THE HUNTER'S MOON

FROM THE AUTHOR OF

THE "Visitors"

Dan R. Fowler

THE HUNTER’S MOON

A Novel

THE HUNTER’S MOON

by Debbie Nofsinger

In the crisp, colorful embrace of autumn’s night,

The Hunter Moon rises, a silver light,

Casting shadows on the whispering conversations of trees,

Where secrets linger in the cool, soft breeze.

Fields aglow with a harvest’s yield,

A time of gathering, the earth once more revealed, With every beam, the night comes alive,

As creatures stir, and the wild things thrive.

Hunters tread softly on the dewy ground,

Tracking the rhythms of the world around,

With purpose and patience, they roam the land, Guided by moonlight, a steady hand.

The air is thick with stories untold,

Of ancient rituals, of brave and bold,

Under this orb, the past intertwines,

In the glow of the Hunter, the spirit aligns.

So let us wander beneath this gaze,

Embrace the night in its silver haze,

For in the quiet of the moon’s embrace,

We find our place in nature’s grace.

And ultimately ask, Who’s hunting Who?

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Dedicated

Heather, Chris, and David

Chapter One

Memories

Thirty years earlier

From time to time, Josh, Jr. asked about the little snippets of abbreviated stories or tales jotted down in a small journal about life's journey, people’s ancestry, and the strange bloodline. He became curious and rightfully so. Having mentioned to him how important it was for me to write down these mental pictures, these keepsakes of our human existence so that, in time, all of the family would have them to remember our time together.

In the late evening hours after the sun collapses, I’ll share one special story from my childhood now swallowed up by time in a place no longer visited nor remembered by anyone other than perhaps myself and a few other older men who still live on the parameter of the valley’s floor. But, due to the revelation we all experienced and the truth that we now know, I’ll attempt to unravel a mystery for my sons before my passing. It’s a mystery that will change them forever or at least cause them to question who they are, who we were.

In the waning years of the late 1940's, early 1950s in a rural encampment where cookie-cutter houses lined the roads and were referred to as jot'em-down, three room sheds splashed against the mountain sides where daily living was a chore and not a luxury. It was a place where dreams were left unfulfilled, and thoughts of tomorrow were reflected only upon sheets of paper to be stored away until things got better. I sit once more writing what some might call a fairy tale. I write what some would dismiss a just a silly dream. But, for me and those who were there at the time, it was real and remains real until this day. My name is Joshua Aldridge, some call me Josh, and this revelation is written for my boys who will hide it away to read to their children after I’m long gone.

...

I walked with my brothers, my dad, and my uncles down a muddy dirt road. It wasn't considered drudgery at that time, but commonplace in the encampments tucked beneath the mountains in valleys sequestered in timeless permanence. Without questioning where we were going, we plodded along being careful not to slide down the sides of the road's slippery slopes to become lost in the undergrowth. "Now, be careful and stay on the top of the mounds." my dad instructed as we performed a balancing act on the mounds in the center of the muddy dirt road.

"Y'all follow me." he summoned and walked gently to the side of the road some ten feet ahead.

"Here, take this." he stated as he handed us the small but adequate rifles he'd carried along with his own tucked in a small canvas bag. They weren’t loaded or ready to be used for the ‘hunt’ and it would only be another hour, perhaps two, before we would accept the time-tried and proven ritual that would make me and my brother’s men or so we were told.

"Now hold them tight, just keep the barrel pointed down towards the ground. I'll keep an eye on y’all to be sure you don’t drop your rifles into the mud," he said.

Guiding us alongside the embankment and warning us of snakes that ventured out in the late summer, early fall morning air, we followed along what seemed almost all day until we came to a wide clearing in the road leading down to the valley a hundred maybe two hundred feet below us where each of our hunters used to set up camp and to prepare for the hunt.

"Now, hold ya guns tight against your sides as we go down this hill to git to the valley below,” he ordered having kept his secret about why we came down the muddy dirt road to himself up until we'd finished our journey from the housing encampment to the hillside overlooking the valley below.

It wasn't the first time we ventured along dirt roads nor would it be our last. Whether it was for checking out the ‘rubbings’ as they called it or hunting for ‘droppings’, each journey left a tale to tell, a story to share, a memory to pass on to my family members of a life now forgotten in time and in a place where things that appeared to be real wasn’t real at all but an illusion waiting to be discovered by the men of the wilderness.

When I found out the truth about the ‘hunt’, I could hardly believe it. It held me in a state of disbelief. Yet, having witnessed it myself firsthand, there was no way of denying that it wasn’t real.

Not all of the men who went into the valley’s forest to hunt returned alive. It was a risk that each of us understood and accepted as a fact of life. It was, at least for me and my brothers, something that we’d wanted to do, no, something that was expected of us to complete before we became much older. It was expected to be one of the ‘rites of passage’ in our lives that would define who we were to the world around us and especially to our families. It was our time to become men.

And so the story begins.

Chapter Two

My Father’s Heritage

Rustling around since 5:00 am, I made coffee, breakfast was out of the way, I waited for Aaron, our family Beagle, to finish up his business outside. Once he was done, he made a quick turnaround to get out of the damp grass before he walked over to the porch door to wait to get back inside. It was our morning routine, our time together, the dog and me. Yesterday, I went to purchase a large white unadorned Christmas ornament that my grandchildren could paint and hang on the tree, something special. They intended to paint some design or picture or scene that each of them agreed would be the best ornament on the tree. It was their special project. I wasn't invited to participate. Once back home with their trophy, I watched them as they analyzed the size of the unadorned bland white ornament as one of them held it in their hand. There were to be 8 separate scenes or word clusters each with their own designated space. After dividing the globe into 8 spaces, much like longitude and latitude divisions of the Earth, each one set about their task of drawing their picture on a piece of paper that would be transferred to the globe. I chuckled to myself as they slowly and methodically traced the finished drawings on the globe between the dividing lines making sure each area would have an equal portion of the white unadorned ornament.

They painted for at least 3 hours, stopping every thirty minutes to call me over to examine their progress. I complimented them on their work even though their topics were somewhat strange to me. I was aware each was different with an imagination of their own but one word seemed to stick out more so than the others. Uno Anos, which means 'one year' in Latin.

“Where did you hear that word?” I asked as I looked at one of my grandsons who seemed afraid to answer.

“At the school, from our teacher,” he stated and waited for me to respond.

“It was in a film about other countries and their celebrations. Uno Anos was mentioned a lot. It means ‘one year’,” he said and smiled.

Having watched this 'one year' program at school and it seemed important to the people in the film, it was clear that it had made an impression on my grandson. It's underlying concept, as I understood it, was to savor each moment in our lives as if we had one year to live. Right or wrong, the concept is compelling. We should all live as if our life is limited. Why? Because it is! No promises, no guarantees, no extensions. What if you only had one year? What would you do differently? I questioned my life, its many twists and turns, its seemingly empty times when life was taken for granted, laughed off, or simply forgotten for a spell. We all do that. We all loose touch with reality until we’re shaken by some event, a life-changing event, that shakes us to our bones. It was one of those times, surrounded by a group of men and my boys, that not only grabbed me by my throat but them as well. It was supposed to have been a causal time away from our homes but it turned into something that I can’t explain even until this day.

“You boys get a few of your things packed, not much now mind you, but a few things like your a heavy coat in case the chill starts cutting at us down to our bones,” stated Josh’s dad as he pushed himself up out of his big ole chair he called ‘Sally Mae’ and lumbered off into his bedroom as he’d done many times before on evenings of the hunt.

