Matt Allen

     Most people see the world as place where the sun shines and people go about their lives. A nice suburban family in a house with a dog. Dad wears a suit to the office. Play ball with the kids. Friday night is date night for mom and dad at a modest restaurant.
     For others there's a grittier existence in the rough parts of town. Avoid the drug dealer on the corner; watch for the mugger in the alley. Don't pet the dog on the street; he's feral. The run-down apartment should be condemned, but the slum-lord paid off the building inspector. But it's still home for people.
     Then there's the world where lights don't shine as bright, where the shadows stretch farther. And the darkness is colder. The dark things priests, ministers, and parents used to scare you into doing good? They're real; they walk this world.
    But the worlds aren't separate. The suburban dad can score drugs. The feral dog can find suburbia. The woman in the business suit? She's a vampire. And the mugger waiting behind the dumpster got snatched by . . . something . . . something dark and smelling like the grave.
     Me? Name's Matt Allen. I know the rules of that not-so-bright world. It's my business. I investigate the supernatural. My fee's not so much, but the expenses can get bad. Holy water and silver bullets don't come cheap.

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