The Hunter

The forest was shades of black, glittering white, and grey. Animals that were settled in their fur coats for winter, weren’t immediately visible among the fresh snowfall. Amongst the ashen trees was a hunter, tracking prey diligently, quietly. Dead silence resounded.

Joshua aimed the barrel of his 20-gauge shotgun at the varmint. The young hunter was just about to squeeze the trigger and bag his prize when Bullet suddenly got frantic and bolted. The jackrabbit startled and jumped away into the snowy landscape. “Consarn it, Bullet! Where’d ya off to?” Joshua swung his shotgun over his shoulder and looked after his beagle, hearing his barks close by. As he stepped through the trees, Joshua enjoyed the crunching sound and sensation of the snow beneath his feet. A slight smile turned up at the corners of his mouth as he breathed in the crisp winter air into his nose.

He reached a small clearing and could make out Bullet’s shape, the light and dark spots of his fur, scratching and barking over the middle of a frozen pond. “Bullet!” Joshua hollered. Bullet paid him no mind as he scratched frantically at the ice. As Joshua jogged closer, he could see the beagle’s tail anxiously wagging. The hunter realized that his companion was panicking and feared that his dog might break through the ice and fall into the freezing water. He got to the edge of the pond and stepped tentatively onto the ice. “Bullet! Come!” Joshua was beginning to panic himself as he continued across the frozen ground. He reached Bullet and was horrified at what had captured the hound’s attention.

The woman beneath the frozen surface banged her fists futilely against the ice, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her light brown hair floated eerily around her face, pale eyes pleaded for her life. Joshua didn’t even think, he just began kicking violently at the ice, praying for it to smash open. The ice was indifferent to his or the women’s efforts. He took the gun from his backside and, using all the strength in his being, hit the hilt against the ice over and over again. The woman’s fists floated softly down, her eyes dimmed. A final bubble escaped her lax mouth.

“God, please, no!” Joshua picked up Bullet and ran heedlessly across the pond. He knew it would take him too long to even get to his truck, let alone driving into town to fetch help. But he had to try. Resolute, he sped his green 1949 Chevy pick-up into town.

_______________________________________________

Sheriff Griffith and his deputies managed to breach the ice, expecting to retrieve a corpse. The only problem was, they couldn’t find one. “I’m tellin’ you, Joshua. This is a small town. I know everyone in Renfield and no one matches your description.”

“That lady was here, Andrew! I saw her-- Bullet saw her!” Joshua was exasperated.

“Now, now, calm down Jay. I believe you think you saw someone. You’re out here in all this snow e’ery mornin’, you’re probably gettin’ sick. Go on home and get some rest.”

“I can’t go home! She was here, she’s dying, we have to find--”

“Go. Home.” the sheriff commanded.

Joshua felt exhausted from the whole ordeal; the adrenaline was wearing off. Despondent, he drove home. Bullet was happily sticking his head out of the window, tongue flapping loosely in the wind. It wasn’t a long drive; that patch of woods was practically his backyard. The hunter pulled into the driveway and shut off his car. Bullet looked at him expectantly, but when Joshua made no move, the hound sat back down, waiting. Sitting there quietly, hardly breathing, he stared at the steering wheel absently. He was tired. He was confused! Was the woman never there?

His swirling thoughts were interrupted when a warm, wet sensation dragged across his cheek. Joshua smiled, laughing lightly as he patted Bullet, “Sorry, Bully, let’s go in and get some food, huh? I’m starving.” At the mention of food, Bullet tensed, his tail wagging excitedly. Joshua grabbed his 20-gauge from the back and swung it over his shoulder. Together, they entered their homely cabin in the woods.

Bullet went straight to the kitchen as the hunter put up his shotgun. He was about to pull off his parka when the telephone rang. He pulled the jacket back onto his shoulder and walked to the kitchen phone. “Hello?”

“Joshua!” his mother’s relieved voice burst into his ear and he winced, angling the phone away. “There you are! Where have you been? Yer father and I have been worried sick.”

Joshua could hear his ornery father in the background gruffly saying, “No, I wasn’t.”

“Ma, I--”

“Don’t listen to yer father, dear, he was jus’ as worried as I was-- Don’t argue with me, George Stevenson-- We heard from Andrew that you called him out to the woods an’… What happen?”