“What you suppose we take with us?” asked Josh as he turned toward his younger brother.

“Land sakes Josh, how am I suppose to know what Dad wants us to git together. It’s my first time doin’ this and I ain’t got no idea what I’m supposed to do,” answered the younger boy as he felt his head begin to throb. Fishing around in his dresser drawer, Josh’s younger brother found his gloves, a pair of thick socks he’d used on several fishing trips, and an old rabbit’s foot he’d had for more than four years. Its fur was falling out but he was sure the magic was still there like it was when he first found it near the campgrounds where the family went fishing every chance they got. Other than fishing, the huntin’ trip the men did was about all there was to do in Destiny.

It was late Friday evening and the sun wrestled with the approaching darkness being pushed by invisible winds of the night holding secrets of its own. It came to visit the valley in the dying hours of each day. Sometimes it was a welcomed visitor, sometimes it was a dreaded intruder, and sometimes it was a bearer of life-changing gifts, some good, some not so good. For the Holster family, one of many of the small farmers-miners trying to scrape to make ends meet, the evening hours were a time for story tellin’. Tonight would be no different. Tonight, the boys father would tell them a tell that would cause them to rethink their past, their present, and their future in the wide lush valley cradled between the majestic mountains.

chapter Three

Childhood Antics

“Keep the chatter down in there!” shouted the boy’s father as he rummaged through his own things trying to find a few of his own magical items he kept hid from the kids. He feared that they would trade them for some worthless glass marble or piece of shiny circus glass down at the school during recess. It wouldn’t be the first time that his boys took something that wasn’t theirs to trade at school but it only happened once before. After that their father discovered that one of his prize pieces of deer horn was missing- he didn’t have to look far to find the culprits. After a strict talkin’ to, the two boys owned up to taking the deer horn from their daddy’s room. Their story was that they were so proud of their dad that they wanted to show the deer horn to their friends who offered money to buy it from them. The other boys at school had a good argument and said that their father, being the hunter of renown, would be able to replace it without any trouble during the next hunting season. The boys couldn’t resist and sold the nostalgic piece to the highest bidder. The three dollars they were paid for the piece of deer horn was well worth the beatin’ they got. And, chances were that the new owner would be trying to get rid of it when he got low on candy money. If that should happen, the two boys would be able to buy it back if they had the money at the time.

It wasn’t that their father felt the few magical things were really magical as he pulled several things from his dresser drawer. It was just that his dad gave him the empty shells he held in his hand, turned them over several times, then lifted them to smell the odor that was left from the firing. The spent shells had been shot during a huntin’ trip when he was just a boy. His father told him about the trip, the shooting, and the trophies so many times that the story became ingrained in his mind like a splinter. The story was he father’s best story or so he kept telling the boys each time he told it but for Joshua, it wasn’t all that and some of it he found hard to believe. It was as if the older men of the coal camps had nothing better to talk about than escapades they’d experienced up near the timberline where the frost formed on the remaining foliage way before the heavy snows fell. It was just their way of scaring the young boys into thinking that a mystical creature or some monster could be seen when all of them went on their hunting trips. Unfortunately, Josh wasn’t so sure about those tall tales, those spent yarns of old cantankerous men spouting profanities and spittin’ chewin’ tobacy into the bonfire’s flames.

Yet, as he rummaged and pilfered through the drawers of his antique chest of drawers, he couldn’t help but hear his grandfather calling to him and demanding that he tell the tale of the ‘hunter’s to his boys. His grandfather, who now existed only in his mind, called for him to be the ‘man’ that he promised him that he’d be when it came to ‘huntin’ time. He expected his grandson, Josh now in his mid forties, to keep his word.

“I hear you grandpa, I hear you. Stop yelling at me like I’m still a child,” commented Josh as he pushed a few of his socks around in the draw until he found the talisman his grandfather gave him during his last story-telling. It was a covenant between them that bound Josh to his word. It was an eternal promise made in the darkest of hours right before the dawn on his grandfather’s last hunting trip. His words seemed to fail the old man as he whispered the enchantment so Josh could hear it. He whispered it only a few days before his death. His death, completely unexpected, finished an age old ritual held by the family for over three hundred years. Now, it was up to Josh to remember the enchantment, remember the words that opened the door to another reality, one that frightened him when he was a child. Now, it was his time to tell his sons the truth that only his family knew about the ‘hunter’s and the ‘hunted’.

Josh knew that when they reached the campsite he’d be compelled by the spirit of his grandfather to keep his promise. His father wasn’t required to tell the tale because that burden feel on every other generation. Therefore, his father, even though he knew of the tale, he didn’t remember it as well as his son did because it wasn’t his duty, his rite, to pass it on. Josh, being the eldest of the family, knew that his sons wouldn’t have to remember the details of the story, they just needed to hear it. Once the telling was done, the vapor that separates the nature from the unnatural, reality from fantasy, would crumble before them allowing those seated around the camp fire to understand the meaning of the ‘hunt’.

“Now, gather ‘round and be still as I tell you what my grandfather told all of us boys many years ago,” Josh’s grandfather’s voice was a clear to him as it was the first time he heard him issue charges to the younger men to remain quiet, be attentive, and remember as much of the tale as possible before the embers died out and the morning light claimed the valley.

“This is the truth whether all of you understand it or not. I won’t have any of you snickering or laughing or making fun during the story, the enlightenment, the revelation, as it were, about who we are and what we are. It’s only meant for the men of the valley even though there have been times that women, unaware of the danger, slipped into the forest and followed us to the camp. They remained in the undergrowth but we were aware that they were there. It was for their own protection that they stayed hunkered down close to the ground. It was for their own protection that they were able to remember the trail back to the village. It was for their own protection that they left before the sparkles began, before the transformation started. It was as if they were being given a second chance at life even though they had no idea what was about to happen to the men seated around the fire.”

For Josh, remembering his grandfather’s voice filled him with anxiety, with anticipation, with a sense of appreciation that he’d been a part of the ‘encampment’s men’, those selected by the ‘great spirit’ to understand that no matter how hard people tried to find out the truth, they still walked in darkness, they were still locked away from the things in the darkness hiding behind their faces of those on the other side of the campfire.

As he finished rummaging through the drawers, Josh slowly pushed the last drawer closed and stepped back. In the silence he could hear his sons whispering in the other bedroom about what they were expecting to hear, to see, to experience what they had been told by all of the men who lived to see another day once the ‘hunt’ was over. Whatever the ‘hunt’ meant or whatever it was that got the men of the community so on edge, it couldn’t be all that bad, it couldn’t be some unachievable goal or so the boys thought.

“Come on you two, we need to be ready to go when I get the call from Sam. Y’all know that!” exclaimed the boys father as he came around the corner of their bedroom door and stuck his head in.

“Why are you packing so much?” asked their father as he walked over to the bed, pulled the backpacks up to look inside. “There’s no way you two need all of this stuff for a simple two day camping and hunting trip. We’re going to eat off of the land!” he exclaimed as he pulled bags of chips and candy out of the backpacks and threw them onto the bed.

“Now, get the rest of those ‘non-essentials’ out of those bags and let’s get own our way. Y’all know that your grandpa is not one for fancy stuff. Just the bare essentials he said. Y’all remember that?” asked Josh as he turned away from his sons so that they couldn’t see him smiling. Whether the boys knew it or not, this camping trip was more of a prank in some respects when it came to what was needed and was wasn’t. The men in the group went through the same rigors as Josh’s boys were going to face all this time there would be a story telling time as Josh’s father had insisted.

