The Final Hunt

Wednesday mornings' cold, damp air seeped into my being. The five of us, as if bound by a childhood tradition, would venture into the same forest for hunting. It had become routine: we'd meet at nine in the morning, sling our rifles over our shoulders, and disappear into the hunting grounds. But that day, this simple routine marked the beginning of a nightmare.

Ahmet, the most inexperienced and naive among us, trailed behind us as usual. His hunting skills were lacking, often returning empty-handed. But that morning, he made a mistake. He accidentally shot a crow. The black-feathered creature fell from the tree with a scream and lay motionless. The rest of us, myself and four others, didn't take it seriously. Crows were ordinary creatures of nature. However, when they began to gather around us mourning, their cries as heavy and mournful as the air itself, we couldn't ignore them.

Initially, we watched their strange behavior with interest. But as their numbers grew and we had to disperse them by firing into the air, our mood soured. We left the forest, but the impact of the event lingered over us.

The following week, when we met at the same place at the same time, 7-8 crows perched on branches were watching us. We continued our hunt, ignoring them. But every Wednesday, at nine in the morning, when we appeared in the forest, the crows were there. For a month, the same scene repeated every week. The crows awaited our arrival, silently observing us.

One weekend, I went to the forest with another hunting group. This time, not a single crow was seen in the familiar tree branches. I felt relieved. However, the next Wednesday, when we returned with our own group, the crows were there again. They flew at us upon seeing our car, striking our car windows with their beaks. We managed to drive them away by honking and firing shots. Forty days had passed since the death of the first crow.

We considered changing our hunting ground, but this was the most productive area, and we didn't want to disrupt our enjoyment because of stupid crows. On our last visit, things were different. The weather was calm, and the number of crows had decreased. We thought their breeding season was over. Even Ahmet managed to succeed this time, shooting a rabbit. But when his dog returned empty-handed, we grew concerned. Ahmet, excited by his first rabbit kill, went to find it himself. When he didn't return for a long time, we began to worry and started searching for him.

There was an eerie silence and tranquility in the forest. Except for the rustle of leaves, there was no sound. In the depths of the forest, we found Ahmet lying beside a bloody rabbit. His body was unrecognizable, torn apart by thousands of beaks, blood splattered on the ground and trees; it was like a scene from a horrifying bloodbath.

When my eyes met Ahmet's empty eye sockets, a wave of indescribable horror surged within me. My heart raced, and I struggled to breathe. The screams of our friends echoed through the silent forest.

In that moment, we realized that the crows living in these depths of the forest were not mere creatures of nature. They were dark and ruthless beings waiting to take revenge for our slain friend. When we grasped this horrifying truth, the same fear gripped each of us. Feeling the ominousness of the forest, we left Ahmet's mutilated body behind and fled.

We left that forest forever, never to set foot in it again. But Ahmet's gruesome death was etched into our minds. When I close my eyes at night, I can't shake the image of Ahmet's mutilated body and the ominous gaze of the crows. I can't help but wonder, "Who's next?" It seems the dark forest's vengeance will never let us go...