“Well, Ma--”

“Oh, hon, why don’t you jus’ come on over fer supper? Andrew said he thinks you’re coming down with somethin’ an’ I could make you up some chicken noodle soup.”

“Ma, I’m tired, I just want to take off my huntin’ gear and sit down to some TV.”

“You’ve got to eat, don’t ya? I don’t want you jus’ heatin’ up one o’ those TV dinners, let me cook fer you,” she pleaded.

Joshua heard his father in the background again, “Ruthie, you stop naggin’ the boy? He’s a grown man!”

He sighed into the phone, “No, Ma, I’m not gonna have a TV dinner. I’ll cook somethin’ up.”

She relented, hesitantly. “Well, you come fer breakfast tomorrow. You promise no TV dinners?”

“Yes, promise, no TV dinners,” he assured her. “Bye, Ma.” He hung up the phone and softly chuckled. Bullet gazed up at Joshua and when he met the beagle’s stare, his tail whipped up readily. He put some dog food out and took his heavy hunting attire off, returning them to their rightful place in the entryway.

Reaching into the freezer, he grabbed a TV dinner and placed it into the oven.

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Cold and dark. Floating, falling slowly, bubbles escaping. Bubbles containing last breaths. I’m getting so tired, I can’t remember what I was fighting for just moments ago. Ice water floods my lungs…

A sharp intake of breath stuck in Joshua’s throat as he bolted upright in his bedroom. His body trembled from the freezing air. Shivering, he saw the window open, gusts of icy wind making the air so frigid it felt thick as Joshua stumbled across the room to shut it. He was perplexed. “I don’t remember leaving this open,” he spoke softly to himself. Bullet peered up at him from his bed on the floor. Joshua patted at his side as he climbed back under the covers. The beagle jumped up and shimmied in, settling beside his best friend.

Joshua furrowed his brow as he pulled the comforter over his shoulders, trying to warm up. He must have had that dream because of the window being left open, right? And because of the girl he imagined trapped under the frozen surface of the pond. The hunter tried not to think about it as he fell back asleep.

Joshua woke in the morning relieved that there were no more incidents in the night. He dressed and drove to his parent’s farm for breakfast. Ruth answered the door and was elated to see him. He was so tall compared to her short stature. He was about 5’8” but his mom stood 5’2” and despite the height difference, when Ruth hugged her son, he might as well have been her little boy again.

The dining table had a mouth-watering spread of thick-cut bacon, scrambled eggs- eggs his father probably collected earlier that morning- warm slices of pre-buttered toast, stacks of homemade pancakes… Joshua’s stomach growled at the sight. They all sat down to tuck in, including his little sister, Joyce. With full bellies, the Stevensons sat comfortably in the parlor- Ruth sat knitting in her rocking chair and George sat in his wingback chair reviewing the newspaper.

“I heard you went nuts yesterday!” Joyce smiled at her brother, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Joyce!” their mother chided. “Andrew said that you weren’t feelin’ well. Why don’t you confide in’us, dear?”

Joshua sighed, not comfortable remembering the experience. “Well… I was out huntin’ rabbits with Bully and he just took off. Bullet was scratchin’n’barkin’ over in the middle of that pond out there. I saw-- I thought I saw a woman trapped ‘neath the ice. I couldn’t break through and drove into town to get the police out there…. I watched her...drown.” He stifled a shiver and swallowed hard, reliving his nightmare behind his chestnut eyes.

“A ghost! I bet it was Cannibal Carol! She’s haunting yo-ou…” Joyce teased.

“Cannibal Carol?” Joshua dismissed her. “I musta been too tired, is all. Bully was probably diggin’ at his reflection.”

“Don’t you know nothin’? Cannibal Carol haunts those woods, that’s why people always goin’ missin’ ‘round those parts.”

“What are you talkin’ about, you fool?” He rolled his eyes at his sister. Joyce is too old to be telling ghost stories. Joshua shook his head at the thought.

“Joyce Stevenson, you quit spinnin’ those tall tales.” Ruth kept knitting and rocking as she reprimanded her daughter.

George leaned forward a bit, drawing the attention of his children. “There was a woman, though, back in ‘57, who went missin’ around here, Carol-Ann Jeffries. Story was, she was on the lam. I don’t rightly know what fer, that might be where the cannibal spin came from. Over the years, some folk went missin' around there, but they’re probably just them beatniks an’ hippies runnin’ away to Berkeley to protest the war.” Their father grumbled that last part.