“Y’all get yourselves together and come on out to the kitchen. I’ll be waiting on you. We’ll take a last look-see into those bags to be sure we’re not spoiling the whole trip by taking junk candy,” said Josh as he walked out of the bedroom and headed down the hall toward their kitchen.

The kitchen, proudly boasted as the best part of the house by the Mrs, was nothing more than an over-sized room with a white sink with two places to wash dishes, a pot-bellied coal stove on the opposite side of the room that belched smoke and embers when being stoked during the cold mornings in the valley, and a large wooden table with six chairs slid in all around it, one chair for each member of the family. Josh was personally proud of the wooden table he’d made from planks of wood from the hickory trees that grew on his property. The sink had metal doors paint with white enamel point with two drain boards on either side of the double bowls. Josh’s wife was proud of the sink and the running water that was finally hooked up the community’s water system.

Before the community got the huge water tower that looked like a large lollipop, the residence got their water from spring boxes on the back side of the community. The spring boxes were built into the hillside and collected rain water and runoff from the mountains surrounding the shanty-like houses build sometime ago when the mining barons first bought the coal mineral rights located underground. There were thousands and thousands of acres of coal underneath the mountains. All that the mining barons needed to do was find an economical way to get it out. Once out into coal cars, it would be shipped away from the surrounding communities and north to the steel mills where companies like U. S. Steel Corporation and others would use the coal to fire the furnaces to make steel. Once the steel was finished and ready to be shipped, it would be loaded onto trains and flatbed trucks bound for large cities being built around the country. The workers and citizens of the large cities never knew how the steel was made that was used to build the skyscrapers nor did they ever know of the miners who risk their lives to dig the coal out that fired the furnaces. They would never know what it took to extract the coal located under thousands of tons of earth and rock.

The mining industry began in a region called Appalachia and stretched from Maine to Alabama. It wasn’t a glamorous job, in fact, it was one of the worst jobs in the world filled with danger and dirt and death. The mountainsides and valleys that were striped of vegetation to make room for poorly built houses took years to recover. Now, some many years later, Josh and the other inhabitants of the valley couldn’t see the strip roads that were cut into the hillsides to harvest the trees that built the shanty towns through out the region. After many decades, the trees covered the slaughter of nature, the merciless killing of animals, and the redirecting of the many streams and rivers that now provides life-giving water for the valleys. It was a butchering of the Appalachian region that sustained an ungrateful nation.

Josh stood in the kitchen near the pot-belled stove, reached over, opened the front door located near the top, and peered into the embers within the belly of the beast.

“You need to stoke the fire, honey.” he ordered. “Don’t want it to go out while me and the boys are away.” he added.

“We need the house warm when we get back. If we’re lucky, we’ll have enough meat to last us until next spring. If we’re not so lucky, we’ll have a hard row to hoe come winter time,” he concluded in a tone that was less than hopeful if they failed during the hunt.

“The coal buckets are full out on the back porch. I took care of that earlier this morning. I don’t expect the weather to be bad while we’re gone but in case it gets stormy, make sure all the windows are closed. Button down the hatch, as my grandpa used to say. You know he was in the Navy, you know!” he said with a smile on his face knowing that he’d told her the same thing at least a dozen times before.

“Aye, aye captain!” shouted his wife from across the kitchen as she turned from cracking eggs into a large bowl. “I’m fixin’ a cake for you boys so when you git back you’ll have something sweet to celebrate your success with once you git the cleanin’ done and cut the meat all up.”

“The boys been tellin’ me that you men are going to listen to some kind of tale, some kind of story and such,” she said as she turned to look at her husband for confirmation. It was a story that was only shared with the men, never the girls or women of the community. Something ‘bout keepin’ the females safe from some kind of spirits or somethin’, she’d been told when she was a little girl holdin’ on to her mom’s dress tail.

It was said that when the story was told out there on the huntin’ trips, that some, not many, of the men disappeared and we never seen after that. Course that was just a tale that was told to scare the young boys and the new hunters during their rite of passage.

“Honey, you keep an eye on our boys. I don’t want some monster eatin’ them all up,” laughed Josh’s wife as she turned back to her large bowl filled with eggs, flour, and sugar.

“Why you sayin’ stuff like that? You know the boys are down the hall in their bedroom. They can hear you if they’re listening,” said Josh as he gave his wife a rebuking stare.

“I’m just sayin’. You know and I know that there ain’t no such thang as those monsters or whatever your old grandpas talk about when you all go campin’. I’ve heard that some ole thing talked about all of my life. I ain’t never seen nothing and all of the men seem to find their way back to the valley. To me it’s funny why you grown men want to create fear in the hearts of the boys at such a young age,” she added, turned back to her bowl and whipped the mixture will all of her strength.

“That’s the whole point. The boys need to be afraid. It puts the fear of God in their bones. They need to be afraid that if they make a mistake, they’ll kill some other man hunting in another location. They need to be afraid because we don’t know what’s in the woods beyond the trees around our campsite. That fear in their heart may just save their lives,” Josh said with such conviction that his wife swallowed what she was going to say in rebuke and decided that maybe it would be better to talk about the stupid stuff her husband believed in at another time.

“Oh, okay. Well that makes perfect sense,” she finally stated as she lifted the heavy bowl full of the cake mixture and poured it into the only cake pan she owned.

“Makes perfect sense,” she whispered and smiled to herself.

“Oh, Josh, hon, I was wondering when you’re goin’ to tell the boys the truth?” she asked as she turned to face her husband she’d known for some twenty-five years.

“The truth? It’s not quiet time for that, not yet,” he answered unaware that he wife had found out the truth some time earlier from another man in the coal camp.

One of the fellow miners, one who was trying to find some peace for his soul, struck up a conversation with Josh’s wife down at the company store near the small bridge leading to his house. It wasn’t meant to turn serious nor was it supposed to have been a confession but it ended up being both. He’d broken a promised he’d sworn to keep and told Josh’s wife the secret of the hunters. He told her of the campfires, the tents all sprawled out around the edges of the forest, and about the men listening to the older man, usually someone’s grandpa talking about hunting in the local area. It wasn’t no more than a few days later after their private discussion that he was found dead with his throat cut laying face down in the stream that cut through the coal camps.

Josh’s wife wasn’t sure what to make of the turn of events but she didn’t tell a soul about what the man told her for fear that she too would end up in some like fashion bleeding to death with her throat cut. As she mulled the story over in her mind, she felt her soul reach up and choke her. She wasn’t able to catch her breath and leaned heavily over on the counter next to the sink. It wasn’t that she was fearful, Lord knows she’d been through a lot of stuff trying to keep her little family together and food on the table but the story was unnatural to say the least. She knew there was more to it than what the man told her but his voice was trembling and he shifted his eyes back and forth to be sure no one was watching him the whole time he talked to her. It wasn’t that he thought they would tell his wife that he was speaking to another man’s wife, no, it was because some of the men that worked in the company store were along for the hunt the night the story was recited. It wasn’t at all what he though it would be.

Heather, Josh’s wife, wasn’t so sure that the whole thing was true but who was she to say it wasn’t. As she stood next to the sink with a soapy dish rag in hand, she remembered the funeral for Clevis Newcomb, the man with his throat cut from ear-to-ear.

