The Hunters

The owls tell us where the bodies are.

They’re impossible to find otherwise. A person can search for hours, days, weeks, years, and nothing will ever come from their efforts. I once knew a man who searched for his wife for sixteen years; we would see him wandering the forest, ankles near broken as they dragged over roots and stones, calling for his lost love. The owls never showed him where she was. I never understood why.

They’ve been around for as long as this town can remember, decades before I was born. They’re a part of our lore at this point, as common as a gray squirrel chittering outside your window or a friendly neighbor’s face waving from across the field. Despite their familiarity, they are never a good sign. Rumors follow them wherever they go.

“Did you hear that the owls landed on Sarah’s roof last night?”

“Is that why she wasn’t in school today?”

“My Pa said her father didn’t show up for work today, either.”

I tried to avoid general gossip, but the owls had transcended old wive’s tales. They were as certain as the cows laying down before a storm or crickets going quiet in the presence of predators. Everyone knew what the owls meant:

Death was on its way. Sometimes, it was already on your doorstep, and you didn’t even know it.

As children we had chased them. We didn’t know what they were at the time; to us, a fluffy white barn owl was nothing more than a new animal to discover. Some parents warned their little ones about the owls, cuffing them on the ear if they so much as pointed in the direction of one. My parents afforded me no such luxury. I was seven when they saw me darting into the woods, an owl just over my head. It wasn’t until I tripped over something unusually soft and went sprawling to the ground, only to find myself face to face with a week-old corpse, that I learned my lesson. My father was always one for learning by experience.

He was also one that was able to logic his way out of any irrational fear, and as such, he formed a search party. The owls know something we don’t, he had said one night at supper. If we don’t hunt them, we’ll always be in the dark. Besides, someone has to bring back the bodies. It turned out there were many fine men in our town who felt the same way. The fathers and brothers and uncles would all gather whenever the owls did, and shouldering their shotguns would follow where they led. They almost always came home with an extra person.

I had cried when he told us about his hunt, thinking he meant to harm the owls. He gave me a stern look that said I should know better. No one hurt the owls; bad omen that they were, they were to be respected.

Sometimes the bodies were people who had gone missing from town. Sometimes, we didn’t even recognize them. Women began to whisper that the owls were causing the deaths themselves, that they held some dark magic that would curse whoever they chose to follow them deep into the forest. I had seen many a mother cross herself and spit when she saw a familiar snowy wing dip behind a household.

But that was just superstition. I knew better. The owls didn’t cause death; they simply predicted it. They didn’t cause Jessie to fall down the well and break her neck, they simply perched on the rim until people found her. They didn’t kill Mrs. Westin’s toddler; he had caught a fever, and they simply nested near the rim of his crib on his last day. No, the owls didn’t cause people to die.

But how did they know?

Perhaps it was our father’s insatiable obsession with the owls that spurred my brother and I to do some hunting of our own, but we planned many trips into that forest. By the ripe age of eleven I had seen more bodies than the town doctor. By twelve I had begun to count the owls. By thirteen I knew how to dodge every twig and dry leaf on the forest floor so as not to be heard while I followed the men who hunted them. And by fourteen, I knew with absolute certainty that there was no way I could let my father leave me behind on the hunting trips.

I was the first woman in the group. Some men didn’t like it, and they made sure I knew it well. They would hold back branches only to let them snap back in my face or get tangled in my hair. I heard them arguing with my father, saying a woman had no place with them. My father didn’t care about gender, though. She can track better than the entire lot of you, and if you can’t see that just because you can’t see past the fact that she’s wearing a skirt, then you have no place here, either. My brother, three years older and eighteen when I joined, got in more fist fights than I could keep track of just from defending my honor.

But most of the men eventually relented. I already knew how to shoot a gun; my father had made sure of that for years before we began following the owls, and I was the quietest of them all. They would often send me up ahead or around the bend, stalking silently as I discerned where the owls had gone, before rounding back and leading the way. I proved my worth, day after day, until no one could question my merit.

