The Hunter Demon

I have a story to tell. You may not believe me, but listen closely, for it may save your life one day. I was on a hunting trip, one fine autumn weekend. It wasn’t getting cold, yet, in west Texas. It was cool in the evenings and mornings. Rifle season had started the week before and I was excited for my trip. My nephew and dad usually tag along, but I was going to be alone for the first couple of days before they could make the one-hundred and twelve mile trip from the city to the ranch we own. I left my house later than I would have liked due to the landscaper running behind schedule. We met and talked about trimming the tree and bushes and he quoted me a good price. It was after three pm when I finally backed out of the driveway. Traffic was bad heading out of Fort Worth, into Weatherford. I turned the radio off and put my mind into a Zen space for most of the trip. The quiet of the inside of my truck coupled with the hum of the engine and tires on the road were soothing.

I pulled into the ranch entrance around six, that evening, and the sun was already below the horizon, just barely illuminating the sky and clouds. The full moon had been out for a good hour by that time. I drove down to the hunting blind and didn’t bother dropping anything off in the cabin. My nephew and I built the blind: it’s an eight by eight foot platform, that sits four feet off the ground, with a roof that slopes from seven feet, near the door, to six feet, at the ports where a rifle sticks out. I grabbed my 30-30 and ammo bag, and set up in the right side, facing the corn feeder. I opened up a few of the ports on the sides and back to get some air flow through the blind, before the temperature started dropping below sixty. After a few hours the green, hog lights turned on around the feeder and I waited and listened. The smell of the outdoors in autumn is so pleasant. Many of the late blooming flowers were closed up for the night, like snow on the prairie, field thistle, and purple prairie clover. Gnats and mosquitos were still buzzing around as the sky darkened, filled only with pale moonlight.

I pulled out a small headlamp and turned it on, shining it in my face before sliding it around my hat. I dug through my ammo bag and found the small bottle of Off Deep Woods™, then hosed down my face, neck, hands and rubbed it into my clothes. The gnats were more annoying, as they buzzed inside my ears. The bug repellant helped. I slid my jacket on and pulled the zipper up to the top. I knew it was going to get cooler in a bit, so I closed up all the open ports around the blind and double checked the door was latched. The last time I was out hunting hogs at night, I left the door open for air circulation and an owl flew in and scared the utter crap out of me! The last thing I want is some barn owl, coyote, or worse yet, a skunk to stroll in the blind. I think a skunk could be the worst possible animal to wander into a hunting blind. I double checked my old Henry 30-30 and racked a round, slowly actioning the lever. The brass slid smoothly into battery and the lever locked up tight. I popped the scope caps open and leaned on the built in shooting bench and scanned the field in front of me. The entire blind was wrapped in camo netting and I could see pretty well through my open gun port. The green, hog lights were dim, only ten percent of maximum, and I had them set to brighten to seventy-five percent when motion was detected. The pale moonlight was a bit brighter than the lights and I saw doe trotting around the area near the tree line, a few dozen yards away from the feeder. Doe tend to run in packs after the rut.

The night was quiet, even with a calm breeze gently moving the tall grass and mesquite leaves around me. Faint howling and yipping of a coyote pack caught my attention in the quiet of the full moon. I breathed the cool air and looked up through the transoms, a good foot tall and wrapped around the top of the blind, covered in netting to keep most of the bugs out. The moonlight gleamed through and had a faint glow in a corner that moved as it arced through the night’s sky, towards midnight. One of the lights on the feeder brightened and I quickly shouldered my rifle and leaned in to peer through the scope. I scanned the area and rotated the magnification ring, to zoom in where I saw movement. It was large and stayed just out of the edges of the green, hog lights on my feeder. It prowled around and activated the other two hog lights, backing away quickly as the green flared brightly. The moon shown a glint of silvery white across it’s hide. I saw it was not a deer or feral hog. It moved strangely on all fours, like a spider scurrying away from an incoming shoe. Its limbs were long and bent at odd angles. I could see it sniffing the area, searching for something. It circled the feeder several times, avoiding the lights, going off in straight lines for a few yards only to come back to the feeder to continue circling around. It stopped directly between me and the feeder, edged into the illuminated patch, keeping its nose in the grass and its body low, then it froze, not quite under the spinner of the corn feeder.

I followed its movements through my rifle scope, keeping the muzzle trained on it for nearly half an hour, round in the chamber and hammer cocked. It stayed unmoving for several minutes. It slowly swung its head side to side. The lights dimmed, which startled the strange creature. It darted away quickly into the tree line. I pondered if I should have taken the shot when I had it in my cross hairs. What was it looking for? What was it? Black bears are extinct in this part of Texas, as are mountain lions. It was too big and odd looking to be any species of canine. People don’t move or have limbs that long. The thought of some new creature sent chills ricocheting around my body. A cryptid, perhaps? Some of the pre-Columbian peoples had stories of mythical beasts, like Átahsaias, Bakwas, and skin walkers. Even wrapped up in my cozy jacket I felt the horror of the unknown, grip me. I stood for a few moments to stretch and look around the property, from inside the hunting blind. Where did it go? I checked my watch: it was nearly one. The moon quietly continued to trace an arc through the sky, not caring about anything. Moonlight filled a little more of the interior of the blind. I felt around my waist. Damn, I forgot to put my pistol on my belt. It’s in the other case with my shotgun. I grabbed a handful of 30-30 ammo from the box, in the ammo bag. I filled the tube magazine with several more rounds and shoved the rest into my right jacket pocket. I sat back down and slid my left hand along the barrel and fore end of the stock. The cool steel and checkered walnut reassured me a little.