Chapter four

The Coroner

Two years earlier

As told my the coroner prior to the funeral, the story went as follows: as the van pulled up to the crime scene, the two men could see the flashing lights of the police cars ahead. Sam and Ellis were briefed on the situation and approached the officer on duty. Sergeant Downing explained that the victim had been out hunting when he stumbled into a clearing and was attacked. The sergeant pointed out the direction in which the attackers were believed to have fled and added, "We've sealed off the area, but we don't know how many suspects there are or if they're still around." Sam and Ellis geared up and approached the body, lying on the ground near the forest edge. Sam noted the throat wound and the fact that the body had been dragged, and frowned. It was clear the victim had bled out, and his eyes had that vacant gaze, a telltale sign of death by shock. Sam knew this case would yield few clues, but he also knew that any detail could be significant, no matter how small. He carefully examined the body, noting every feature and nuance. Meanwhile, Ellis set up the crime scene photography equipment, meticulously capturing the scene from every angle.

As Sam finished his initial examination, he noticed Ellis had finished taking photos and was approaching with the forensic kit. Together, they began the tedious process of collecting evidence, bagging and tagging each item carefully. A rustle in the nearby shrubs startled them, but it was only a stray dog, its fur matted with blood. It had likely been drawn to the scene by the scent of the fresh corpse. Sam noted the dog's presence, adding it to the growing list of potential clues. With the sun beginning to rise over the forest, the forensic team packed up their equipment and left the crime scene in the capable hands of the waiting police officers.

Sam and Ellis returned to the forensic office after a long night at the crime scene. The sun was up, and the birds were singing, but their work was far from over. They had a feeling this case would keep them busy for days. Back at the office, they began processing the evidence they had collected. Every small detail was carefully examined, photographed, and documented. The stray dog that had approached them at the scene was tracked down and quarantined for observation, its role in the crime a mystery wasn’t clear at this time. As they worked, Sam mused over the strange nature of the killing. The throat wound was consistent with the police report, a gory and unusual method of murder. Who would have the stomach to slit a man's throat from ear to ear? And the idea that the attacker had tried to skin the victim added a macabre twist. Sam knew that this case would require all of their skills and more to solve the puzzle. Little did they know, this was only the beginning of an eerie and chilling mystery that would test the limits of their forensic expertise.

Sam and Ellis set up their crime lab in the office, a well-practiced routine. They spread out the evidence on the table, a grim display of the previous night's work. The photographs of the body and crime scene were laid out, the viciousness of the attack clear to see. The throat wound was the focal point, a brutal and bloody reminder of the force of the attack. As they delved deeper into the evidence, a strange pattern emerged. The attackers seemed to have left no footprints, no identifiable traces, as if they had floated into the clearing and out again. The lack of physical clues was baffling and unnerving. Sam knew that this case would require a different approach, one that delved into the surreal. They decided to focus on the strange detail of the skinning attempt. Perhaps there was a ritualistic element to the crime, an eerie and chilling motive that had yet to reveal itself. With this new direction in mind, Sam and Ellis set out to interview the victim's hunting companions, hoping that their insights could shed light on the mysterious events. But little did they know, this was only a glimpse of a deeper, darker mystery, one that would challenge their perceptions of reality.

Sam and Ellis set off to meet the victim's hunting companions, a grim task as the sun shone brightly on this seemingly peaceful day. The interviews yielded little fruit, the hunters were baffled as to who would want to harm their friend, and their descriptions of the events leading up to the attack were vague. No one seemed to have seen or heard anything suspicious, which only added to the mystery's intrigue. As the leads dried up, Sam and Ellis found themselves back at square one, staring at the grim reminders of the crime scene photos. Something was amiss, the lack of physical evidence and the bizarre ritualistic detail haunted them.

Sam muttered under his breath, "There's a missing piece here, something that doesn't add up."

He paced the office, his eyes darting across the photos, trying to make sense of it all. Suddenly, a glint of light reflected off one of the images, something they had missed in their initial analysis. It was a small, shiny object, half-buried in the dirt near the victim's body. Enhancing the photo revealed a strange symbol etched into the surface -a symbol that sent shivers down their spines. Realization dawned on them both as they rushed to decipher the ancient sigil. They soon discovered that it was an obscure sign, known only to a secret society that dwelt in the depths of the forest. Their worst fears were confirmed - the attackers had not been human, but creatures of unspeakable horror, hidden deep within the woods.

As the truth unfolded, Sam and Ellis knew they had stumbled upon a sinister and otherworldly mystery, one that would test their courage and sanity. With their hearts pounding, they prepared themselves for an encounter with the unknown, arming themselves for a dangerous journey into the forest of horrors.

The coroner and his assistant needed to take another trip into the forest to survey the place of the killing. It wasn’t want they wanted to do but it was necessary to answer a question about the lights and the crime scene.

Sam and Ellis were stumped. The symbol was a mystery, an enigma that led them down a path they never anticipated. Stories of mysterious creatures and lights in the forest had been floating around for years, but they were never taken seriously—until now. Armed with their knowledge and a sense of foreboding, the pair prepared for their expedition into the woods. They geared up with essential items and headed out, their hearts pounding with a mix of excitement and fear. The forest loomed ahead, an eerie presence that seemed to whisper secrets in the breeze. As they ventured deeper, the sunlight faded, and the air grew colder. Sam felt as if something was watching their every step. Suddenly, Sam spotted noticing strange marks carved into a nearby tree—the same symbol they had discovered in the photo. Before they could process this new discovery, a low growl echoed through the trees. A creature, unlike anything they had seen before, emerged from the shadows. It stood tall, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Sam and Ellis froze, their minds racing to process the creature's form. Claws extended, it took a menacing step forward, and the two men braced themselves for the worst.

Sam and Ellis found themselves face-to-face with the unknown, a creature that seemed to belong to another realm. As it advanced towards them, their minds raced, and their bodies went into fight-or-flight mode. Sam's eyes darted to Ellis, determination and fear intertwined in their gaze. Without a word, they both readied their weapons, a silent pact to confront this beast together. The creature, sensing their resolve, let out a ferociously deep growl, its muscular frame quivering with each echoic reverberation. The forest seemed to hold its breath, an ominous stillness enveloping the clearing. Sam took a cautious step forward, his eyes locked on the creature, and in that moment, he saw a flash of something—a gleam of pure, unadulterated malice. The creature's claws extended further, tearing into the earth with a grating scrape. Suddenly, Sam broke the silence. "This has to be a mistake—we're here to understand, not fight!" he blurted out, his voice echoing through the trees. The creature froze, and for a brief instant, Sam thought he saw a flicker of surprise in its otherworldly eyes. Then, slowly, the creature turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving them with more questions than answers.

Sam and Ellis stood their ground, weapons drawn, as the creature disappeared into the shadows. They stood in a state of shock, processing what had just transpired. The mysterious symbol, the creature's unexpected response to Sam's plea for understanding—it was all too much to comprehend. As their hearts returned to a steadier rhythm, they realized that the creature's departure offered them a glimmer of hope, a chance to unravel this peculiar mystery. With renewed determination, they decided to follow up on the symbol's significance, hoping it would lead them to the truth. They discovered that the symbol was linked to an ancient folklore, one that spoke of otherworldly creatures that dwelt within the forest, creatures with a deep-rooted hatred for intruders. The legend also hinted at a possible weakness, a method to ward them off or possibly even capture them. Suddenly, Sam spotted fresh tracks and, with bated breath, they followed the trail, leading deeper into the heart of the woods.

“This isn’t what I wanted to do with my evening, Sir,” stated Ellis as he looked deeper into the forest filled with questions.

