said. 

“Well done you,” crooned the anchor, she smiled up at me. “Tell our viewers all about yourself.”

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Bartholomew Tringington III, but my friends call me ‘Shorts’. Don’t ask. My family has had the licence for cleaning out the London sewers ever since Sir Joseph Bazalgette built the things. And I don’t mean unblocking the fatburgs and shoveling the sh… sorry, children present.”

“Sorry if anyone at home is offended, we apologise. Well, Shorts, can I call you Shorts?”

“You can call me anything you like! Just don’t call me late for dinner.” We both laughed and she laid a hand on my arm. 

“Thanks, Shorts. Please, be careful with your language. What was it today? Another croc, a giant snake…?”

“Well today it was something a bit special. The menagerie those sewers have attracted is phenomenal. There’s the animals, the humanoids and the monsters, but the worst are the spirits. The most powerful of those is the Selkies. I’ve just had to do battle with a Selkie.” I looked down the barrel of the camera again, “Not fun kids!”

“Sounds terrifying,” she said, eyes wide, “What is that like?” 

“A Selkie will look like you least expect. Their true form, they look like.. How can I describe them? Like a seal, but if the seal was mixed with a bat and a tiger. It’s quite a magnificent sight. However, what makes them triple dangerous is when they transform into human shape. One could be standing right here and you wouldn’t know.”

“How do you know when you’ve found one?” she asked, she still hadn’t let go of my arm, if anything she gripped tighter. 

“You have to rely on highly trained and honed instincts,” I made sure my face was as serious as a funeral, “They look perfect, but too perfect. They take the people they’ve killed and steal their visage. The old ones can turn the looks they have into ideal people. Impossible to resist. Spotting a hive of beautiful people in a stinking underground sewer is not hard, they have no business being there. The hard bit is resisting the magical allure. The selkies in human form are living temptation, like a double chocolate cream cake in human form.”

“You obviously have the skills, what about the equipment? What does a monster hunter need to take with him?” She asked, she was looking me up and down, checking out my equipment. 

“I just need four things, my torch, my potion bag, my dagger and my shield.” I said.

“Sounds so old fashioned, what do they do?”

“The torch and dagger are pretty usual, nothing too weird about those. They are for taking down the animals and monsters. Both are quite useless against a spirit though. Each category of spirit has a weakness exposed by a potion. I douse the shield in the right one and then expose them to it. This shield will then open out and I guess the best way to describe it is it absorbs the spook.” I held up the shield to give the camera a good look in its bright glare. “Its a special thing, handed down through my family since it was made way back in the olden days. It looks as though it wouldn’t be much use in a fight, it is about the size of a small plate. The sort of thing posh people had next to their main plates in fancy restaurants.” We both laughed again and she stood a little closer. “It has this leather handle on the back for carrying it, and no other decoration or paint. It’s made of wood, but I don’t know which wood. It has been stained black and eroded smooth by acid and blood in the different potions.” 

It resonated with the evil of hundreds of captive souls. 

“Ohh, are the creatures in there now?” she asked, when she looked at the shield, she seemed to have forgotten she was on TV. She ran her finger down the side and it crackled with static. 

“Yes, it is full of the fallen.” I slipped it safely, reverently, back into the bag where it clinked against the collection of jars. After a short beat, I grinned back into the camera, breaking the tension the appearance of the shield had created. “London is a little safer now, and remember, if it goes bump underground, you call the experts on 0203 971 555. Stay in the sunshine, Londoners.” 

“And that’s all from me, Mary Taylor, reporting for London Tonight from St Mary’s Church yard, Putney. Back to you, Tom,” she said. The lights went out and everyone took a collective breath, like they had been held underwater and finally been released. But I wasn’t finished with Mary Taylor. I gave her a knowing, confident smile, and she returned it hungrily. I nodded my head towards the back of the church, where no-one could see us. She took my hand and led me around, into the darkest of all the corners. I was impossible to resist.