*note - this is unfinished. It is part of the "give me a name and I'll make a story" series, but I decided to leave the name off.

I used to be like you. Completely unaware. Blissfully so. Wait, no, not really. I suspected. I had dreams, recurring dreams too real and logical to be plucked from thin air. Half remembered houses with wandering halls, monsters who were kind and humans who were cruel and always disaster, the end of days and the time beyond. Then came the day when, quite by accident (or so I tell myself for the sake of my sanity) I turned a corner that no one else could see, which took me to a street on no maps and a world beside, under and over the one you perceive.
The problem was, now that I could see it, I could not un-see it. I could not live blindly in the known world knowing the unknown world was a heartbeat and an eye blink away. I could not live in the unknown world with no protection. I had no powers, no grasp of the mystic or control over the ether. I was stranded and straddling two worlds.
Luckily for me, despite all, I was rare but not unique, so there were protocols, some not enacted in decades or centuries or millennia, but there nonetheless. So, I became a census taker. I now had the protection of a clipboard and a lanyard with photo ID. I was free to walk into the darkest of the dark places and count noses. Or heads. Or whatever singular feature the apparitions had that was countable.
To be a census taker did involve a lot of training, taking up the better part of two years. A lot of the instruction was… diplomatic in nature. Not all of the weird folks were easy to classify and asking too many questions was… inadvisable. And yet, accuracy benefitted all, undeniably. That was my in. Be counted. Because you count. Big smile. Don’t flinch.
Never ask a troll about their parents. Or a gnome’s address. Don’t ask date of birth, but date of death for vampires. Werewolves like to be asked how many moons they have seen. Unstick the ghouls from each other before asking any questions. (When they touch everything gets jumbled, I don’t even want to know why.)
Bring snacks, just in case. Granola bars for you, whole blood (several bags, pig is fine), dog treats (large sized), chicken livers (a pint - can be frozen), very smelly cheese (wrap well), and grapes, especially the big round red seedless ones. Never accept any food or drink unless you saw it prepared in a fast food restaurant. And even then, use caution. It is also useful to keep track of the moon, Mars and to know the subway schedule. The latter for a quick getaway and to know when the line is clear.
The amazing thing is how well integrated the societies are. It is beyond symbiotic. Yes, there is a certain amount of transgressions on both sides - forced recruitment, pitchforked mobs, that sort of thing - but over all The Arrangement of the Blind Eye (or The ABE as it is called) is beneficial. The trash is taken out and feeds a horde of horribles. Demonic incursions are thwarted before they can even start and the humans are none the wiser. There is still the issue of changlings, but not everyone thinks they are a bad idea and prefer to see it as a student exchange program. Or a tough love camp. If desperate parents say the right words at the right time they may well end up with a suddenly cooperative child who is so happy to be in a family, with parents, while the little brat is off adventuring with the fairies and never wants to go home. Which is good, since as soon as the brat eats even a crumb of fairy cake they are not going anywhere else - ever. Enforcement comes in when babies are taken. There must be a choice. Just ask the vampires. Forced conversion is never done anymore. Quite the reverse, there is a lengthy vetting process, mostly to keep out the Eurotrash.
You might ask - why do a census? How often does everyone get counted? Who gets counted? That is where it gets a little tricky. There are some of the weird ones that live in both worlds, like real witches (not the new age crystal suckers), some vampires (great bartenders), werewolves (cops and gym teachers), and gnomes (high fashion models) (just kidding). They count, but not in the same way as those who inhabit the other side full time. It is about balance. Who is using resources. Who is providing resources. Who is playing by the rules (see forced conversion above) and more importantly, who is not playing by the rules. A sudden ghoul uptick without a plague is bad. A sudden drop in wisps could mean a blocked transit corridor (and no one wants that). And the census is world wide, so it never ends. As soon as Siberia is done, then it is off to Tasmania to start again. It is nice that the other side connects to itself and to the the visible world in a way that makes travel time pretty much nonexistent.
