The Hunter

The golden light of the setting sun gleamed across the wooden spear as it flew gracefully through the air. It found its mark in the neck of the fleeing animal, sending it crashing to the ground.

At long last, a successful hunt.

The hunter looked tired, but relieved as she stood over her treasured prize. The meat on it would feed at   least ten of her starving village. This was a sorely needed hunt. Food had become scarce ever since the village had been cursed by...

No! Banish those thoughts, she told herself,  focus on this task alone, and return before the sun sets!

As was custom, she whispered an apology to her prey as she began the process of cutting up the meat. The orange disc of the sun was slowly swallowed by the horizon. She had expected to return earlier but game was difficult to come by these days, and she could not return home to her little brother empty handed. An intuition told her she had stayed far beyond safe hours though. Dusk was a dangerous time for work even by usual reckoning, but in recent times it was naught but suicide. Night was fast approaching, which meant so was the creature that haunted them.

It had first visited their village two months ago and carried off a small dog. It had rapidly grown bolder, progressing to infants and children playing near the outskirts, until finally terror had entered the village itself.

Thrice it had struck, on successive nights. Two young boys and an old woman were taken from within their huts themselves, and yet, not a sound was heard even by those that slept right beside the victims.  The creature was Silence incarnate. Only the signs remained, a thick trail of blood leading out of the huts, disappearing quickly into mud and dust.

Fences were erected, doors were built. These offered some harbour, but there were whispered reports of rattled doors in the night, and the scratches on the doors were plain for all to see in the following mornings.

But this did not stop it. Hunt was stolen from the traps the hunters set, and those who set out in evenings did not return. Fear had created locks and doors stronger than wood and stone: no one ventured outside the village fence, save in groups in broad daylight. Hunting was much tougher in daylight, and the village had slowly run out of food. They were starving... until she had grown desperate enough to tempt fate.

The sun was now all but devoured and shadows crept forward growing longer, bearing darkness and fear. The hunter briskly set off, following the well-used dirt path, for this was safest. But it was still too late. Twilight quickly faded, shrouding her in cold, absolute darkness.

She knelt and searched her bundle for the oiled torch she always carried. When lit, it burned brightly and lasted long enough to take her home. She uttered a curse: the torch was missing!
It must have fallen out while I packed, too hurriedly. How could I be so careless?

The sounds of night mocked her now: she heard the calls of nameless evils stalking her. That crunch! Were those footsteps landing on dry leaves, or just a branch in the wind? And that rustling: are those merely leaves or did the haunted one approach?

She shut her eyes and collected herself.

Calm yourself. At this point fear will only cloud your instincts.
Her heart trusted her words, and slowed its pace.

Trust your ears, your feet. Make little noise. Follow the path through experience.
The eerie noises died down. Now it was just her and the night, and darkness could not in itself hurt her.
But the creature... the voice of terror said in her mind. She silenced it as well. Staying here is certain death. Proceeding forward is a gamble. In either choice, fear is of no use to me now.

She snapped her eyes open, now determined. There was only one option. She took step after step, rapidly but as silently as possible. Her heart was racing again, but this time out of resolve, not fear. Her ears gave her vision in the night, and her instinct showed her the path home.

Luck was with her, for soon her eyes were greeted by the fires near the village gate burning bright!

I’m home!

“Open the gates!” she screamed, exhausted. “I have come home!”
She beat the wooden door with her hands. There was no reply. She shouted out again and beat upon the gate, her hopelessness growing. After a while she sank to the ground. In the darkness she waited. No one was coming.

And then she heard it. Soft steps, falling on the ground in the night, slow and deliberate, approaching her. With bated breath she waited as the haunted one drew closer.

The footsteps stopped. There was now a scraping sound, as though something heavy were being dragged through the ground. Silence followed.

She waited still, listening intently. She let terror press in around her until it was too much to bear.

I shall not be taken sitting down! If I must be taken, let my spear go with me!
She silently drew her wooden weapon and began crawling on all fours, inching towards the source of the sounds. She crept forward, sticking close to the wooden fence - until her hand missed a step and fell lower then it should have!

A ditch? Right next to the fence?

In the dimming light of the village fires she saw what her hand had felt. A small portion of the ground under wall had been cleared, leaving empty space below.

A tunnel - It  has dug a tunnel. The thought hit her like icy water to her face.The image of her little brother formed in her mind. There was no time to lose. Spear in hand, she crawled through.

Inside, the village was as silent as the grave. She ran, moving as fast as her legs could carry her, and halted at her home. The door was ajar. A feeling of dread washed over her. She burst in screaming her brother’s name. Time stood still.

And then she heard a whimper: in the dim light, she saw a tiny figure sitting huddled in a corner of the hut. In a heartbeat, she was near him, with her arms around him. His breathing was heavy, stuttered. His hands were moist to the touch, covered in a sticky liquid.

Blood.

The boy lifted a shivering arm and pointed behind her. She turned.
Behind her, against a wall, lay a mountain of fur, stripes and glittering eyes. She did not know how this had escaped her sight, but she knew it was no longer a problem; for beneath the cold, open eyes, in the white fur of the neck, nestled deep within flesh, was a simple, unassuming kitchen knife.