A long, shrill, wail pierced the air. It startled me! It came from the tree line in front of me, just beyond the feeder. My heart raced and I could feel the heavy loud thump in my ears and behind my eyes of every beat. I was shivering. I sent a round into the tree line without thinking. The ear splitting crack of the gunshot silenced the creature. I doubt I hit anything, but the embankment or a few trees up the hillside. Why did I fire a round? I guess my fight or flight response got the better of me. I leaned back a little shook my hands down by my sides and then slapped my face. “It’s just a coyote,” I kept telling myself. Another sharp, shrill wail pulled me out of my own head. There it was, sitting like a giant dog. Thin and boney limbs spread out a little in front and its knees at the same height as its head. “Oh, dear God, that cannot be real.” I said aloud. I leaned in and racked another round into battery. The old lever gun actioned smoothly and quietly, with an inaudible click I felt through my hands. It howled again and something answered it.

As I stared at this unnatural creature through my rifle scope, for a few moments, its eyes stared back at me. Deep red globes peered through the darkness. The brief moment we locked eyes, I knew, it was not of this world. It emitted another piercing wail, but it was different. Faint whispers were mixed in the shrill howl, “Heeellpp meeee… heeeerreee heeeellpp meeee…” Was it speaking?! A nearing howl answered its call, then it lunged forward from where it was sitting, just in front of the game feeder, and took a few long strides before I sent another 160 grains of lead out of the muzzle. The creature screamed and veered off to my left at full tilt. I could see the dirt and dry grass kick up as it pivoted hard on one leg. I had to have hit it. This old Henry has never missed the mark. I quickly actioned the lever again, ejecting the spent brass and loading another round. I pulled a few more rounds out of my pocket, dropping a few, from nerves, and filled the tube magazine. I turned my headlamp on and focused the beam, I pulled the door open and stood on the top step of the elevated blind, scanning the field.

A sharp, high pitched scream behind me, was loud! “Heeeeessss heeeeeerrreeee!” It was talking! I whipped around, my rifle at the ready, and we locked eyes. It’s mouth was like nothing I have ever seen, not even in horror flicks: several rows of teeth, that flexed like fingers and the center… oh God help me! It was a vortex of fire and something was looking through it, waiting to grab whatever this monster ate, for it was a monster! The jaw hinged wide, from the back of its head, like a trashcan lid. not under the skull like all animals of this world. This thing’s eyes danced with internal firelight. Not a lovely campfire or candle’s flame, no this fire was alive, like Hell itself was just beyond the inky void. I don’t know how long I was frozen by that horror, but it was still sitting in my truck bed. I never heard it sneak up on me. I never heard the shocks squeak when weight or a load is put into the bed.

I fired. The round struck it’s chest. It wailed and raised up, it’s thin fingers lunging out for me. I rapid fired my 30-30, dumping the rest of the four rounds into the thing, each round hitting a different part of it’s body. I heard a click, then reached into my pocket, and single fed a round through the ejection port and closed the lever, I jumped down the stairs and moved around the truck, aiming up. A ripping sound, like cloth stretching and tearing, bellowed out of the monster, when my last round found it’s mark, dead center of the fiery vortex at the back of its open maw. The creature flailed at the last shot. A far off screech from another of these things chilled my blood. I single fed another round and fired again, then again, it flopped and thrashed wildly out of the truck bed. I kept shooting it until my pocket was empty of rifle ammo. My pistol! It’s still in the truck! I jerked the front passenger door open and saw it had slid onto the floor board. I grabbed it and the extra loaded mag. I don’t remember screaming as I was shooting it. I dropped the first mag out of my trusted Beretta 92 and kept hitting it with 9mm, again and again and again. I shot it in every part of it’s body and limbs and head. Each shot found it’s mark. I had no more loaded pistol magazines and this thing, this unholy horror was still moving and screaming. Its eyes bore into me and I was no longer scared, I was angry. Over 50 rounds of lead, at point blank range, half of which were directly into the head, and the damned thing was still alive!

My hatchet was effective at cleaving an arm from it’s torso. The monster was alive, but slow and that ripping sound continued. I hewed off a leg. The muscle was tough and the bone was thick, but a few strikes at the hip joint released it. Both limbs jerked and flopped like dying fish out of water. I hacked and chopped at the thin neck, more ripping sounds and a drum beat echoed from its flexing jaws. Several more far off screams called to each other in the still night. I was exhausted. The thing was finally in pieces. Frost covered the ground just around all the monster’s parts. I threw them into the truck bed. deep scratches all over the rear of my truck and a few bullet holes. I guess I shot through it a few times. I drove back to the cabin and put the head in the ice chest. I found a shovel and some heavy tent stakes in the storage shed I built last year and buried each of the other parts around my acreage, pounding a long stake through it, before covering it up with dirt.

I watched the sun rise, before pulling off my jacket and boots and flopping onto my cot. Sleep was uneasy, I heard that thing whispering to me, begging me, calling out for help in my dreams. It still does to this day, years later. You can hear it quietly whispering, begging to be put back together, threatening to eat my soul, and calling for help. Its eyes track still track me around my office, where I mounted the head, next to the largest boar I ever took down. No one believes me that it’s still alive. Everyone thinks it’s a Halloween decoration, that I keep up all year long… well, three other people know the truth. My father and nephew saw the head in the ice chest and the old rabbi, Simon, who moved into the house across the street from me, asked me why I have a demon’s head mounted as a trophy. I told him the story. He’s never set foot on my side of the street since. The grass doesn’t grow where the body parts are buried. Permafrost set into those areas. Even the summer heat of the Texas sun won’t thaw the ground. Sometimes I can hear more of those things in the distance on hunting trips. They haven’t come around my land again. I’ve considered telling my priest about it at confession, but I don’t want to be locked away in some asylum. God only knows what the government would do if they got ahold of one…