Chapter Five

The Funeral

“All I’m sayin’ is that there has to be some kind of accountin’ for this poor man’s death. All I’m hearin’ is that he wasn’t all that faithful to his wife and maybe she put an end to his shenanigans. Some of the other church ladies were all closed mouth about him making it seem like they knew more about what was goin’ on than they were sayin’ Or, like Sarah, Sally’s sister, was sayin’, they might have been involved somehow with the man,” whispered one of the more opinionated members of the community church who spent her time sticking her nose into everyone’s business.

“Well poor thing, maybe he got caught up in something outside the valley and it came home to find him. You know how the outside world is or what we’ve been told about it,” said Sally who was moving over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her older sister, Sarah, as the two moved closer along in the line leading to the final viewing of the dead man with his throat cut from ear to ear.

“I heard that the funeral home had a difficult time preparing the body. Someone told me that there was some type of fur or hair not normally seen inside the wound on the man’s neck,” whispered Sarah as she cupped her hand near her mouth and leaned closer to her sister who was all too eager to hear another tid-bit that she could add her own special ending to.

“What did the funeral director say it was?” asked one of the other women standing directly behind Sarah.

“They weren’t sure, that’s all I heard them say. They weren’t sure but it wasn’t human hair,” added Sarah who was already in the process of embellishing what she’d been told.

“Land sake, sister Sarah, how do you find out all this kind of stuff before anyone else does? It seems like you have your finger on the pulse of our little community a whole lot better than the local newsletter,” said Amanda Appleton, the local third grade teacher at the elementary school.

“Well, all I know is I guess I have a special blessing,” answered Sarah as she winked at her sister who knew that she’d heard it from the funeral director’s helper who stopped by right after the body was finished and placed in the casket. He said he was needin’ some southern sweet tea and Sarah made it better than anyone else, or so he told everyone down at the funeral home.

The men of the community nestled at the back of the church waiting to be called by the funeral director to carry their fellow ‘hunter’ out to the waiting hearse. The long black modified limousine would carry the body to the family cemetery not far from the big house where the man’s family lived. It wasn’t something they expected to be doing on a Saturday afternoon. Many Saturday afternoons, all of the men friends were carrying their rifles and making their way to their favorite hunting spot near their campground they’d cleared the season before. The ‘hunt’ was all that mattered to some of the men, a few didn’t care one way or another if they found the prey. Mostly for them, it was the story telling by the oldest of the men that caught their attention. The story never seemed to get old no matter how many times the old man told it to the audience sitting around the blazing campfire.

“You reckon he knew?” asked one of the men standing in the pod of men near the back door.

“Can’t rightly say, Jim. The story was told so many times before he took off, there’s no way he didn’t know,” answered Chad as he rubbed his neck and looked at the open casket setting in front of the pulpit.

“Y’all need to keep it down. Ain’t no use in getting all these people anxious ‘bout something they don’t need to know yet. Anyways, all that goes on during the ‘hunt’ ain’t nobody’s business but ours. Leave these folks out of it. You know that, in time, they will find out soon enough,” snapped Chester Williams, the next to the oldest of the men in the group.

“Well, ain’t we getting above our raisin’!” stated Clarence Alford as he looked over at Chester condemning him for being so direct.

“Ain’t no reason to chop off anyone’s head here, Chester. We all know what’s going on and we’ve known all along after the first telling years ago. You know that! So, let’s get a hold of ourselves, get this funeral over with, and get our business over at the cemetery.”

Not much was said after the back and forth between the two men as they watched the line of mostly women move slowly toward the casket. Some of the women held the widow close to them, others simply patted her on her shoulders offering some sense of solace in her moment of despair.

“You know, he’s in a far better place,” whispered Sally as she moved close to the widow who wasn’t so sure about the whole thing in the first place.

“You Sanders sisters are always trying to comfort someone but right now, Sally, there isn’t any comforting for me. And, I’m not so sure he’s in a better place or not. We want to believe that things are better over on the other side, but let’s face it, no one has come back to tell us that there is some wonderland when we crossover,” confessed the widow as she turned to face the Sanders sisters who were standing with their mouths dropped open in disbelief.

“Now, now, you’re husband wouldn’t want you to carry on like this believin’ he’s not at rest and all. He was a good man, a good father, a good husband, well, he was not exactly like all the other men in the valley, not at the end. He took on a different kind of personality right about the time the ‘hunt’ was scheduled. It seems to me that all of the men, like it is planned, take on a different personality or way of actin’ just before the ‘hunt’. I’m not sure exactly what that means but some of them don’t make it back like your husband. I’m sure maybe the change is for a reason like, maybe it’s getting them ready for their passing over to a far, far better place,” commented Sally.

“Well, now, we got to believe that there is a place where the soul is at rest,” stated Sarah, the older of the two Sanders sisters.

“All I’m sayin’ is that right now as I walk up to say my final goodbye to my husband, I have all kinds of mixed emotions and hundreds of questions,” replied the widow as she twisted her lace handkerchief up into a knot between trembling fingers.

“I’m trying to hold up! Y’all don’t know what happened to my man. Y’all don’t know who or what took his life and cut his throat. The funeral home director showed me my husband’s body. It don’t look like it does now. There was a bullet hole in his chest let alone the slit across his neck from side to side. Oh, don’t worry, ladies, y’all ain’t going to see that, it’s all covered up but I’m tellin’ you this ain’t no simple killin’, no simple accident. There’s something way more going on here than we’ve been led to believe,” the widow confessed, stepped away from the crowd of church sisters, and stood a long time alone looking at her husband’s face that had no expression, no smile, nothing.

The funeral seemed to take longer than expected as the viewing line kept growing as the neighboring residents from the other valleys filed into the church and took their place in the endless line. Finally, Once the last person, the story teller, paid his last respects, the pastor called the congregation to order for his sermon to close the last page in the book of life of one of their own.

The local paper put the funeral announcement in several of the neighboring county’s newspapers at the wife’s request. She knew that her husband was well known throughout the area and it was the right thing to do. During their marriage, both of them discussed what each wanted done at the time of their deaths. Death, like life, was something everyone experiences. There was no getting away from the reaper. Dying was the appointment everyone would keep. The newspapers were courteous and forthcoming when approached about the funeral announcements as they had been each time one of the ‘hunters’ was claimed by the ‘hunt’.

As Sally and Sarah remembered the previous funerals of each of the ‘hunters’ they couldn’t help but remember that the oldest man of the ‘hunting’ group always was the last one to come into the church. He’d wait on the outside until everyone was seated before he got out of his vehicle, walked across the grassy front yard of the church, climbed the few wooden steps to get to the church door. It was as though he didn’t want to come to the church but as the oldest man in the ‘hunt’, it was expected of him to pay his respects.

He was dressed in a dull gray almost completely faded trousers and shirt. His boots were the same boots he wore when he joined the men for the ‘hunt’. He didn’t wear glasses but he needed them. His fingers were stained from years of smoking cigarettes and his teeth were stained from chewing tobacco from his youth. He didn’t display any signs of sickness or any illnesses even though he was well into his seventies. Life, his life, was unchanging. He was the story-teller, the keeper of secrets.

He usually stood during the ceremonies of his fallen ‘hunting’ comrades but today he felt he needed to take a seat. The pastor, every vigilant and watchful, motioned for the old man to take a seat signaling that this observance would take more than most. The old man reluctantly took a seat, crossed his legs, and rested his arms across his lap. He’d known the departed for sometime and was aware that his wife knew nothing about the ‘hunt’ and how all of it worked.