My assignment for today might be the outback of Australia, a place I greatly enjoy visiting. There are weirdnesses there as old as life on earth, maybe older. The worlds intersect closely and many mundanes have one foot on either side without even realizing - it is just normal life. Plus the strong weird ones are comfortable in the sun, not needing darkness and damp to wield their power. You can see it rippling like a heat mirage.
Or, I could be in Hong Kong, or the city under Hong Kong, where there be dragons and demons who turn sideways and disappear rather than be counted. I count them anyway. I have a formula that involves the density of demon kind (on average) factored with the suspected density in China divided by the number of slits I detected and multiplied by the square footage of the nearest closet. Then round up. Close enough for government work, I say. The futzy demons are balanced by the dragons who LOVE to be counted (and admired), trotting out all their relations, with all of their family trees carefully laid out, so there is no question how plentiful and widespread they are. Dragons are very dynastic (I suspect that is where the emperors got the idea) and very political. This family falls out of favor, that one rises, the wheel turning. I think we are on the 2,400th odd dragon dynasty, but that was as of last summer, so you could add a few dozen to that number. Wars on not waged any longer to determine succession. Playing mah jong was a fad for awhile, but I think it is internet poker now. The dragons are a bit reticent about the details, but the beeping and electronic clinking noises are a give-away.
My editor has just chided me about not elaborating about the wisps. I just assumed you knew what they were, since they are the most common (and usually harmless) weirdling, found all over the world. They are pretty much as they sound. A thin mist fluttering across a road, swirling over water in the early morning, or rising over a fire just as it is ignited. The most deadly ones are found in swamps, although they are so blissfully unaware they don’t realize the damage they cause. Approach with caution under those circumstances. And wear hip boots, carry a strong flashlight and don’t go alone (voice of experience). They transit using complicated systems from damp place to damp place or fire to fire (depending on variety). If a bog worm or other beasty gets into the works, the pressure builds up and - well, it is unpleasant. Usually the manifestation only affects the underworld. Sometimes, though, a house blows up for no reason, usually blamed on “gas”. It wouldn’t do to say the transit corridor was clogged and there was a rapid exhalation of wisps. It is difficult to get an accurate count of wisps, but it is one of the most important counts to get right. Each census taker has their own system. I use volume. How many cubic feet per acre, for example. And I have lots of watchers keeping an eye on key locales. I haven’t have an exhalation on my watch in years, so my method speaks for itself.
One problem with an accurate census is that new bogies keep cropping up. I am not sure if it is natural, with some bogies going extinct or if they change or if they are imagined into existence. I am kind of leaning towards the last. I had NEVER seen a boggart until the Harry Potter books came out. They were very rare, to the point of zero population. The last time I checked I had several dozen in New York City alone and several hundred in London. It would just be interesting, but they are a huge nuisance and now need controlling/relocating/eliminating. Not my department, thankfully. I just count ‘em.
Everyone wants to know about the demis. The part human monsters. Or the ones who are made, not born. Vampires we touched on briefly. They are generally ancient, since the obvious ones got staked pretty quickly (the Darwin effect). They are very careful to not draw attention to themselves. The part of them that was human still longs for that community and you will often find them on the fringes of any place bright and pulsing with life. Like Vegas. Nevada is rank with them, like moths to a flame. They can even survive in the casinos during the day, since natural light is never allowed in. They don’t look so hot, though. Think pale and sweaty, without the sweat. The ones I love are the really bold and funny ones, who teach philosophy in night classes. They smoke horrible cigarettes, drink black coffee and read poetry aloud in dingy coffee shops until just before dawn. Sometimes they even wear mildewy lace collars or velvet jackets. I ran into one in Beverly Hills who swore he knew Shelley and I have no reason to disbelieve him. As noted before, they are very choosy about turning. Black lipstick is a deal breaker. You have to want it, but not that much. As for me, I am not even slightly tempted. I am too much of a fan of cheeses, burnt toast, mushrooms, arugula, roasted beets and garlic.
