Ever try to make a person out of sticky rice?

The trap was simple. Spirits are often attracted to offerings. In the case of guardians like the Ma Gà that meant food and incense. Some Nag Champa from my backseat was burning in the little hands of the rice creature we had shaped, and in the middle of its chest was droplets of Jim's blood. The old man was sitting sharpening a wicked looking knife with a thick blade, its edge gleaming in the headlights. The bolo was a favored weapon of a lot of guys who fought over in Nam, better made to handle the necessary brushwork of the thick jungle than the American machetes GIs were given by Uncle Sam.

I was given a shotgun loaded with allspice rounds. We call em allspices because they have a little bit of everything, and we're perfect when you weren't sure what would hurt your target. Rosary beads, silver shot, salt, lead, Palo wood... Bumps would hate something in that mix, and for a dumb hunter that was good enough. I'd done a little bit of shooting growing up, so Jim had trusted I wouldn't blow his head off in the heat of the moment.

The lot was abandoned, high fencing marking it for development by the local college into dorms. The steel structures were a good cover spot, and if I'd have known anything at the time I wouldn't have been near pissing my pants in fear. I'll give myself some credit: this was a trial by fire, and like it or not I made it out alive.

"You ever kill one of these?" I asked, checking my shirt pockets to make sure the shells were still there.

"A Ma Gà?" Jim replied, stopping his sharpening and testing the blade. "No. I've got a few Bumps under my belt. A bogeyman while I was still drinking, a creeper during that camping trip. Dried out a Llorona down near the border when I took that Josie boy to his folks a few months ago."

"Bumps?"

"Things that go Bump in the night. There's a whole list of them. Dream-thiefs and bogeymen, creeps and doubles, false mothers... there's a lot of things out there."

I kept quiet, rubbing my hands to keep them warm. Dammit, I should have brought gloves. It was damn near frosty out at 3am, and the whole world had settled into quiet.

I heard the rush overhead and saw the thing pounce on our decoy. It looked... almost like a chicken, but with the body of a hulking man. Bloodstained feathers jutted out at its spine and hips, and the beak that tore into the decoy was serrated and ready to tear flesh.

I brought my gun in low, and fired both barrels.

I might as well have kissed it on the head good night. The Ma Gà took the shot and turned towards me, its misshapen bird head ducking and weaving like a raptor choking down prey.

It was on me in a flash, claws digging towards my flesh, its eyes filled with hate. The Guardian wakened, and I was its meal. I tried to struggle, keeping the shotgun between us, but I knew I was a goner. One more push and it was through my guard, and I would —

I didn't even hear the old man creep up. I did feel the blood that gouted out of the creature's stump neck after the bolo went through clean. It collapsed its full weight on me, and Jim pulled it off with some effort.

And so that was the start of it. I got my license and started teaching in schools no sane teacher would go to. The schools for kids with problems. Over the years I've hunted down dozens of these monsters, using the tricks I learned from Jim. I'm happy with my life, and will continue doing it until the coroner comes to claim me.

Nancy stayed with us for six months. A very long stretch, but she got out and found a relative. She never wrote or thanked me, but I found her on social media and checked in. Two happy kids, a good wife. I hope the nightmares went away.

As for Jim? Dead almost thirty years now. After getting the thing that killed his family he found peace. He had enough time to mentor me, but I guess the missus was calling.

There are strange things out there. Some of them hurt kids. For the beasts that wear human faces? Call the cops.

But if there's a Bump in the night? Find the nightlight.