Hi everybody! (Hi, Doctor Nick!)

Just kidding. My name is Stephen King Reincarnated for those of you who haven't read any of my stories, but you can call me King. I'm seventeen and obsessed with Twilight and Supernatural. I've read at least half a dozen Twilight/Supernatural crossovers, (my favourite being 'Not As It Seems' by princessangel396), but I have a different idea on how to entwine them.

I'll apologize ahead of time; the boys will not be in this story. I am so sorry, but they would only distract the female readers.

For those of you who read the summary for this story in my other story, Firestarter, I have made some changes over the past few months. These changes are mainly; when Bella made her deal with the Crossroad Demon, Charlie is not alive, and Bella does not possess powers from hell. There are a few other changes as well, but I'll go into that later.

It's been a pleasure speaking to you. Enjoy the first chapter of Hunter.



March 13, 1993.

This one was different. Her eyes, piercing and deep brown stared up at me accusingly from her crib. I could sense the power inside of her. It filled me with the first stirrings of warning. I'd learned over the centuries to trust in my feelings, but this child was perfect.

A faint noise alerted me that I was not alone. "Charlie?" a young woman's voice questioned. "Is she hungry?"

My face was hidden. She couldn't see my eyes; otherwise, the former Hunter would not have mistaken me for her innocent husband. "Shhhh!" I hissed.

The girl was too tired to care. "Okay," she said quietly. I sensed her as she went downstairs and knew I didn't have much time before she discovered her husband in front of the television.

I cut open my wrist and my blood dripped onto the child's face. Her mouth opened and her pink tongue flicked out, tasting the liquid. Her face scrunched up and she gave me an angry look. It almost made me laugh. The power I sensed inside of her seemed to grow. It floated around her like a black haze before vanishing back inside of her. Yes, she was perfect. She was much more powerful than the others were. But, this was to be expected. She was a Colt after all.

"Bella!" Her mother, Renée was coming. That was my cue. I disappeared, watching from a distance as the Hunter lifted up the six-month-old girl. Bella made a cooing sound as she recognized her mother.

The panicked Hunter took her baby into another room and I decided it was time to leave.

Bella's POV

March 13, 2010.

I woke up screaming. My hands went in front of my face to block an expected blow only to smack into something hard. My screams stopped and I ran my hands over the obstacle. It was wood. My hands stretched to the sides to find more wood. I was trapped. Oh, dear God, I'm in a coffin!

My breathing sped up as I began to panic. "Mom!" I tried to call, but my voice was soft and my throat was raw and sore.

Calm down, soldier!

Immediately, I relaxed. Renée's voice soothed the panic. I couldn't do anything if I was freaking out. My hand went to my leather jacket's pocket and I found what I was looking for. I flicked on my lighter and the pale light was such a relief. I hated the dark.

I held the flame away from the wood. My eyes widened as I realized I was completely screwed. Renée had never prepared me for this. She'd taught me how to escape from locked rooms and how to untie rope from my hands, but she'd never gotten around to the whole, buried alive thing.

I swore. I'm a Hunter for god's sake. A Colt for that matter. Colt, like the gun…like the weapon! My right hand went to the back pocket of my jeans and I almost started crying with laughter. My knife, my perfect, wonderful, beautiful knife rested inside my back pocket.

I pulled it out and almost kissed the curved blade. It was small but deadly. It folded up and rested neatly in my jean pockets without being too obvious. My blood was still caked on it from earlier. It was dried and fading; not at all something you'd expect. Blood tended to evaporate pretty quickly. That was strange. It must have happened years ago. Time certainly seemed to be passing quickly down in-

I cut myself off. Now was not the time for that. I took a deep breath, put my lighter out and stabbed through the coffin's ceiling. Dirt, rocks, and bugs poured in, but I was ready. I crawled through it all, my eyes closed. I clawed at the dirt and finally my hand reached the surface. I dragged myself out, gasping in beautiful air. I stood up and looked around.

Goddamn it. My grave was unmarked, but that wasn't what freaked me out.

