It was around early evening and I was driving home from a friend’s house party in Balloch, which was a town by the shore of Loch Lomond. I glanced over at the loch through the trees that lined the side of the road. Loch Lomond was well known for its many islands, the biggest one being Inchmurrin. A couple of the islands have been put on sale over the years, but as far as I knew at the time, none of the islands had been purchased by anyone. But little did I know, somebody had purchased one of them and they were using it for some very screwed up crap that I myself was subjected to, that night.
As I drove I noticed a peculiar dark shape slumped on the road ahead of me. As my headlights enveloped it, I discovered that it was a human body. I swiftly stopped my car and got out, thinking that the person laying on the road might’ve been a hit and run victim or something. I rushed over to them, but then I stopped in my tracks. This person was dead, and looked like they had been dead for a long time. The body reeked and I could see noticeable decay on the hands and arms. To make it even weirder the body didn’t look like it had been run over either. There were no drag marks on the road, no tire tracks anywhere on the body. It was just bizarre.
I felt something prick my upper arm, and instantly a wave of nausea overcame me. I looked down at my arm and saw a goddamn tranq dart sticking out of it. My vision faltered, then my legs and then my entire body, everything went black.
I don’t know how long I was unconscious for, but I did wake up momentarily. My vision was blurry but I could make out some things. I was on a rowboat in the middle of Loch Lomond. Through my blurry vision, I couldn’t really make out the person who had tranquillised me. All I saw was this large, dark silhouette sitting in front of me and pulling the oars. They didn’t appear to notice or didn’t care that I was awake. I blacked out again shortly after.
When my eyes opened again, I saw a dense canopy high above me. Weakly I sat up, looked around and saw only trees and brush. Night had completely fallen too, so I couldn’t really see any further than a few metres into the woods that now surrounded me. I felt horrible, getting to my feet proved pretty difficult without stumbling over and I ended up vomiting a bit too. After I’d wiped away all of the bile, I found a note stuck to a small tree a few feet away from where I was. Its contents made my blood ice cold and the reality of my predicament fell over me like a suffocating avalanche.
Are you awake? Good.
I am Herne.
It is my hunting season. You are the deer.
Don’t call for help. None will come. It is only you and me here.
Refuse to play along. There will be hell to pay.
I am currently waiting in the bushes. I am two metres to your right.
Run.
Just as I read that last word, an arrow shot from the bushes and impaled the tree I had just retrieved the letter from. Instinct took over and I sprinted away into the woods. I didn’t care where the hell I was going, just as long as I was as far away as possible from the psycho who just fired an arrow at me. I ran for maybe two or three minutes, then I hid behind a cluster of large shrubs. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my mind was just barely managing to assess the situation.
I’d been kidnapped by some maniac who wanted to fucking hunt me like I was some goddamn deer. I didn’t know what the hell to do. I wasn’t much of a fighter, the last fight I’d ever had was with some mouthy kid back in comprehensive school. I’m not at all a big guy, like I do exercise, but I’m not exactly brawler material.
The low drone of a horn howled from somewhere behind me. It wasn’t too close, but yet also wasn’t too far away either. I needed to move, “Herne” as he’d called himself, probably knew this area like the back of his hand. He’d find me eventually if I stuck in one place too long.
I stayed low to the ground and made sure to stick to areas where the underbrush was at its thickest. The woods were very, very quiet and it made me even more tense. Herne could’ve been anywhere, watching me and waiting to pounce when I least expected it. Then I heard him blow the horn again. This time it sounded much closer than before, so I picked up the pace and decided to try and find a new hiding spot, where I could get my bearings a bit and try to formulate a plan to get out of this alive. I thought to maybe hide up a tree, but he would surely see me up there and fire one of his arrows. I would be a sitting duck, unless I could camouflage myself of course. I was wearing black tracksuit bottoms, but my shirt was completely white. It wasn’t too cold, so I decided to remove it.