The church’s musician and the accompanying church choir filled the air with heavenly melodies, words of encouragement, and lofty musical images of what heaven must be like. From the first arrangement to the last, every selection was hand-picked by the wife. The musical selections was the only way she had of granting what she felt was the appropriate reverence to her husband’s life. Each one, many family’s favorites depicted some mental image that would transcend the world in which the valley people lived and caused many to stand to their feet in reverence to a life they knew little about.

The songs and their meanings soon drifted away into the upper loft of the decades-old church building leaving behind only the memory for the those in attendance to take home with them. It was a solemn moment of silence when the last piano key was stroked leading up to the preacher coming to the podium overlooking the open casket. As he stood at the podium, he immediately looked over at the man’s wife and asked her to come to the front, stand in front of the casket, and pull the lid shut. She did as she was instructed to do symbolizing the end of her life with the only man that she’d ever known.

As she pulled the lid of the coffin closed, she felt the weight of the moment. From deep within her her soul cried out and she wept uncontrollably. Lowering her head, she knew that there wasn’t anything or anyone who might be able to understand what she was experiencing but that was no surprise. The two were new to the valley having lived in the valley for only ten years. The coal mines and the portals leading underground dotted the landscape like huge burrows and was the lure for the people needing work.

As she stood waiting for the images to pass, those of yesteryear, those of their marriage of recent years, she knew that there was something different about the man in the casket, the man she called her husband. Earlier in the week just before the hunting trip, her husband spoke of a mystery he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know about concerning the ‘hunters’ but it was a ‘man’s thing’ he told her and kept the mystery to himself. She wanted to know what was bothering him about the hunting trip. He’d mentioned it to her several times during the day as he prepared his equipment and packed a few things in a narrow carry bag. Yet, as he packed, he glanced at his wife with a look she wasn’t familiar with nor had she seen before. It was as if he was asking her to tell him not to go at least one more time. If she insisted that he stay home, he would’ve and chalked it all up to being hen-pecked as the community men labeled it. It would’ve been okay if the other men found out that he was being held hostage at home as long as it would’ve saved his life. But for the sake of his manhood’s reputation and the possibility of the chanting and chiding from the other men, he accepted the fact that he had to go. His wife didn’t ask anymore nor did she make mention of the fact that she was terrified being alone in their house while he was away.

“Honey, I want you to enjoy yourself but as you know, I’ll worry myself to death until you get back. You never know what might happen!” she stated as she stood at the door of their bedroom and watch her husband zip up the small bag, lift it from the bed, and carry it out of the room. He walked passed her without responding but he too felt a certain uncomfortable feeling about the whole thing. Yet, it was what the men did in the valley and wasn’t going to be the first man to ignore his responsibility to the rest of the miners. They were a clan, a gang, a tight group of miners who depended on each other for their very lives. It was a tradition that the ‘hunt’ help supply at least some of the men’s family’s need during the hard and cold winters that swept through the valley like blizzards across the western plains. Cold and treacherous with blinding snow and hallowing winds that could cause frostbite in only seconds.

Glancing over at his wife, the ‘hunter’ simply said, “I have to go. It’s expected of me to do my part for the families here who share this valley with us,” said her husband.

“But what about the children, hon?” his wife asked as she watched him.

“They’ll understand. I’m not raising a bunch of sissy boys. My two sons will understand that I have to do this. In time, once they’re grown, they will go on the ‘Hunt’ as well,” he replied without looking at her.

It was the last thing he said to her before he walked out the back, across their wooden porch, and down the four steps leading out to his old but reliable Ford truck his father gave him when he came to the valley some years ago.

“Love you!” she called out but there was no reply.

“Let us begin,” stated the Pastor who opened the Bible to the selection he felt was appropriate but it wasn’t to be as encouraging as it could’ve been because the pastor wanted to make a point. The sermon was about endings and beginnings and he used the man’s life as an example. Yet, little did he know that the man he was eulogizing wasn’t the man who went into the forest with the ‘hunters’. No, and that was the secret that eluded the people of the valley for many, many years. In time, that secret would become known to yet another group of men calling themselves ‘hunters’.

Chapter six

Sweet Southern Tea

The two Sanders sisters have been the carriers of bad new or any news for as long as the church people had known them. They spent their lives manufacturing some kind of gossip ‘bout anyone they thought was worthy of their time. It wasn’t anything new for them to spin some tale on Friday and run to the altar on Sunday morning falling on their knees, and begging for forgiveness. Must of it was a show, a put-on display for the lack of any other way to describe it. Yet, many at the church down by the river thought the two sisters were just lonely since all of their family had passed away. The two women living on a fixed income with a small additional check from the Railroad company where Sally’s first husband worked, was all but beggars themselves and the meager check was all that kept them from going under. Some down at the church accused Sarah and Sally of using some kind of ‘spiritual chants and selling potions on the side’ to make ends meet. Of course, there wasn’t any proof of such stuff and if the truth be known, they wouldn’t have enough mental capacity to think up some chant or mystical conjuring that they could sell. The Pastor went to visit the two woman upon hearing that they were straying from the path and dabbling in some kind of ‘witchery’ but he didn’t find any proof of that upon his visit to the somewhat shabby rundown dwelling situated on the hillside up from sister Fowler’s house.

After knocking on their door, the pastor waited patiently until the two women threw open the front door and welcomed him as if they were the first and second ladies of the church. Seeing that the Pastor wasn’t married, it appeared, as some have said, that the two women were ‘sweet’ on the ‘man of God’. There wasn’t no proof of that at all but in the valley tales get started like wild fires and spread just as easily.

“Pastor, what brings you out to this part of the valley?” asked Sally as she reached down to straighten her over-sized floral print dress. “May I come in?” asked the pastor who was not so fast to enter a house that was often referred to as a den of thieves.

“Yes, well, me and Sarah were just talkin’ ‘bout how good it would be to get to know you a little better and all. I mean, you preachin’ in the pulpit all the time is good of course, but the members don’t get to know the real you. And, since you’re standin’ here at our door, you come on in and set a spell,” commented Sarah as ‘church-like’ as she could.

“Now, Sarah, maybe the Pastor’s got thangs to do that’s better than talkin’ to two old church members,” rebuked Sally who was playing the other side of the conversation in hopes of manipulating the captured Pastor who was well aware of what was going on with the two women.

This wasn’t the first time the Pastor had met up with the likes of women like the Sanders sisters. In all of his years of being a Pastor, he’d met some very shady members who’d do just about anything to get in other people’s business. The Sanders sisters weren’t the first and they sure wouldn’t be the last. His Pastoral career took him to many different churches but none like the Community Church at the southern end of town near the river. He didn’t want to change the people, that wasn’t his job. He job was to preach the Word and let the Word change the people. Granted, some of the people would take a lot more of the Word to change than others but overall the two-edged sword would cut both ways or so he had read.

“Pastor, me and Sal have been here in this valley for a long time, in fact all of our lives. And, before you came there was another Pastor who wanted to help us just like you. Unfortunately, that poor man was called away long before he could ‘spread’ the word like he wanted to. He was a ‘hunter’ like most men here in the valley. It just seems strange to me that the ‘hunters’ seem to be such a tight-lipped group of men. It’s as if they’re keeping a secret. Have you noticed that, pastor?” asked Sarah as she motioned for the Pastor to come through the door and take a seat in the living room.