The trees. Every tree around my unmarked grave had collapsed away from me. It was like some freaky crop circle. I shook my head. This was a really stressful day.

I spotted a road and began heading down it. Maybe somebody in a hover-car would take pity on me and give me a ride. Was anyone I knew even alive anymore?

I kept walking, and half an hour later I found a store. I didn't have any money, but maybe they'd let me use the bathroom. A car was parked outside. It looked like an old, beat up Sentra, probably from 1985. It was nothing like Renee's Impala.

The bell chimed as I entered. I looked behind the counter. No one was there.

"Hello!" I was painfully aware that my voice sounded like someone had poured Clorox down my throat.

Nobody answered. I grabbed a few bottles of water and went to the bathroom. I was washing my hands, leaving a coating of dirt in the sink, when I saw my arms. The scars I'd accumulated over the last four years were gone. I pulled up my shirt, (the shirt I'd been wearing when the hellhounds attacked had been replaced with my black and blue ACDC shirt), checked out my stomach, and then turned around. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw my tattoo. It was a Devil's Trap. You get a demon stuck in one, and it's like a satanic roach motel. It also kept you from getting possessed. In my line of business, that was a must.

I spotted a newspaper on the counter. The date made me freeze. March 13, 2010. Good God. I was only down there for four months? This was actually good news though. It meant there was a good chance that Renée was still alive.

I grabbed a bag of M&Ms and some beef jerky on the way out. Sue me! I was hungry. I downed an entire bottle of water. Apparently, hell makes you thirsty. As an afterthought, I shimmied the cash register open with my knife and grabbed a handful of twenties. I'd need the gas money. I hotwired the old Sentra and took off towards Bobby's salvage yard. He was practically my uncle. He'd help me figure this all out. If I hurried, I'd give him the most memorable night ever.


Bobby Singer's Salvage Yard was a dump, but I loved it. Bobby used to let me help him fix cars when I stayed with him. Renée couldn't always find a place for me when she went Hunting. Bobby was one of her closest friends. He loved me, but the last time I'd seen him speak to Renée, he had her at gunpoint and told her that if she ever went near his house again he'd shoot her full of buckshot. I could remember him showing me how to write out my homework in Japanese. Bobby always said I was a smart kid. He also said I had a smart mouth, but that was partially his fault.

It was dark by the time I drove up to his house. South Dakota weather was still pretty chilly in March. I huddled in my leather jacket and stuffed my hands into my pockets. Rumsfeld, Bobby's German Shepherd, marched up to me and sniffed my hand. He sat down and wagged his tail back and forth. I pulled out a slice of beef jerky from my pocket and gave it to him. Rumsfeld wolfed it down in two bites.

"Well, well, you'd think you were starving or something, buddy. Where's Bobby? Go get Bobby!" My voice became high and excited. Rumsfeld barked loudly and ran to the door. He whimpered and scratched at the door.

"Rumsfeld!" Bobby's rough voice rang out. He opened the door and leaned outside. "What're you barking…?" He trailed off as he spotted me. His eyes widened comically.

"Hey, Bobby," I said, smiling.

"No," Bobby whispered. My face fell as he backed away. "You can't be here. I've got protection symbols everywhere!"

Oh, I'm such an idiot! I've been dead! In hell! I'm practically a walking corpse.

I held up my hands. "I'm not a demon, I swear! I'm still me, see!" I pulled out a bottle of water and rolled it over to him. "Go ahead, bless it. I'll down the whole thing."

Bobby picked up the bottle and stared at me. He pulled out a cross from underneath his shirt and began to mumble a quick blessing. Once he was sure the water was holy enough, he rolled it back to me. I saw him reach for his knife. I knew that if something went wrong, I'd be screwed. I picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap. I held it up to my lips and took a gulp. When I didn't immediately spit it out, screaming that it burned, Bobby relaxed.

"See?" I asked. "I'm still human."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "But, how are you out? I saw your body, Bella. You were as dead as disco."

I looked down at my hands. "I have no idea. I woke up in a pine box this afternoon. I climbed out and found this gas station, stole some money and a car…oh, and food. Do you have anything to eat? I've only had some M&Ms and beef jerky. I'm starving."