I pushed my way through the brush, enduring scrapes and stings on my hands, arms and bare torso. But I didn’t care, it was better than being riddled with arrows. Eventually I found a footpath, but I opted not to use it because I’d be too exposed. The horn blared again from somewhere on the other side of the footpath and I swiftly back tracked into the bushes, just in time too, as an arrow flew overhead.
A gravelly voice erupted from the darkness and said, “That’s the last warning shot. Next one is going in you.”
So now things were going to get serious. I needed to start really thinking and planning my actions now. The soil was pretty soft, so I decided to cover myself with it and then I stuck some leaves to myself as well. It should’ve made me blend into my surroundings decently enough. But still, I needed to be cautious. For all I knew, Herne might’ve been using night-vision goggles or something.
I stalked along the ground, listening intently for any noises that could alert me to Herne’s approach. But the woods were once again completely silent. I decided to try and find higher ground, so I could have a good vantage point over my surroundings and get a good bearing of where exactly I was and how I could escape. I was no stranger to being out in the wild, because my uncle used to take me camping and fishing, and he taught me a few good tricks about finding my way around. Problem was he never taught me about dealing with psycho hunters.
After searching for a few minutes, I found a decent sized oak tree that would provide a good enough vantage point. I clambered up onto its largest branch and stood up on it, holding a smaller branch to stabilise myself. I could see a little over the tree line and it didn’t take me long to realise that I was on one of Loch Lomond’s islands. I remembered back to when I had woken up on the boat. That rowboat had to be here somewhere, but then I realised that Herne had likely hidden it away somewhere to prevent me from using it. There was no way in hell I could swim, the water in the loch was freezing and I was too far out to make it to any of the towns along Lomond. My only option would be using something as a raft, but what? I couldn’t build one because it would take too long and it just wasn’t safe enough with Herne stalking around the island.
I heard the horn blare beneath me. Instantly I fell against the branch and tried to make myself look as flat as possible. On the ground just a few feet away from the tree, stood the hulking form of Herne. He was wearing a full body ghillie suit that only enhanced his already intimidating stature, and his face was hidden behind a mask. No wonder I hadn’t spotted him before, with that ghillie suit on, he could’ve completely vanished into the vegetation if he so chose to.
He just stood there, scanning the area around the oak tree. I noticed that he no longer had the bow. His head moved to the ground and he tensed up, I quickly realised that I must’ve left shoe prints. His head then shot up at the tree, I froze as still as a statue and shut my eyes tight.
“Crafty…” I heard him hiss.
My eyes shot open and I saw him retrieve a huge bowie knife from his belt. He then charged towards the tree and I rapidly pulled myself to my feet. I grabbed onto one of the overhanging branches and used it to swing towards another branch, just as Herne was pulling himself up towards the branch I was just standing on. I was too high up to jump to the ground safely, but there was a small beech tree close to the oak tree. The beech tree had pretty thick branches, so I decided to jump into that tree and use it to get back down onto the ground.
“Slippery little fucker.” Herne hissed from behind me.
He was standing on the branch I was on a second ago, preparing to jump towards me, his massive bowie knife glinting in the moonlight. I could see his icy grey eyes burning into my own, from the eyeholes of his mask. His eyes burned with such feral intensity that practically all of my instinctual fears were set off within me. It wasn’t like being stared at by another human, it was like being in the eyesights of a bloodthirsty predator.
Silently praying that I would make the jump, I prepared myself. I heard the branch bending behind me as Herne prepared his own jump. Taking a deep breath, I leapt forward and slammed into branches of the beech tree. I almost fell, but I managed to wrap my arms around one of the branches and with great effort, pull myself upon it. I didn’t have time to rest however, I heard Herne hissing curses. I needed to move quickly. I had grazed my chest a little, but the adrenaline allowed me to ignore the pain. I scrambled my way to the ground and then ran off into the woods. I looked back and didn’t see Herne pursuing me. He was still in the oak tree, just watching me run off. Sicko probably just wanted to extend the hunt for a little while longer.
When I was sure that I’d lost him, I stopped to catch my breath. That was a real close call, I needed to start covering my tracks somehow. I pondered over how, but then an idea came to me. I could use a branch to brush away my tracks and I could also occasionally backtrack too, to throw Herne off and confuse him. I snatched the leafiest branch I could find, and began to wipe away at my tracks as I moved through the brush.