Joyce stood up, satisfied that her ghost story was at least somewhat validated.

“Where are you going?” Joshua prickled.

“If you must know, I’ve got to wash my hair for a date tonight. Ray is taking me to the drive-in,” she smiled dreamily, “He’s got a cherry flip-top.”

“That Raymond is such a nice boy,” Ruth remarked.

“Ma! He doesn't like people callin’ him that. He goes by Ray. It’s cooler.”

“Why don’t you just get circled already,” Joshua smirked.

“Get married?” his sister balked. “I am only 25! And what about you? Imagine being 30 and still stag,” it was Joyce’s turn to roll her eyes.

Joshua turned red. “30? I’m only 29...”

Joyce sauntered off, “For, like what, 'nother month?”

Joshua said goodbye to his parents and drove home, still sulking from his interaction with his sister. He was getting older, with no ol’ lady to call his own. “Get real, it's the 60s now. I may never get hitched!” is Joyce’s usual declaration. She never seemed bothered by her age, but it was a soft spot for Joshua.

The idea of hunting today made Joshua’s stomach churn. He decided to avoid the area for a while. At home, he popped a beer and plopped lazily onto his couch, clicking on the TV. Bullet hopped up beside him, resting his head on Joshua’s lap. That evening, he ate another TV dinner.

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The last month of winter went on without Joshua hunting jackrabbits for extra cash. Instead, the hunter was worn down more and more each night, tormented by dreams of drowning in a glacial grave. Some nights, he woke up with his lungs burning from lack of oxygen, having held his breath in his sleep. He dreamed of the woman’s murder. Bludgeoned over the head, by a bulky man dressed in black winter clothes. Unconscious and bleeding profusely, tossed into the frozen water, shocking her awake. Confused and in pain, trying desperately to find a way out of water so cold it burned. Taking a final, fatal breath…then darkness.

He had learned to dread nightfall, to dread sleep. Dark bags had formed under his eyes from too many sleepless nights. Dressed in his warmest clothes each day, he still couldn’t get rid of a chill that seemed to have settled deep into the marrow of his bones. The hunter felt sick. Sick and crazy. Joshua became the walking dead.

Forlorn and convinced that he was being haunted by a murder victim, he drove back to the infernal pond that started his rapid deterioration. In the desolate backwoods, Joshua trudged through the melting snow. Frigid air bit at his nose, causing him to retreat more into himself, clinging to his last vestiges of warmth. His olive parka stood in stark contrast against the pallid landscape. The glare made him appear ashen and waxy.

The hunter all but fell to his knees at the edge of the pond. He felt unstable on his feet. He was so tired. “What do you want from me?” he bellowed at no one, his lonely voice echoing in the empty wood. “Do-Do you want me to solve your murder? Catch your-your killer?” his body wavered over the pond. His distorted reflection mimicked him on the thawing surface. “Avenge…your death…?” he breathed out, dismally. “What am I even doin’?” he asked his reflection, disturbed by the crazed maniac who stared back at him.

Defeated, Joshua turned to go back and slipped. Unable to catch himself, he slid easily into the water. The hunter hardly had time to yelp before his head went under. He treaded water, breaking back through the surface and gasping for air. He gripped the edge of the pond and began pulling himself out. A strong tug pulled him down under again. Horrified, he kicked hard and took a last breath of winter air before he was violently dragged down further. His mind raced as he watched the light fade. His heart tried beating out of his chest, feeling it thumping and throbbing in his throat.

Joshua didn’t have time to guess what had caught him. He thrashed like a wild animal ensnared in a net. His blood felt like it was coagulating in his veins, restricting his movements. The more he struggled, the more he needed to breathe. The dark water surrounded him in a nightmarish, burning embrace. His lungs ached. The hunter took a deep, anguished breath, and icy water scorched through his core. Joshua’s body began to go slack. His heavy eyelids started to drift closed when he caught a glimpse of the woman, her pale eyes glistening at him, a vicious smile spreading across her ethereal visage. The light left his half-shut eyes.

Some time had passed, but the remnant of Carol-Ann had no care for how long. She sighed to herself as she picked at her incorporeal teeth with the fingernail of her pinky. “Hmm…” her shoulders slumped, “I’m still hungry...”