Mason Campbell questioned it, though. He was a rough and tumble boy one year ahead of me, and he seemed to have a problem with all girls. He had a nasty father and four older brothers, so I always reckoned he felt he had something to prove and wanted to take his rage out on people smaller than him. I knew how to hold my own in a fight well enough, but in the end I only came up to his chin, and he had a penchant for tripping me, or pulling my hair, or spitting in my face when he spoke. I hated that my father kept him in the group, but he could shoot like he was born with a rifle in his hands, and for that, he had value.

I could ignore him for the most part. My brother and I would walk at the front of the pack and snicker to ourselves about the way he lumbered like an elephant, scaring off any wildlife within fifty yards. I tried to remind myself that I was here for the owls, that morons like Mason were not worth my time. We were finding a body once a week. Just because he didn’t have respect for the dead didn’t mean I wouldn’t.

We had just come home from a rare hunt; no new body had been found. I was tired and put out from a day of searching and crankier than ever. My brother knew better than to try to talk me out of my moods, so he went on ahead of me back to the house. I lengthened my stroll through town hoping it would clear my head. I was just beginning to feel better when Mason rounded a corner and made a beeline in my direction.

“Hey, ugly,” he called, a twisted smirk on his face. “You know it’s probably your fault we didn’t find anything today, right?”

I took in a deep breath, in through my nose and out my mouth. My mother taught me how to keep my tempers down. Sometimes it worked. I tried to shoulder past him but ricocheted off his arm and stumbled to stay on my feet.

“Did you hear what I said? It’s your fault. Your Pa never should have let you in our group. Stupid women like you aren’t good for nothing except raising babies and cooking supper.”

I glared up at him. “Why don’t you bother someone else, Mason? Some of us have important things to do with our time other than mouth breathing all day long.”

A fissure appeared between his brows. “You got a lot of disrespect, and it’s about time someone taught you a lesson.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re the one to do it? Could’ve fooled me.”

A muscle jumped along his jawline, and he readjusted the shotgun that was slung over his shoulders. I made sure not to glance at it; the last thing I needed was Mason thinking he could use it on me. “Just you wait. You’ll learn soon enough why girls have no place in a man’s business.”

I rolled my eyes and began to turn on my heel, finished with this conversation, when a noise caught my attention. A fluttering of wings sent a gust of wind through our space, my loose hairs flying out of my braid. A barn owl, white with a sparse collection of brown feathers, landed on the tree above us not ten feet away and peered down with wide eyes. My heart nearly stopped in my chest.

“Stupid animal,” Mason said, dragging his gun off his shoulder and aiming it straight at the bird. “This’ll teach it.”

“No!” I lunged, dropping my own gun and diving into Mason’s side just as he pulled the trigger. The barrel of the gun snapped to the left just as it shot, narrowly missing the owl and shooting the tree trunk instead. Mason and I tumbled over one another as the owl let out a panicked shriek and flew off.

“Dumb girl! I could’ve had it!” He reached over me to grab my face, and I bit his fingers. As he howled in pain I got to my feet, swung down to pick up my gun, and took off at a dead sprint in the direction of my house.

I could hear Mason yelling all the way home.

__________________________________________

The next day the owls flocked again, and we were obligated to follow.

Father had gently shaken me awake, and I dressed quickly, listening to the sound of my brother quickly stomping his boots one room over. The morning promised a chilled, misty day as we gathered out near the fields.

I took the lead, my feet moving silently over the grass as we entered the forest. It was even quieter than normal inside. It felt as though eyes watched me from every shadowy corner, and I shook my head to get rid of the feeling. You couldn’t let the woods get into your head like that, not when death permeated your lungs like oxygen. The men followed closely behind me, and I tried my best to ignore the electric presence of Mason three rows back. I felt his eyes boring into the back of my skull as though he were planning his next target.

The forest was well-mapped out by our group. Though the entrance was a winding maze, there was a beautiful clearing a few miles in that was always a good break point. I watched the odd owl flit from branch to branch above us, their bright eyes sometimes peering down at us as though checking to see if we were still following.

The clearing opened up before us, and I felt a collective sigh from behind as we left the oppressive darkness of the woods. Mist curled throughout the tall grass, cradled by the first buds of spring and the odd rustling of some woodland creature. We all took a moment to catch our breath as the owls began to circle above us.

My father peered up with an arched brow. “The body is likely to be around the edge of the clearing. See how they’re flying around the border?”

