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When Hol Horse accepted the park ranger position in the north Italian mountains of the Adamello Brenta Nature Park, he was under the impression that it was a simple, easy, low-stress job. It was isolated from any major cities and had limited means of communication when deep enough into the woods, which meant the chances of any... unwanted parties attempting to locate him were quite low. Who would have guessed that the man who had an unusually high appreciation for the American western aesthetic would retire at the ripe old age of forty-two in Italy? If he had told himself his plan a decade prior, he would have spit in his face. But now?
The man had held his job there for almost five years now and he was damn good at it. There weren’t many issues that would come up in his day to day routine, besides the occasional wildlife scare or idiot tourist, and, of course, not forgetting the annoying ammature hunters that plagued the woods that broke up the monotony of it all. Yes sir, Hol Horse predicted it would be mostly smooth sailing for the foreseeable future.
If not for one thing...
Several months back, he recalled it being late spring, he got offered the chance to take over the park’s old shooting range. The old man who used to run the place had passed away (some kind of animal attack, the poor bastard) and Hol was asked to take over lessons. He may have been a bit of a showoff with his firearm expertise and was a huge stickler for gun safety, so to his superior, he must have been the perfect fit. Hol thought so, and there he was, every Tuesday and Thursday morning giving lessons, and just managing the place a few hours on the off days.
It all started out normal, pleasant even. The range didn’t get too many visitors anyhow, so Hol would use his free time to get some practice shots in. It became a bit of a habit, until he began to notice a kid hanging around the outskirts of the place.
Now, the shooting range wasn’t deep in the woods by any means, but to walk all the way there from the main nature center could take upwards of an hour or two depending on the person. And with no adult in sight, well, the kid’s presence was a bit concerning.
Whenever he tried to confront the kid, the rascal would just run off deeper into the tree line, making it almost impossible to identify him. All he could make out was the kid’s faded red and blue clothes which looked way too warm for the summer months that followed, along with the strange patterned hat on his head. No matter how many times Hol chased the kid off, he always managed to resurface about a week or so later, staying for as long as a usual gun safety class or target practice session would last and then bolt after everything was all said and done.
His visits became a strange thing for Hol Horse to look forward to. Sometimes he would catch the kid mimicking his hang movements, revealing his true intent for being there. The kid wanted to learn, so Hol obliged. Sometimes he’d shout the directions louder than need be or move the positioning of the lesson so the kid could have a clean view on what to do. He even changed around the class schedules so that there would be back to back safety lessons in order to assure himself that if the kid was planning on getting a hold of say, a hunting rifle of his own, he wouldn’t accidentally shoot himself.
Right around the beginning of fall, the visits became less frequent. He only saw the kid once, at the start of September, and not a single sighting afterward throughout the month of October, which had him a little worried. On the bright side, the weather had been getting colder. So, maybe the kid finally found a place to stay that wasn’t the cold outdoors.
Then came November.
The range was practically deserted this time of year. The weather was far to cold for more folks leading to only the most headstrong or stupid people to venture out to his neck of the woods. An unusual sight welcomed him one morning, as the long haired goth that had recently moved into the area knocked against the front door of his range, hunting rifle in tow.
He had an expression that was far from chipper. “You open or what?”
“If the sign says we’re open, we’re open.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Hol sighed as he rubbed his fingers against his eyes, trying to wake himself up from his unplanned nap.
“I want an hour on the range. I have my own ammunition.”
“ID?”
“Here.”
Leone Abbacchio… everything seemed in order and Hol pointed to where the man needed to go. While Abbacchio began setting up, something had caught Hol’s attention out of the corner of his eye.
The kid was back, leaning against the trees like he always did.
“Something wrong, ranger?” Abbacchio asks.
“Nothin’ sir, just haven’t seen him around here in a while.” He used his finger to show the other man where he was looking to.
To his surprise, Abbacchio swore under his breath as he placed his weapon down and dashed straight for the kid, yelling out the name “Mista” in the process. This time, the kid didn’t run off in time and was grabbed by Abbacchio as a consequence. It looked as if the two knew each other as an argument broke out between them. The kid even let out some feral sounding screeches before crossing his arms getting dragged back over to the range by the older man.
Now that Hol could get a good look at the kid, he swore he wasn’t dealing with a kid at all. He was a lot smaller up close. And sure, the scarf hid most of his face, but the hat and coat he wore just barely did an acceptable job hiding his other… appendages. And the eyes, with the black sclera only confirmed his suspicions.
Shit.
He was dealing with another humanoid moth cryptid. At least this one was half his size and didn’t seem to eat people… that he knew of. Hol Horse’s own life experiences were not ones he wanted to go into detail on, but for the sake of his own sanity, nothing truly surprised him after what he saw back in Egypt.
This wasn’t the best time to panic, so Hol put up a smile as the two returned to the range together. Abbacchio clearly knew this kid, considering he was dragging him by the wrist with little protest from.. Mista. That’s what the moth’s name was. A better name than ‘Dio’.
“You mind if he sits in on my practice?” Abbacchio’s question was more like a demand, one of which Hol was happy to comply with.
“Suit yourselves. Just have him stay a few meters back and maybe wear some proper eye and ear protection, I hear the firing of a gun can be quite sensitive to a m- kid.” He caught himself just in time as Abbacchio raised an eyebrow.
This kid flustered out, “You really don’t have to do this for me-”
And Mista’s pleas were ignored. “I want you to teach him a lesson too. Nothing fancy, just basics. I’ll pay for it.”
“If you're paying for it.” Hol was more curious about the whole situation than anything.
Abbacchio turns back to Mista, “If I catch you messing with my gun again before that man signs that waver that you completed the safety course, I will tell Bruno.” Whoever this Bruno was, he seemed to instill some fear into the tyke, who stopped all of his objections.
Hol ushered him over to a small table nearby and began his instructions. This kid could have taught the course better than he could, since he answered every question exactly how Hol had done in every lesson prior. He truly was listening all those months.
In between Abbacchio’s shots, Hol asked, “Mind telling me why you want to know how to use a gun? I mean, don’t you have claws and fangs?”
“But my claws and fangs are close range- I mean what claws? Fangs? Normal humans don’t have those-”
“I’m not gonna spill your secret. Scouts honor,” Hol had never been a scout, but he respected the code and would honor it as though he was one.
“Um, alright. Well, I want to protect my family. That guy over there gets to act all tough and cool, but I barely get to do anything! I’m just as good a shot as he is!” The kid’s excitement was contagious, that’s for sure.
“How about we test that, huh? You seem to have all the basics down pat. I’m sure your… friend? Won’t mind if we do a couple of practice rounds.”
“Abba? Friend? I mean, he’s cool and all, but I wouldn’t call us friends. No, he just like’s my papa. Like… a lot. If you catch my drift.”
Hol snorted, “And they say love is dead. Alright Mista, show me what you got.”
Before even loading the practice rifle, he assessed the kid’s stance. Despite being a little stiff and a bit too small, he got the positioning perfect. And after a few more pointers and a couple last minute checks, he was ready to go. Hol placed Mista in front of the shorter distanced targets and waited for the kid to fire.
Mista shot six consecutive shots, reloading one after the other.
Both adults present were wide eyed with shock when they went to check on the kid’s results. Each round had hit just centimeters off from the red center circle.
The kid smirked, clearly proud of himself. “I spent all summer watching your lessons, old man. I think I figured out how your human guns work.”
Shoot, he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of the kid... Wait-
Did he just call him an old man?