Werewolves are made AND born. Making one is usually pretty grisly and not for the faint of heart. However, if two werewolves mate, whilst in the weirdling form, the result can be a baby werewolf. This is not as cute as it sounds. It can be, in fact, quite terrible, and most werewolves take extreme measures to avoid it. The only way to successfully raise a born werewolf is by isolation and confinement and a LOT of patient parenting (difficult when the parents also shift at the full moon). Most modern werewolves, since a born werewolf did not have a choice, shun the parents. The cubs can become feral very easily. However - there are clans of born werewolves who trace their roots back for thousands of years. They keep to themselves, so I have only a vague idea of how many there are but since they tend to not leave carnage in their wake (which is always the main concern) and don’t forcefully recruit (the other concern) the Census Bureau is content to let them be (for the most part). We do mail them census forms and, about ever century or so, they fill them out and return them.
There are other lesser known demis, some made, some evolved. The alligators in the New York sewers? They are really a mystical cross of man and crocodile from Northern Africa and are immigrants just like everyone else in NYC. They used to be fishers, working on the water, but there aren’t many of those jobs left. So they drive cabs. If you met one you wouldn’t realize it. They look almost completely human, they just like living in fetid water. And have huge claws and webbed feet. And a tail. And, sometimes, a very long snout.
There are other weres, too, not just wolves. Werehyenas are also from Africa, for the most part. They are clans, like the clans of born werewolves. Historically they have a very bad reputation, despite being highly skilled blacksmiths. And often Jewish, especially in Ethiopia. There is also rumors of hyenas that turn into men, but I have not encountered them, yet. As far as werebunnies - nope. Totally fiction.
I also get asked about ghosts. No, we don’t count them. Their population is both non-threatening and constantly in flux. They don’t affect the material world, don’t spread disease or recruit. They are just shadows, usually animated by unfinished business. If I do encounter a bothersome one (who is making a house hard to rent, perhaps) I can call in the department that knows how to dissipate the energy. I have heard that it very gratifying to help a spirit move on, but I bog down in all the Latin. Why Latin? It is a “dead” language, so the words are unchanging, accumulating energy and intent with each invocation of a trained dissipator (at least that is how it was explained to me). Aramaic and Hebrew can also work, despite Hebrew not being as dead as it once was. Latin is just preferred since it is still taught and understood around the world. Fun fact - POWs during the World Wars would communicate in Latin when they had no other language in common.

And the hardest to count? Fairies, no question. They come in many varieties - winged and flying, winged and non-flying, non-flying, aquatic, attached to plants, attached to places, attached to objects, etc. etc. Not even they can agree on who is a fairy. Are pixies included? Brownies? Sprites? Elves? Leprechauns? Are wisps a type of fairy? It isn’t up to me to decide, so I let them self-identify - they can check as many boxes as they like (the boxes don’t really mean anything anyway). Fairies are often regarded with affection by mundanes - but the Tinker Bells are far outnumbered by the night wights. They are tricksters who love to tickle until it bleeds. A short walk into fairyland could move you hundreds of years into the future and deeply into madness. Thus, every time I have to, I wear a silver chain around my neck, carry my own food and drink, wear only natural fiber clothes (including shoes) and bring a buddy. The best buddy to bring is someone immune to glamour, like a troll or ogre. If you can’t bring a buddy, bring a spool of silk thread and tie it to something solid outside the threshold. An old style iron is perfect - both heavy and portable and, well, iron. Then let the thread play out and don’t go farther in than there is thread on the spool. It is kind of limiting for census work, but fairies do like to be counted. They are vain and self important, so topping the population charts is an achievement they aspire to. If I set up a booth for counting before too long there will be an entire street fair surrounding me, with music, grandiose plays, speeches, games, dancing, artisans making sculptures from wind, rain and fear. It was at one of these impromptu fairs that I saw the face of a changeling. It was like looking into a fun house mirror, something I had enjoyed as a child. Subtle distortions rippled across the face in front of me. A smile too wide, eyes too large, a sunken nose and then everything reversed. At the same time memories flashed into my head, duel memories of hearing those words “if you don’t behave the fairies will come and get you and take you away forever” from both inside myself and from listening outside the window. The formal invitation, the formal consent. Formally accepted that very night, my comrades taking the sleeping child while I snuggled deep under the heavy quilts and forgot what I had been and remembered who I now truly was. My world rocked, snapping into focus from a slightly different angle. I had no regrets, and neither did the changeling. The scales were balanced and that is all as it should be and would ever be. It may be centuries before that changeling will feel the need to rejoin the human world. Until then, we have each found a place. I am mortal now and count the uncountable.