Herne would blow the horn periodically, but it sounded far away, so it seemed like my method was working. At least for the time being. As I crept through the woods an absolutely horrendous smell entered my nostrils. It honestly made me gag, and it permeated from somewhere to my right. I now wish that my curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of me, that I never decided to seek out the source of that smell. Because the source of that foul smell proved to be something that would haunt my memories for the rest of my existence.
In a small, well hidden clearing were about half a dozen heads that had been impaled upon wooden stakes. Two of them were so decayed and rotten that I couldn’t tell the gender at all. The other four, however, were fresher. One belonged to a middle-aged looking woman. The other three were a man’s and a woman’s and between these two heads, was a much smaller head. Far smaller than the rest of them. I soon noticed that this little head’s hair looked quite similar to the woman’s, and the little head’s nose looked very similar to the man’s.
They were family.
Herne was a fucking animal. No, scratch that, comparing him to an animal was an insult to every single non-human lifeform on this earth. Herne was below them. Below even the most disgusting shit-eating maggot. This man was a demon. Just a soulless, empty cesspit of malignancy and hate, utterly devoid of anything barring bloodlust and savagery. What disgusted and horrified me even more was the fact that Herne had cut the eyes out of all of the heads, leaving nothing but empty black pits above gaping, still screaming mouths. He must’ve been keeping the eyes as trophies or something.
I wasn’t really scared anymore. I was angry. Furious at this abominable excuse of a human being. If I got out of here alive, I was going to make damn sure that the world knew about every single horrific thing that this… thing had done. And if I didn’t make it out of here, I wasn’t going to make my death easy for Herne. I was going to give this fucker something to remember me by.
I heard him blow the horn, and this time it was very close. I was done running. I wanted to fight back, but how? Herne clearly was no stranger to killing, not to mention he was like twice my size. There was no way I could take him on in a straight up brawl, I needed to be sneaky. I would lure him into a trap. I very likely wouldn’t kill him, but I was going to make damn sure to leave a good sized dent in his ego and burst his power trip bubble a little bit.
I left that ghastly scene and tried to formulate a plan. I found a bulky stick on the ground and I decided to use it as a weapon, in case Herne had me cornered again, like on the oak tree. I heard him blare the horn, and mustering every ounce of courage within me, I followed the howl of the horn. I stuck low to the ground and made sure to cover my footprints, and I gripped the tree branch tightly.
I found Herne standing atop a large rock, and I silently watched him from behind some bushes. He was surveying the treeline, but luckily my camouflage was able to hide me this time. He lifted his mask (it was too dark for me to make out his facial features) and brought the hunting horn up to it. As he blew it, I used the distraction stand up from my hiding place and then, with all of my strength, I flung the stick at Herne. It slammed right into his side and sent him toppling from the rock.
I turned around and bolted away, feeling enormously triumphant. But my victory was short-lived. Herne let out a ferocious and downright animalistic, hate-filled scream. My bravery completely dissipated and my fear returned with a vengeance. Perhaps it was stupid of me to try and get my own back at a bloodthirsty psychopath, one that was more than capable of gutting me like a deer.
I glanced back, expecting to see him charging at me like a rabid bear, ready to shred me to pieces. But he wasn’t chasing after me, so I had very possibly injured him, at least a little bit. I felt slightly proud of myself.
I pushed through the woods for a few more minutes and then I came out onto the beach. There was a cottage here, undoubtedly it was Herne’s and there was a dock too. The only problem was the rowboat was nowhere in sight.
Adjacent to the cottage was a large shed and I had good reason to suspect that the boat was in there somewhere. I went over to it and tried the door, it was locked tight. The keys were likely inside the cottage.
I knew it was a massively bad idea to go there, but if I wanted to get off this island, I didn’t have much of a choice. I tried the door and it was, expectedly, locked. But one of the windows was partly open. I slid through it and entered the cottage.