My eyes followed his outstretched hand as the owls indeed circled in a strange pattern. “Maybe we should break off into groups to circle the perimeter.”

“Good. Son, you’re with me.”

I opened my mouth to protest as my brother shot me an apologetic look. The men around me shuffled their feet as they broke off two by two, peeling away from the group and keeping their heads down for any bodies.

I heard the smacking sound of lips pulling away from teeth in a sneer as Mason came to stand at my shoulder. “Guess you’re with me, ugly.”

Walking on without him, I tried controlling my cringe when I heard him follow me. I spoke to myself gently in my head to try to calm my rage and nerves at the feeling of him watching me. Just ignore him, he’s not going to try anything with your father close by. He’s just a bully.

The outer rim of the clearing was coated in shadows. I kept to the sunlight, not wanting to be caught in the dark with a boy like Mason. My hands were beginning to sweat, and I rubbed them against the fabric of my skirt to dry them. I thought about the gun in his hands, and the way he had aimed it at an owl just yesterday. What would he be aiming at today?

A twig snapped to our right, deep into the shadows. We both reacted, whipping our heads towards the sound. Mason took a step past the line of trees and shot me an annoyed look. “Are you coming or not?”

I hesitated, and hated the fact that I did. An uneasy feeling was slithering its way into my stomach, leaving a sour taste on the back of my tongue. Mason watched me with furrowed brows and a curled lip. Not wanting to give him any more ammo to heckle me with, I followed.

The shadows immediately descended and caused me to stumble for a moment as I let my eyes adjust. “We shouldn’t follow a twig snapping. The owls only show us bodies, not anything alive,” I muttered, keeping my voice down. It felt wrong to be loud in the presence of such silence.

Mason didn’t respond. I watched his shoulders flex as he rolled them, his hands twitching at his sides as he walked. He was jumpy for some reason. The air around him felt sour and electric, and I was suddenly very aware that we had walked far from the clearing.

“I’m going to turn back,” I said, keeping my eyes trained on him as I stopped my forward momentum.

Mason paused and glanced at me. There was a wild, unkempt look in his eyes. “You should’ve listened to me when I told you the hunt is no place for a woman.” He turned and began to walk towards me. I felt my heart begin to race, the acrid feeling of fear lacing through my veins. His pupils had dilated almost completely, covering up any trace of color. “I guess now I’ll have to teach you that lesson, won’t I?”

I didn’t bother responding as I turned and began to run. The air came out of me in a whoosh as something enormously heavy hit me square in the back and I slammed into the ground, getting a mouth full of dirt. I felt Mason’s weight on me as he shoved my face further into the earth with the heel of his hand.

I fought harder than I’d ever fought in my life. I twisted at the torso and brought my elbow with it, the point connecting with his sternum. Mason let out a groan as he doubled over, and I took the opportunity to scramble forward and onto my back, mud and moss collecting under my fingernails as I pulled myself away. Mason shot out a hand and wrapped it around my ankle, yanking me back towards him. I let out a scream, but it felt like the trees around us swallowed the sound.

“Get back here, you little-”

Wham. He was cut off as something small swept into the side of his head, knocking him onto his side and forcing him to let go of my ankle. I flung myself backward and cried out as my shoulders hit a tree trunk. Something else dove down and hit Mason from the other side, leaving a trail of long claw marks across his cheekbone.

I looked up at the branches above me. They were teeming with owls, hundreds of them like I had never seen before.

At once, all of them descended upon Mason.

I watched as he cursed and swiped blindly at the air in front of him, battling with the sheer amount of them as they dove and ducked, clawing him with enormous talons. They tore at his skin and clothing, and dug their sharp beaks into his face and eyes. I sat frozen in fear as they had their way with him, until he collapsed back, unseeing eyes open to the torrent above him. Feathers and blood carpeted the ground.

When his chest didn’t rise again, the owls settled down on the ground, still once more.

Heavy footsteps came from the left, and muffled yelling reached me from far away, as if I had dunked my head into a bucket of ice water. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and saw my brother’s face swim into my line of sight as he called my name. My father reached out to me and paused when he saw what was left of Mason. The other men from the hunt kept their distance, their eyes wide as they took in the scene before them.

The owls did nothing but wait, holding their constant vigil, their omen of death proven true once more. We had found the body.