Chapter 2

I had no idea so many people were interested in what is, to me, a rather dry subject. I mean, walking around and counting is not the most exciting thing. Just goes to show.
Let’s start with Ireland. This is usually my mental starting point, because it leaves the delights of Iceland last. The best place to start is to find the oldest cathedral or church - not the most lavish or well known, just the oldest. Talk to the priest/head cleric and get permission to chat with the caretaker. If the caretaker is under 40 make small talk and go to the next church. If you can’t tell how old the caretaker is show your ID and clipboard and start counting. They will know where the passages are and you can pretty much get the entire island counted without leaving their sitting room. Or lavatory. Or broom closet, depending on where the door is. Usually the caretaker and spouse are some type of natural gatekeeper, often trolls. They manage to work at the same place for centuries, as the staff changes around them. They subtly change their appearance, or even better, deflect. Eyes skate over the unseeable, remembering something more realistic and less fanciful. Something less terrifying. The caretakers are lovers of children, and not just for light snacking anymore. They always make room and time for curious youngsters. The kindly old gent and his missus who always have ginger biscuits and hot sweet black tea, great stories and terrible jokes. Time flies when you visit with them, hours passing like minutes, the sun skating towards the horizon necessitating a mad dash home before your parents unleash a different kind of hell and dinner gets cold.
I enjoy these visits myself, being a huge fan of ginger biscuits. Plus you can learn a lot from stories, if you really listen and truly believe. Laurie and Sylvia were wonderful hosts. As best as I could tell they had lived in the caretaker’s house back of the graveyard since it had been built, around 1537, give or take. Of course a church (or worship site) had been there way before. Laurie thought he remembered copper skinned people with bright blue hair, but I suspect that came from his own prolific imagination. There had been digs, though, that had unearthed bronze, and even stone, aged relics indicating religious observance. Of course, if an archeologist can’t figure out what an object is, it is “religious”. Better catch all than “bric-a-brac” or “tchotchke”.
This time the passage was through a crypt in the under-church. I didn’t expect it to be so obvious, but it worked. Door was well oiled, opened in, defensible. Now, I know you are asking - since I have counted here before, how could I not know where the door is? Well, the doors move sometimes. The gatekeepers take turns, since it can be a thankless job. And I see a LOT of doors. It all kind of runs together after awhile.
Once though the door it should be smooth sailing, but customs is a pain. Certain items are not allowed. Other are, but not in large quantities - so check your Diet Coke at the door. Once in the lanyard causes either a tugging down of a hat or pile of squirrels pretending to be a hat or a big grin of recognition. This is where the snacks come in handy. Nothing breaks the ice like a fresh bag of pigs blood. Take a sip, pass it around. The kids/cubs/larvae fight over the empty bag, sharing out the last drops, then inflating it for a game of kick the head. Then the business commences. Most of the districts keep track of their inhabitants, so I check the maths, to see if it lines up with projections. If there are anomalies, then I get to walking. Sometimes I double check anyway, purely on hunch. I have gotten very good at reading subtle signs in faces that are actually stony. A hedge, hem or haw can mean an immigrant influx or an out of control breeder. Because, unfortunately there are markets for certain of the weird and there are always those that will take advantage, by trafficking them or by breeding. Both are illegal, but enforcement is hard. The weird ones don’t like to think that there are some who take advantage of their own kind. And they like to keep enforcement in-house. But fear and intimidation, especially in close living quarters, make that very hard. And the Bureau is in-house, really. Humans don’t know about it and wouldn’t care if they did. Some really wealthy ones are even the end buyers of the goods.