“Tea? We got some nice ole Southern Tea and it would be a blessing for me to get you a glass while you’re here, Pastor,” said Sal as she turned to wait for an answer from their guest.

“Now, since you’re here for a friendly church visit, the tea is the least we can do to make you feel welcome, Pastor,” added Sarah as she shewed her sister off to the kitchen so she could have the Pastor all to her self.

“Now, go on, Sal, and get our guest the biggest glass of Southern tea you can. Make sure that it’s sweet enough now!” ordered Sarah who gave her sister a dictatorial stare causing Sally to move a little quicker out of the living room.

“Really, ladies, you don’t have to make such a fuss over me. I’m just stopping by to check on my members like I’ve always done no matter where I find my flock,” commented the Pastor who was feeling a bit ‘mothered’ by the two women.

“Ah now, Pastor, a little ole glass of Southern sweet tea ain’t no big bother. We do it all the time with all of our guests,” announced Sarah as she whirled around and took her seat in the chair across from where the Pastor was seated.

The living room outfit was almost as old as the two widows if the truth was known. Neither of the women liked the outfit, the large floral print made the room look way too crowded and the colors clashed with the wall paper but it was paid for and that’s what mattered most, no payments. While Sarah’s last husband was alive, he picked out all the household furnishings bragging that he had a better eye for fashion that his wife. Needless to say, he always went overboard. The things he chose never really looked all that good but he was way too proud to accept the fact that he didn’t know diddly squad about decorating no house.

“Now, Pastor, how are things going down at the church?” questioned Sarah hoping to get some insight into the latest goings on or catch the Pastor off guard to the point that he’d spill the beans about some choice piece of gossip. He squirmed on the sofa and cleared his throat as he consulted with his soul as to what he should say or not say to Sarah. Had he not been talking to the other women in the church before coming to visit the Sanders sisters, he might not have been so reluctant to speak. He knew that whatever he told the two women, it would be on the street before the sun went down.

“Well, Sister Sarah, there’s really not much going on here in our little community. I kind of like it that way. It’s better that we all keep ourselves in prayer for each other. Don’t you think that’s the best policy?” he asked as he looked up to see Sal coming through the doorway from the kitchen.

“There’s so much that us church women could do if we all got together down at the church’s dining hall. I mean, there are some families, and I know this for a fact, that are having a hard time making ends meet. The mines ain’t doin’ all that well, you know. I mean I’m hearing from some of the women that their husbands ain’t getting to work much like they use to when the mines first opened. And, as I’m sure you know, the strikes ain’t helping them either. You do know about the strikes, right?” asked Sarah who was all ready to draw the Pastor into her conversation that would lead from one subject to another much like a newspaper leads the readers from on story to another.

“What’s that smell?” asked the Pastor as he reached for the glass that Sal held in her hand.

“Oh, that, it’s some good ole apple cobbler me and Sarah put together yesterday evening. We didn’t know who God was going to send our way to help us eat it but here you are. Funny how it works that way. We cook up a bunch of sweets and wait to see who comes to spend some time with us. Today, Pastor, you have a treat comin’ your way. Sarah does most of the cookin’ here but I join in when I can and add by blessings to the dish. You’ll love the cobbler, best in the valley!” announced Sal as she let go of the glass of southern Tea and watched the Pastor lift the glass to his lips, take a sip, and set the glass on the table in front of him.

“Well, how’s the tea?” asked Sally as she waited for the man in the dark suit to answer.

“Well, it surely is Southern Tea, I can say that much about it,” answered the Pastor as he smiled up at Sally.

“Well, now, the reason I’ve come all this way up the valley to see you two sisters is that I’ve been looking for some ‘leaders’ in the church to take charge of the homecoming preparations. As you know, the homecoming for the church is a major undertaking that isn’t some little responsibility. And, from what I’ve heard from other members in the church, you two sister would be the perfect choice. And since the men are often off hunting, they aren’t around to help as much as I’d like for them to. By the way, I’ve been invited to go on one of their hunting trips. I hear it’s really some of the best hunting in this area. I’m not usually given to killing animals but since the mines have slowed production, many of my men at the church don’t have much choice but to hunt,” admitted the Pastor who was hoping to further support his decision to have the Sanders sisters take charge of the homecoming plans. If the men were off hunting, the need for help was much greater.

“Why, Pastor, as you know, me and Sally have always been willing to get our hands dirty working for the church. We were the first to volunteer for many of the homecoming jobs each year,” boasted Sarah as she smiled her best smile and adjusted her dress top.

“Sister Sanders, I am aware of the many things that you and your sister do to help the church especially with the other younger women who might not know what to do. I would be so grateful if you and sister Sally would take a more professional hand in preparing for the homecoming,” said the Pastor in such a manner that the two sisters jumped at the chance to make an impression.

“Pastor, Sal and I would be honored to help. In fact, we were just takin’ ‘bout that very thing only yesterday,” said Sarah as she looked over at Sal for her supporting nod. “Some of those young women down at the church don’t have the first clue as to what should be prepared for dinner on the ground for a gang of church folk,” admitted Sal as she held her head a little higher.

“Anyways, Pastor, getting back to your comment about huntin’ or that you’ve been invited to go huntin’ with the men of the community, are you sure you want to go? I mean, Sal and I have heard some stories about the huntin’ trips that were, well, they were a little scary,” said Sarah as she moved over in her chair to let Sal take a seat on the armrest to listen.

“What makes you two think that there’s something wrong or something that might not be just right about the hunting trips. You two know that the men go hunting to provide for their families during the slow spells at the mines,” the pastor added to try to understand the message behind the faces of the two nosey busybodies who’d have the church folk believe that there were monsters or some kind of unknown creatures lurking in the woods to kill the hunters. The pastor, not accustomed to such foolishness, waited for a believable response from the two who wanted to be at the center of any story in the valley.

“Well, Pastor, me and my sister, well, we been here in this valley all of your lives. We’ve heard ‘bout all there is to hear but the tales we’ve heard from some of the hunters would make your hair curl,” said Sally as she eased her way back over to where the Pastor was seated, slid into the large over-stuffed chair, and waited for the Pastor to take the bait.

“What exactly have you heard?” asked the Pastor just as the two women had expected him to respond.

Now that the door had been opened, it was just a matter of time that the Sanders sisters would lead the Pastor through it. The pastor was intrigued, yet cautious. "Scary stories about the hunts? I've never heard such things. These are mere rumors, I'm sure. But if there's even a hint of truth behind these tales, I have a duty to investigate. It's a responsibility I take seriously, to understand the dangers our community may face."

Chapter Seven

A Coroner’s Tale

Forensic medicine was never the talk at a social gathering or party, but for Sam McDuff, it was his life. He was a lean, fortyish, hard working man with a short temper. Sam was one of the pillars of the community. Since Kathy, his ex-wife, had left him he had little else to occupy his time. Most of his life was spent examining the remains of other people’s bodies, the remains of their lives. It wasn’t something to write home about, but it paid the bills.

He quickly learned how to handle even the worst murders, mutilations, or natural death cases. Sam worked meticulously and soon was the best in the business.

Sam’s telephone rang.

“Hello,” answered Sam.

“This is Jeff Webb at the police department. Sergeant Downing requests a forensic team at twelve twenty-one Magnolia Street near the edge of the forest. It seems that one of those hunters has gone and got himself killed. His fellow hunters dragged his body to the edge forest near the road. It’s an emergency,” said the officer.

Sam just finished one case and had another waiting. “Tell him we’ll be right there as soon as I ready here. It ain’t like the man’s going to get up and run away is it?” replied Sam.

