The Hunt

A Story by Kate Wing

This was written in 2007 for a contest.

The same old peaceful, slumbering dream of any country girl. A green, open meadow, full of wild flowers. A soft rustling through the grass is the only sound to be heard. She rests there amongst the flowers, the other country beauties. The sun gently warms her face.

A shadow comes over the land and a chill sweeps in as storm clouds roll in. Lightening flashes across the sky and thunder booms all around. She sits bolt up right, a bit perplexed by the sudden change.

The wild flowers shrivel right before her eyes. All the wonderful colours dull and turn to a bitter grey ash as they fall to the cold hard earth. Across the field a tall, dark, looming figure approaches. A smile of pure malice expressed across his face as his eyes focus certainly upon her. He quickens his pace towards her.

She doesn’t wish to meet the ill-wishing stranger; she rises up and attempts a slow, unsuspicious retreat. She slowly backs away from the stranger without letting him out of her sight. She stumbles and trips over what she assumes is a rock. She looks down and finds that where there were once flowers there was now trees sprouting up around her. It is as if once she recognises them she gives them the power the need. In a split second they rush upwards and she is surrounded by a grey, dark forest.

A snapping of wood draws her attention back to the strange figure, as he reaches out and grasps her skirt. He yanks on it with such force that she almost falls to her knees. She struggles against his grip; the sound of tearing fabric reaches her ears. She takes that as her cue and she runs.

She runs through the trees, the branches catch on her clothing, her hair and her skin. Sticks and stones crunch under her feet. Her heart pounds in her chest and in her ears. Her breathing sounds in short, quick gasps with sobs ever present. Through the forest a sound carries to her ears, it is only just audible over her heart beat but it is still there, the sound of a pursuit, the sound of running footsteps. Her pursuer is still dogging her steps.

Just as the thought of him dogging her steps passes through her mind and the footsteps stop. She slows her pace and strains her hearing. There is no sound out there; the forest around her is silent. She knows he has to be out there, she waits and listens for the smallest, slightest sound. There it is, the footsteps have returned, but yet they aren’t the same as before. Then she glimpses it, the thick black fur, the elongated snout, the sharp white canine teeth. A wolf is advancing upon her with the grace of the forest. She turned to run but the trees closed in on her. They were working with him. The trees and the wolf were one and the same.

She realised she couldn’t run, she couldn’t fight, the beast was about her size at least. All that was left was for her to stop and accept her fate. She watches as the beast takes two steps and closes the gap between them. He crouches down and prepares to pounce.

She throws back her head and the scream that has been building up escapes her lips. She waits for the flash of pain and the feel of the smooth, sharp teeth closing upon her throat.

The pain never comes; she opened her eyes and found herself staring at the wall opposite her bed. It had all been so real, but merely a dream. No, not a dream, a nightmare.