The room I was in was completely dark, but I managed to find the light switch. I was in the living room and it was very… bare. There was only a small armchair, a fireplace and a small table with two picture frames on it. One was a soldier group photo. The other photo was of this big bald guy, his wife and his two kids in what looked like a backyard. This guy had to be Herne. How the hell could someone like him manage to get a wife and kids? Do they even know about all of the horrific stuff that he’s been doing?
I didn’t have the time to ponder on the questions. I needed to find those shed keys, get the hell out of here and alert the authorities. I checked the kitchen next and my god, the smell in there was absolutely rancid. It seemed to be emitting from the fridge, I thought to look inside of it, but then thought better of it. Looking back, I now have a very good idea of what was probably inside that fridge, and what Herne may have been doing with the body parts of his victims…
I pulled out all of the drawers and checked all of the cabinets, but the keys were nowhere in sight. I decided to check upstairs next. There were two rooms up there, the bedroom and a spare room. I checked the bedroom first and I finally found the keys to the shed in the nightstand drawer. But then I heard the door rattle downstairs. Thinking fast, I rushed out of the bedroom and ran into the storage room. It was filled with heavy boxes, and I used a couple of them to form a makeshift barricade over the door.
Herne shouted something from downstairs and then I heard him charging up the stairs.
“Where are you, you little cunt…” He hissed venomously.
I was completely silent, and didn’t dare move a muscle. But he must’ve sensed something, because he rattled the doorknob. He then roared and started slamming himself against the door, making almost the entire room shiver.
My head darted around for an escape route, but there was only the window. The cottage wasn’t too high up, so I could probably jump out of it without seriously hurting myself. I didn’t have much time to weigh my options anyway, because the barricade was beginning to give way, Herne had pushed his arm through the gap in the door and was now punching at the boxes.
I went to the window, opened it and made sure to keep hold of the sill as I pulled my way out. I dangled out of the window, and then I let go of the sill. I fell maybe two and half metres and made sure to bend my legs when I landed. My knee hit my chin and I fell onto my back, but otherwise, I was unharmed. I caught my breath for a couple of seconds, and then I was back on my feet, running to the shed.
I unlocked the shed door, just as the front door of the cottage burst open and Herne stomped out. I slipped into the shed and locked the door behind me. Then I switched on the light, and saw no boat. But there was, however, a small kayak. I quickly grabbed hold of it, but when I turned, I found the shed door wide open and Herne standing there with his bowie knife drawn.
His eyes were bloodshot and his entire body trembled with rage. But I noticed that he was holding his right foot off the ground, and he was leaning on the doorway for support too. I removed the paddle from the kayak, and he gave a mocking laugh.
“Don’t think just because I’ve fucked up my foot… that you actually have a…”
I didn’t let him finish his sentence, I just charged forward and swung the paddle full force into his throat. He immediately doubled over onto his hands and knees, gripping his throat and gasping frantically. Then I grabbed hold of the kayak again, kicked Herne in the stomach for good measure and then I sprinted towards the water.
I kayaked to Balmaha village, ran to the inn and asked the owners to call the police. It took me a long time to convince the police that my ordeal was real, and that I wasn’t just some hallucinating crackhead (my appearance sure didn’t help). But eventually, the local police sent a couple of boats out to Loch Lomond’s islands. It turned out that the island Herne had trapped me on was Inchlonaig, because that was where the police found the arrows that Herne had shot at me. But the police didn’t find the impaled heads (he must’ve disposed of them) and the cottage he was staying in was completely empty too.
The only evidence of what happened there was the arrows, and nothing else. Herne had made damn sure to cover his tracks. He had also purchased the island anonymously too. I wasn’t of much help to the police, because I couldn’t really provide a proper description of Herne’s appearance. The only thing I could go off of was the picture frame I found in the cottage, but as I said, that picture was long gone by the time the police arrived. And for all I know, that man might not have even been Herne at all. Maybe that picture frame could’ve belonged to one of his victims and was just a sick trophy.
Herne has not been found and I honestly doubt that he ever will be. I sometimes wonder if he’s still hunting other human beings. And eating them…