"Of course." Bobby ushered me in. I saw him breathe a sigh of relief when I walked right under a Devil's Trap without getting stuck. He made me sit on the couch and went to the kitchen. I heard him rummage through the fridge before he put something in the microwave. I heard him open a cupboard and set something down on the counter.

As I waited, I looked around his living room. There were books and protection symbols scattered all around. At least three coffee cups sat on his coffee table. I leaned over and realized he'd been researching. I turned the pages of one of his books. It was in Latin. As I read, I realized he'd been trying to find a way to summon a spirit. I looked in the coffee table's drawer and found a Ouija board.

"A-hem," Bobby interrupted roughly. I looked up, guilty. He rolled his eyes and held out a bag of French fries.

"Thanks," I said. I took the bag and stuffed a handful of fries into my mouth. "Oh my god! This tastes like deep-fried crack!" I grabbed another handful and kept stuffing my face. They were a little too salty…

Oh, right. Demons didn't like salt either.

I gave Bobby an, "I know what you're doing" smile and finished eating.

"Bobby, where's Renée?"

Bobby wrinkled his nose and sat down next to me. He grunted. "You're not going to like it."

I panicked. "She's okay, right?"

He patted my shoulder soothingly. "Of course she's alright. She's Renée Colt." I gave him a little half-smile. "It's just…when she found you after…she was just so guilty. She got herself involved with someone she saved and she's been Hunting with him. His name's Phil. Let me say this straight; he's pathetic. He's not cut out for this life."

"Is anyone?" I asked. I didn't allow myself to feel guilty. I'd done the right thing.

"You Colts seem to be. I mean, Hunting at age thirteen? I thought Renée was off her rocker, but you are one amazing kid."

"I know," I said, smirking. Bobby gave me a warning look that told me to smarten up otherwise I'd be smartin'.

"So, where is she?" I asked again.

Bobby leaned back and sighed. "Last I checked; she was wandering around in Kansas, looking for that psychic, Missouri. But if I had to wager a guess, I'd check out Phoenix, Arizona. You might want to call ahead this time. Renée still shoots first."


I managed to make it to Phoenix in under a day. I was exhausted. Bobby had given me a new car, a white Cadillac Deville. The last thing I needed was to be picked up by the cops for car theft. Bobby promised to return it to the gas station, but I'd bet my eyeteeth he chopped it up to sell the parts. It didn't matter to me.

I found a phone booth and searched for the yellow pages. I found the first one and called for information. "Hello, is there a Renée Antilles there?" I asked. I listened to the answer and smiled. "Great! Can you tell her that her daughter is coming to see her? Thank you."

I took a deep breath and drove over to the hotel. My hands felt so sweaty that I was afraid they would slip off the steering wheel. I pulled into the parking lot and almost cried as I spotted the Impala. I wanted to curl up in the backseat and sleep. I walked inside and saw her.

"Hi, mom," I whispered.

She looked awful. Renée never wore much makeup, but she'd always looked nice. We wore mostly second-hand clothing, but nothing too ripped or stained. I saw that her hair was greying and I was sure she hadn't had so many wrinkles around her eyes the last time I'd seen her.

Renée did something completely unexpected. She hugged me.

"Jeez, mom! No chick-flick moments!" I squirmed. Renée laughed. It sounded forced, but it was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.

"Let's go inside the hotel room. Bobby called; he said you passed the test. You're really back." I wondered if she was going to hug me again, but she just smiled and looked at me as if I was the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen. I wondered if this was how she and Charlie had looked at me when I was a newborn baby.

Renée knocked on the door and gave a man, probably Phil, a password. We walked inside. I immediately scanned the room for threats. There were two guns, disassembled, on the table. A knife was tucked under the left pillow on the bed. If things got bad, I could swing up into the ventilation shaft just above Renée's head. The walls were covered in papers depicting a series of murders as well as information on whodunit. It felt like home.