On this day most of the numbers looked good and as expected. Slightly more vampires than usual, but I knew they had just finished the long and arduous vetting process for a bunch of newbs. So long as they were being mentored, I had no problems. I did have a problem with the apparent absence of any banshees. Never numerous, they were still one of the oldest, and most annoying, of the elder Eire eeries. An absence could mean a migration, usually caused by being politely asked to leave already and to scream somewhere else for a change. Not out of the realm of possibility. It could also mean an imminent disaster in the mundane world and that was concerning. Well, shit, I thought to myself. None of the district heads had an answer. The thing about banshees is the relief when they are gone, so no one looks to see why.
The banshee quarter was on the edge of the edge. Outside the town, away from the roads, against the forest, in the darkest place hemmed in by a bluff on one side and a cliff face on the other. It must really echo when they are going at it. For now it was eerily quiet. Which was weird.
For those that don’t know, banshees are an Irish fae, a harbinger of doom and death, heard by the pre-dead and their family. Sometimes fair of face, sometimes not, in the stories. I have found… not. In the way manatees are seen to be mermaids, banshees have a glamor about them that kind of hides the *ahem* horror beneath.
Banshees didn’t need much in the way of houses, preferring to lurk under and behind or on top of. So multiple packing crates were stacked into random piles, all with one end open on the side. The crates were empty. Foul, but empty. Banshees ate things from the town dump, which around here was the bottomest feeder, so this stuff was nasty even before it was dragged home. And now what was left of the leftovers was moldering, maggoty, and mildewed. It didn’t look like there had been anyone here for a couple of weeks, but not much longer than that. Perhaps I still had time. A weak chirp from the back of one of the crates drew my attention. My flashlight probed and at first I saw nothing, then what I thought was a pile of rotten bananas stirred. I had never seen a “baby” banshee and didn’t even know it was possible. I found out later that banshees sort of bud. A tangled bit of fabric shears away from the rest and, covered in detritus and such, incubates. It is a foul being, with a foul purpose (I editorialize. I just don’t see the need for harbingers of doom, when the purpose is to terrify not warn). So, where did they go? The budding banshee’s wail was manageable, even to my mortal ears, but still activated something in my deep lizard brain that made hiding in a hole seem like a very good idea. (Note to self - add earplugs to kit) Having no idea how to tell if a baby banshee was hungry/thirsty/healthy I got my heaviest work gloves out and gingerly picked her up. She actually NUZZLED into my hand, which was the weirdest feeling, like having a tiny broken umbrella cuddle up to you, even through the gloves. An offered frozen chicken liver was happily (and rapidly) consumed. She managed three more and half of my grapes, then climbed up my arm and managed to squeeze into my breast pocket. Which was like having a pound of nails, splinters, needles…well, in your breast pocket. Then, to my horror, I felt hot and wet. Which quickly turned to an intense burning feeling and a whole lot of screaming and running around. Turns out banshee waste could be used for rocket fuel, deer repellant, battery acid and industrial solvent (if you could get past the smell). I got my (now ruined) coat off and made it into a makeshift banshee tote. With the arms zip tied (zip ties - always handy) together it made for fairly easy carrying, even at arms’ length. I had violated a whole bunch of rules about engaging with the underpopulace (count, just count) but, considering the circumstances I felt justified. It was, however, time to loudly call for assistance.
What you have to remember is I am a census taker. I count. When it comes to the heavy stuff, like tracking down a flock of banshees, I defer to the experts. And they descended, with trackers and sniffers, fanning out to find spoor, interviewing the locals, gathering intel. Somehow I, and my burdened and burnt coat, got lost in the shuffle. As suddenly as they had arrived, they were gone. I would probably get another commendation. But what could I do with a sleeping banshee, snuggled into my ragged coat. I couldn’t leave her here. I was pretty sure there were no sanctuaries for baby weirdlings. Seems like there should be, though. Perhaps that was a thought for the future.