(Warning for light gore, violence/use of firearms, animal harm)
It had been toying with me for days. Things began when I was breaking down my campsite on the third morning of my hike. I noticed a small pile of white stones. Three or four neatly stacked on top of eachother, like a tiny little totem. It was intentional; nothing natural could set those stones up so precisely. Any other hiker likely would’ve shrugged it off, or rationalised it. Not me. I knew better.
The next campsite was a day’s hike and miles away from the first. I was breaking things down when, lo, and behold, another small pile of perfectly white stones, stacked precisely. Any other hiker would’ve been a little spooked: “Ok, this is a kinda weird, right? Is there some spooky, stone-stacking raccoon silently stalking me?”
They’d maybe give a little laugh; maybe they’d consider heading back. Maybe, just maybe, they’d experience a tiny tingle at the base of their spine telling them that they really, really, should be more afraid. Then they’d decide to keep on.
I knew it wasn’t a raccoon. I knew I wanted to go back. I knew, knew, I should be terrified; in fact, I was terrified. I kept on anyway.
The next night, sitting around the campfire, I began to hear something in the near-distance. It sounded like…sobbing. A woman sobbing. It was the most sorrowful, pitiful sound that I ever heard. She sounded wracked with pain and loss. Listening to it broke my heart. Listening to it, I understood how easy it would be for me to dash off into the night, searching for whomever was in such a state of suffering. That’s what it wanted. I felt it in my bones. I didn’t move a muscle. I chose to ignore it.
Waking up two days later, I zipped open my tent to begin my routine and froze, swallowing hard to choke back bile. Placed in front of the door of the tent was a head. A rabbit’s head. A fresh rabbit’s head, and most of its neck, pointed directly at me. There were no scratch or bite marks, no splatter of blood anywhere on the face or ears to indicate that it had been mauled, or attacked. But the wound around the bottom of the head looked ragged. It looked like it had been torn off, quickly and cleanly. The small pool of blood at the base of it steamed in the chilly morning air. Only one or two flies buzzed around it, occasionally crawling into its still-open mouth, or landing on its wide eyes. This was killed recently. This was placed here recently. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was a warning.
As I’d be hiking I’d come across bits of gore or viscera strewn in my path. Intestines, bloody tufts of fur, an eyeball and some grey smoosh that I thought might be brain matter. Twice more I came across those little totems of smooth white stones. One placed on a small patch leaves in the centre of the path; one perched on a small rocky outcrop that stuck out over the path about chest-high. The second stack of stones had small smears of blood on them. One night I started to hear faint crying again. Slowly, ever so slowly, it drifted closer towards my campsite. It was the desperate wailing of a newborn baby, screaming for its mother; it was terrified. The sound was chilling. My stalker wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore. I went in my tent and stayed there till morning.
The day after the bloody stones I was walking a narrow path that circumnavigated a huge rock formation. Rounding a sharper bend and hugging the rockwall I barely noticed a deer’s head impaled onto a dead tree sticking out of a cleft in the rock dead-level to my own head. Fuck! I stumbled back and almost went ass-over-teakettle down the rocky incline behind me. My heart was racing. This wasn’t just a warning. This was a ploy. It knew how to use shock value against me. It wanted me to fall. It wasn’t playing games with me anymore.
Three or four days after the deer head was when it finally chose to make its appearance. I knew the obvious absence of psychological warfare at that time was starting to get to me, and it knew that. It knew that I knew that. It knew that I knew that it was biding its time. Watching me stew. Buttering me up.
The night was moonless and black as pitch. I was inside my tent and almost ready to bed down. The remnants of the campfire emitted a twilight glow and it was just enough to see the shadow of the tent’s dangling tie-offs through the nylon. I was anxious, but the stress of anticipation had really taken its toll and I could barely keep my eyes open.
There was the crack of a branch snapping. Not a twig. The definite sound of an around-wrist-thick branch snapping. A spike of adrenaline shot through my system and I shifted around towards the sound, straining. There was a split-second rustle in the underbrush before something streaked by between the firepit and the tent. It was so fast! I couldn’t see anything but a shadow of its size. It looked…like a man. It had limbs, a torso. It seemed to be moving more upright than not. But… nobody moved that fast. Nobody. I barely heard a thing. A whispered pattering of feet. I couldn’t move. I didn’t blink. I don’t even think I breathed. My heart might’ve stopped beating out of fear and anticipation. I strained harder, desperately trying to hear a hint of…anything. And I did. It came from the other side of the firepit. The sound was deep. Gravely. Nearly a huffing. It sounded familiar. After a moment I realised what it was. Laughter. Slow, deep, beastial laughter, as if it came from the throat of an animal; there’s no way the human vocal cords could’ve produced such a sound. To me it sounded…knowing. Mocking. It knew why I was here. It knew that I’d been looking for it. It was telling me it didn’t care.
I frantically began digging into the small satchel that I carried strapped to the bottom of my hiking bag. I had only one chance to keep myself from being another tall tale told by the light of a campfire. Where was it? Where was it?! Ah! There. My hand settled around a smooth handle. As I began to prepare myself the laughter cut off. Everything cut off. No crickets. No nightbirds. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then the tent shook. It was hit by something hard enough to nearly crumple the whole thing inward. Again it was hit, claw marks appearing along its sides. I couldn’t let it get to me! I couldn’t let it dictate the chase. Again the tent was hit, the poles flexing, and some bending from the barrage. If I stayed in here I was a dead man, but I knew It was waiting for me to leap out and flee. I could see it flash by through the rents in the cloth. It had pale skin. It was so fast. It ran by, over and over, snarling and growling in predatory glee. I had to chance it! I managed to unzip the door in one fluid motion and without thought tossed my hiking pack outside. It was upon the bag immediately, too frenzied to notice that it wasn’t a body that it fell upon. I didn’t hesitate. I had levelled my weapon before the bag had even hit the ground. As its first swipe of its claws shredded the $340 backpack, before it had a chance to realise what was happening, I squeezed the trigger. There was a loud “POP.” The custom-made tranquilliser gun fired a round of the strongest sedative known to the pharmaceutical industry. I saw the round embed itself. Again I fired. Again. POP. POP. The last round hit its chest as it whirled around to face me. It was the first time I ever came face to face with what we would later name Homo Annihilus. It was everything I had expected, and so much worse.
Growling, obviously angry, it moved towards me at a slow, deliberate pace. One step. Two. The growling grew louder. Three steps.
Oh, shit…
Then it stumbled. Then…it collapsed, breath rushing out of it in a throaty rasp. The breath I had been holding rushed out of me, as well. Shakily I levelled the weapon and fired three more rounds into the beast, just for good measure. It took a few good minutes for me to compose myself enough to reach into the smaller pack and extract the walkie-talkie it held.
“Hunter X Hunter, reporting in” I said breathlessly. “The bogey has been sedated and is awaiting extraction on my location.”
“Copy that, Hunter X. The team has been on standby for days! It will be there in ten. We’re happy to finally hear from you. Did you end up shitting your pants? We have a bet going on.”
I laughed a little in spite of myself.
“Let me catch my breath and I’ll take a picture for ya. GPS transmitting. Over and out.”
I layed back inside the tent as overpowering relief flooded through my system. It had been a lo-ooong week and, finally, it was over.
Little did I know that it was really only the beginning..