The Hunter in Shadow

The last remnants of light fled the park, splitting the sky in two as deep scarlet wrestled with the inevitable blackness approaching. Solar lights added their humble glow to the battle like a legion of fireflies planted in manicured grass along the paved jogging path.

Phil woke on the same bench beneath the same iron arch at the entrance that he had for the last two weeks. He sobbed and hung his head, his thumb tracing the cursed brand that appeared when the nightmares began. Stubble littered his face, glistening with a mixture of sweat and tears, and his mantle of unkempt black hair hung wildly.

He shook his head, and said, “I don’t want to do this.”

Those that waited for the coolness of night for their evening run began to emerge. He resisted the impulse to look at them as they passed, and they nervously avoided glancing at him.

‘What you want no longer matters,’ said Kynigos in a vitriolic whisper. ‘I hunger for the hunt.’

Phil knew the whisper came from the darkest recesses of his mind, but his mouth watered anyway as the voice conjured a coppery taste in the back of his mouth that spilled down his throat like warm honey. The visions of unspeakable gore that accompanied, though, knotted his stomach. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed until the ghoulish slideshow subsided.

Kynigos calls himself a Hunter of Men, distracting them with dreams of violence until he breaks their will and they hunger for nothing else. Those he has broken since his escape became tyrants and terrors without remorse. The atrocities accomplished once in his grip are the stuff of campfire legends meant to scare misbehaving children.

Ever hear of Jack the Ripper or the Wild Hunt? Then you know his work.

The overwhelming aroma drifted beneath the arch, and Kynigos forced Phil to draw in a deep whiff of the intoxicating scent. ‘Her,’ Kynigos demanded as the red-head in earbuds jogged through the entrance and ran past without a glance.

The word carried such hunger that it staggered Phil.

A pony-tail rocked back and forth, brushing against her shoulders with each step, and form-fitting shorts revealed a perfectly-sculpted figure as she moved. A narrow drip of perspiration flowed from beneath her half-shirt to pool on her waistband at the small of her back.

‘She carries the scent of prey.’

Another wave of macabre images washed over Phil, buffeting his mind. He rubbed the scar on his wrist harder but could not erase the notched bow, and resisting the whispered desires of Kynigos while bearing his mark was like standing in the ocean to hold back the tide.

But, still, Phil tried.

He forced his eyes closed, trembling as he rose against his will. Sweat beaded from his forehead. Each step Kynigos compelled came slowly, as if the two of them trudged through deep mud, while the red-head kept forward at a steady pace, pushing farther and farther. But her sent still hung in the air.

‘After her,’ Kynigos shouted.

Phil winced in agony and dropped to his knees, the command slamming into him like a hammer and thundering through his skull. He fell flat on the path as the last of his will retreated. Blood squeezed from behind his tear ducts as his eyelids parted. The red-head had slowed, but she was little more than a distant silhouette. Phil grinned and whispered, “So... tired.”

His eyes drifted shut.

‘That’s because you spend so much effort fighting me,’ Kynigos roared, ripping Phil to his feet like a marionette. ‘But I hunger, and you won’t let her get away.’

Phil’s eyes glazed, and his sobs stopped. His legs pushed forward on their own as the new hunter ran.

‘You fear the morality of what you think I ask you to become,’ Kynigos said, his voice returning to a seductive coo as he pushed Phil’s body to narrow the gap. ‘But we are one now, and it is man’s nature to hunt.’

The red-head instinctively increased her pace without looking back, as if the hairs on the back of her neck warned her of a predator’s approach. She neared a bend in the path, shrouded by a grove, but Phil still gained. He could smell the fear and desperation that Kynigos had mentioned. He heard a primal growl in the distance and realized in disgust that it came from him.

‘I only ask you to feed the hunger that has always been there. After your first,’ Kynigos said as the red-head rounded the bend, ‘You’ll understand.’ Kynigos fired a surge of adrenaline through Phil’s system, sending him racing around the bend.

‘W-what?’ Kynigos sputtered.

The red-head had vanished from the path ahead. Though her scent surrounded them, only a package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with hemp twine bow, sat on the path between the glow of the solar lights. The name Phillip Worley was written on it in black marker.

‘Something is wrong,’ Kynigos said in a confused rage.

Phil reached down and picked up the package. “It says it’s for me,” he said as he pulled the end of the twine bow.

‘Wait,’ Kynigos bellowed, but his stranglehold had slipped in his moment of distraction.

Kynigos caused a flood of images to cascade through Phil’s mind to regain control. He witnessed every horror Kynigos had wrought over the millennia. Phil flinched and shook his head as if clearing cobwebs. He looked the package over. “I have to know what it is,” he said as he pulled a tab of brown paper.

The package had been wrapped in an origami fashion, using only folds to hold it in place, and the single tug was enough to set the wrapping free. A modest box of weathered drys wood fell into his hands.

The box presented a simple construction. No etched symbols or artisan embellishments, other than the bluish-gray tantalum that bound the corners, offered hint of age or origin. But Zeus, himself, had burned the blackened scars into the lid when man still sat in darkness.

“I know from experience,” I said, stepping from the shadows of the grove, “It’s impossible to control the curiosity that box exudes.”

‘Pandora,’ Kynigos said, snapping Phil’s head to look at me as I opened the link to its fullest.

I circled Phillip Worley as ebon wisps wrapped the blade of the soul sword, and I had to admit that the jogging outfit accented my figure in flattering ways when seen through the eyes of Kynigos. But I also saw myself stumble, balance faltering from the disorientation brought by mixing his vision with my own. A little embarrassed and curiosity about my entrance sated, I blocked all but the sound of his words once more.

“I’ve listened to your lies for far too long, Kynigos,” I said, still circling. I raised the soul sword to his throat. “It’s time you go back into the box.”

‘You have hunted me a long time,’ Kynigos said with a guttural laugh. ‘Long enough that I know Zeus’ curse as well as you. You can’t open the box without releasing everything again.’

“Hunting takes so much work. With trapping, all you need is the right bait,” I said with a mocking curtsy. “And to keep the prey distracted long enough for the trap to be sprung.” I used the tip of the soul sword to point out the open box Phil held in his hand before making a sizzling swipe across Kynigos’ throat.

Kynigos screamed as ebon wisps seared through him without touching the flesh of his host. Phil collapsed, dropping the box.

A silent moment passed before the sound of a thousand raging rivers exploded around us. Kynigos erupted from Phil in a cyclone of shadow that raced toward the toppled box, righting it as it pulled Kynigos into it. The lid snapped shut.

Phil didn’t open his eyes but rubbed the fading brand on his wrist. “Is the nightmare over?” he asked weakly.

“It is for you,” I answered, picking up the box. “It is for you.”