"Woman in White?" I asked, noticing how the deaths seemed to have started after the deaths of two children and their mother. The WiW's MO was that she finds out her husband is cheating on her. In her grief, she kills her kids and, realizing what she's done, kills herself. Occasionally they come back and begin to kill adulterous men. There are some sad ghosts out there.

Renée smiled at me. "You haven't lost it," she commented.

I rolled my eyes. "Of course I haven't lost it; I'm Bella Colt, the second greatest Hunter in the whole, dang universe!" I tilted my head up and looked down my nose at Renée. She smacked the side of my head playfully.

"That you are. Bella, this is Phil," she said, pointing to a man wearing a jean jacket and green sweatpants.

I tried not to wince at his outfit. "Pleased to meet you Phil, hope you guess my name," I said, holding out my hand. Phil looked confused as Renée laughed.

"Yeah, you're you alright!" Renée said. She draped an arm over my shoulders and led me to the bed. "Do you remember what happened?" she asked.

Of course, Renée asked the question I'd been dreading. I told her as much of the truth as I could. I remembered going out that late November night and buying something to drink. I hung around at the park until the hellhounds came acallin' but by that time I was so drunk that I didn't even feel anything. Then, it was lights out until I woke up yesterday afternoon in a pine box.

"I dug myself out of my own grave! It was so cool! I was like The Bride from Kill Bill, only I used my knife instead of kung fu," I told her.

Renée seemed only too pleased to hear that I didn't remember anything from hell. I was glad I lied to her.

She looked away, suddenly anxious. "Bella, I need you to follow this one order for me, please?"

I nodded. Following orders was what I did best.

"I need you to stop Hunting."

I stared at her, not comprehending. Hunting was my life. I quit school at the age of thirteen to Hunt full-time with Renée. She couldn't tell me to give up everything I'd worked so hard for!

"Why?!" I demanded. I was questioning an order. I never questioned orders.

Renée sighed. "The other Hunters will hear about it. They'll know you came back, Bella. They'll be scared. You know how they feel; what's dead should stay dead."

I jumped to my feet. "This isn't fair!" I yelled. Yelling, questioning orders, I was on a roll with my teenage rebellion.

"I know!" Renée yelled back. "It's not fair that I was injured so badly that you had to sell your soul to save me! It's not fair that that red-eyed demon bitch made you swear you wouldn't tell anyone otherwise the deal was off! It's not fair that I've spent the last four months trying to find a way to get you out, and just when I think I can start to move on, you show up at my door and you're still you! I can't lose you again, Bella. You're going to live in Forks. You're going to finish high school! And you're never Hunting again!"

I shut my mouth. Renée gave me orders and like a perfect soldier, I would follow them. "Yes, ma'am," I answered.


Forks, Washington was my dad's hometown. Charlie died three years ago; heart attack. I always felt guilty that I couldn't spend more time with him.

Before he died, he took out a huge life insurance policy. He wanted me to have some money for the future if he died. I inherited over two hundred thousand dollars at the age of fourteen. Renée told me that the money was mine. She wouldn't borrow any from me. Now, I was glad for it. It meant I wouldn't have to get a real job to pay the bills.

If there was one awesome thing about this whole ugly mess, it was Renée's car.

No…my car.

I turned up the stereo as ACDC blasted through the speakers. "Don't try to push your luck! Just get out of my way! 'Cause I'm back! Yes, I'm back! Well I'm…ba-ha-ha-ha-ack, ba-ha-ha-ha-ack! Well I'm back in black! Yes, I'm back in bla-ack!"

Renée's 1967 Chevy Impala was mine. I'd grown up in this car. I'd spent more hours sleeping in the backseat than I had in a bed. Renée had taught me how to do my times tables while in this car. I'd read the entire works of Shakespeare while in this car. I could pick out the grumble of its engine from three blocks away. It was sleek and black and mine!

The other parts of this order sucked. I had to live alone until I graduated. I had to get good grades so that I could go to college. I had to get a real job and never do anything related to Hunting again. Basically, I had to play normal.

Nothing could be more humiliating for a Hunter.

I pulled into the driveway of my new house. Charlie's place had the feeling of being about to fall apart, but I knew from experience that it was tough. The white paint was peeling and a few of the windows and doors needed oiling, but I knew how to take care of it. Renée made sure I knew what to do.

My story was that after Renée remarried, I decided I wanted to finish high school without having to move around. I'd been home schooled for most of my life. Phil was a minor league baseball player. He wasn't big enough to be noticed by any sports teams, but he still needed to move around every couple of weeks. I felt that staying in Forks until I graduated would help me with my socialization, (ew) and help me get into a good college, (double ew).

School would have to wait. I needed to ghost-proof the house. I took out my two duffle bags from out of the trunk of my car and went inside. The house was equipped with my basic furniture needs. I didn't watch very much television anymore, but it seemed rude to sell it. My laptop, a gift from the credit card companies that we screwed over on a daily basis, went in my bedroom.

My bedroom was all right. I wasn't planning on spending any money on prettying it up. It had the essentials, a bed, desk, bookshelf and even a rocking chair. I hung my clothes up in the closet. I'd need to go shopping for some new clothes soon. Jeans were crucial, as well as layers of shirts. The layers were to keep me from losing too much skin off my arms if a ghost threw me across the asphalt or something. I'd learned that lesson the hard way. Besides, it was cold in Forks.

I stacked the books I'd brought on the bookshelf. I'd organize them later. I opened up my other duffle bag and got down to business. I pulled out my Electromagnetic field meter, (EMF). It was sensitive to the magnetic activity that ghosts sometimes gave off. It's standard equipment for ghost hunting. Fortunately, the house was clean. I tucked it back into my duffle bag and grabbed a couple big bags of salt.

Salt is a pure element. Demons, vengeful spirits, as well as all sorts of nasty things can't cross over a line of salt. I set about putting down the salt lines at every window and door. I used duct tape to make sure that the lines wouldn't be disturbed. Afterwards, I drew a few protection symbols, (pentagrams; a five-pointed star) on the doors and windows.

There was one final thing I had to do. I stood on my bed and grabbed a permanent marker. I drew a circle on the ceiling. It was two feet in circumference. I drew a six-point star inside of it and made another circle inside of that. I switched the marker to my left hand and began to draw the most difficult part of the design. I sketched out a left-facing scorpion inside the smaller circle. Its tail curled around it protectively and its pincers were held out in front of it aggressively. This was a Devil's Trap. It matched the one that Renée tattooed on my back.

This was probably overkill, but it's not paranoia if something's really out to get you.

You don't walk out of hell without someone noticing.

The house was secure, my story was perfect, and I was starving. I searched through my duffle bag for something to eat. I pulled out a half-eaten bag of M&Ms and poured the remainder of the candies into my mouth. I would go shopping after school tomorrow. I had a box of Lucky Charms for breakfast. I didn't have any milk, but luckily, I had dishes and cutlery.

I decided to use my smaller duffle bag instead of a backpack. I stuffed it with my notebooks and a few other items. I'd need some salt, holy water, and my journal.

The Colts had a history of writing journals. My family had been Hunting for over six-hundred-fifty years. Our journals were probably the most important things we owned. They gave us information on everything to do with the supernatural. I'd started one at the age of thirteen. I wrote about my Hunts. Keeping a journal kept me focussed and informed. My journal was written in English, although most of my ancestors wrote theirs in Latin.

Just to put a little spin on it, I pulled a Da Vinci and wrote my entries in reverse. Da Vinci was famous for writing backwards. It may have been because he was left-handed. People back then were forced to write with their right hand. It might have felt more natural for him. I was ambidextrous. I could write with both hands. I could also shoot with both hands, and punch with both hands. This was an important job skill for me.

I grabbed a pencil and opened my journal. The first entry was a poem I'd read somewhere;

Be wary of the dark.

Trust in what you feel.

For evil does exist.

And monsters can be real.

I turned to a fresh page and began to write.

Tues. March 16, 2010.

Three days ago, I climbed out of my own grave…


This seems like a good place to stop. I'm sorry if it was boring. I needed to set the stage and to give you guys the background information.

Cookies for anyone who can find the classic rock reference.

I'll catch you later.