He hung up the phone, turned to Ellis, his assistant who was busy completing the paperwork on the current case, and instructed him to prepare to leave.

“You’d think this was New Year’s Eve the way bodies are turning up. I ain’t seen so many hunters in the last few years ending up being the hunted instead of those doing the hunting, strange.” said Sam.

Ellis was an up-and-coming forensic specialist. He recently graduated from college and got a job with Sam soon thereafter.

“Yes sir, we’ll be ready to go in a minute. I’ll bring the van around and make sure everything’s ready,” stated Ellis as he hurried to finish the papers in front of him.

After placing the papers in a file cabinet, Ellis slipped on his nylon jacket, took out the keys, and left to drive the van to the front.

It was a strange time for such a call. It was a strange kind of killing, he thought, but as Ellis walked to the van, he imagined all the things that might have happened. He remembered when a body had been crushed between two large pieces of metal at the mining tipple. The company involved paid a lot out for that accident, but the widow never got over the loss. Ellis pushed his glasses up onto his nose and rubbed the perspiration from his forehead as he hurried to get the van.

“Remember to check the gas,” shouted Sam from the window.

Ellis forgot that once and has never lived it down.

“Sometimes, he grates on me,” muttered Ellis as he turned the coroner and entered the street next to the forensic office.

“If he thinks I’m so forgetful, why doesn’t he just do it himself?” he asked himself.

Inside, Sam gathered the necessary supplies for the task that lay ahead. It wasn’t the most exciting thing to be doing on a late Sunday evening, but he never planned for his nights anymore. He moved like a machine, logically placing tools in his bag, and then he set them beside the door and put on this coat. Picking up his bags, he walked outside expecting to see the van waiting.

“Did you check everything?” asked Sam.

“Yes, I did,” answered Ellis as he looked out the opposite window and away from Sam.

Sam placed his bags inside and got in.

Ellis eased the van out of the driveway and used his turn signal and pulled into the traffic.

“How serious do you think this one is?” asked Ellis.

“I didn’t get much of the phone, but from the sound of the officer’s voice, it’s important. Sergeant Downing has been a friend for some time now. If he wanted the town to know what he was doing, he would’ve had the man tell me. I’m assuming, according to the police office that it’s another one of those miners, you know, like the last two or three we’ve had.”

Sam settled back for the thirty-minute drive through town. Ellis took them down Bush Street, through the old business district, and then onto Magnolia leading out of town and onto the outskirts of the mining district.

Sam took a cigarette from his pack and lit it. He rolled down the window, leaned back, and blew smoke rings until the cigarette was finished.

“You know you really should quit those nasty things. It’s a bad habit that’s going to put you on the slab beside the other dead bodies we got down at the morgue,” said Ellis in such a manner that the coroner couldn’t help but agree.

“Oh, one thing to note. The hunter’s throat has been slit from ear-to-ear almost decapitating him,” said the older man as he looked over at his trusted driver.

“It’s reported that the whole story told to the police department goes something like someone was trying to skin the man, you know, like a deer hunter skins his trophies,” commented Sam as he looked at Ellis for his reaction.

“Well, what you thinking?” asked Sam.

The air stood still between them as if it too was waiting for the reply. There were many times that this had happened in the past with the two retrievers of dead bodies. This wasn’t their first rodeo.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Investigation

The two women leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the pastor, eager to share their knowledge.

"You must promise to keep an open mind, Pastor. These things that well tell you aren't just stories. There's a reason the hunters return from the woods so quiet, always changed. It's like the forest holds a power over them, a power that's not of this world," Sarah's voice was grave as she tried to create the foreboding mood she’d created many times before with other visitors from the community.

"We've heard whispers of things that lurk in the deep woods, things that shouldn't exist. Creatures of legend, creatures that hunt and terrorize. The hunters are brave, but they're also cautious. They know the forest holds mysteries that could threaten more than just their lives. Some say the creatures hold an ancient, dark magic, and that the hunters encounter more than just game animals that scurry under the undergrowth," Sal added, her eyes wide.

The pastor's mind raced, processing this new information. The woods loomed large in his thoughts, an unknown, ominous presence. "This is serious business you present to me. I cannot ignore such warnings, especially with the responsibility I hold as a guide of spiritual health in our community. I'll need to consider this invitation with great care."

The women nodded, their serious expressions not shifting. The pastor stood, signaling the end of the conversation, for now. What secrets lay within the depths of the forest? He would soon find out.

The Pastor's mind was clouded with doubt and intrigue as he left the meeting with the Sanders sisters. Their warnings echoed in his thoughts: creatures of legend, ancient magic, and mysteries that threatened the very fabric of their reality. He knew that this gossip would spread like wildfire among the congregation, especially with the two busybodies fueling the flames. He had to be certain of the facts before he could guide his flock. He decided the only way to verify the truth was to embark on this hunting trip himself, to confront these mysteries and uncover the secrets that lay within the depths of the forest. But little did he know, the forest held more supernatural power than he could ever imagine. Power that, once unleashed, would change the course of his life and the fate of the community forever.

What secrets will the Pastor uncover on his hunting trip?

Will he return the same, or will the forest's magic consume him? The outcome remains uncertain.

The Pastor's thoughts were in turmoil as he grappled with the revelations of the Sanders sisters. The weight of their words bore down on him, planting seeds of doubt and curiosity. He knew that this gossip, these whispered warnings, would not soon be forgotten or ignored. The congregation would demand answers, and he, their spiritual guide, needed to provide them. But how could he, in good conscience, allow the community to embark on a hunting trip that might entail such grave risks? The responsibility he felt for their well-being was overwhelming. It was decided; he would accept the invitation to hunt, but with caution. He would uncover the truth behind these hunting trips, and the mysterious creatures said to lurk in the depths of the forest. An air of mystery and danger surrounded the entire venture, and the Pastor knew that the eyes of the community would be upon him, awaiting his return with bated breath. What secrets did the forest hold, and what price would be paid for their revelation? The Pastor's resolve was firm, but little did he know, the forest held secrets beyond the reach of his imagination, waiting to be unveiled on this fateful trip. Resolving to uncover the truth, he prepared for the trip with a mindful approach, equipping himself with the tools and knowledge needed to face the unknown. Little did he know, the forest's mysteries were far more profound than any tale or rumor could convey.

Once he was prepared for the trip, he could only imagine what it might be like as he waited to embark on this fateful journey, an air of anticipation hung heavy in the air, and he knew that the eyes of the community would watch his every step with bated breath. Would he return with tales of supernatural creatures and ancient magic, or would he fall victim to the very mysteries he sought to uncover? The forest's secrets were about to be revealed, but at what cost?

Once in his car and sitting alone, he pondered the implications of the sisters' tale, he knew that the gossip surrounding the hunting trips had the potential to cause a stir among the congregation. Tales of creatures from beyond their world and the enigmatic power of the forest couldn't simply be ignored, especially when the spiritual well-being of his flock was at stake. He felt a solemn duty to investigate these claims, an obligation to uncover the truth. And so, the Pastor decided that it might be for everyone’s benefit that he accept the invitation to hunt. But his mind was fraught with caution. He would need to prepare himself, not just physically but also spiritually, for the unknown perils that might await him in the deep woods. The mysterious power of the forest loomed large in his mind as he waited a little longer before turning the car key to start the engine. He couldn't shake the feeling that this journey would test the very core of his faith. As he prepared for the hunt in his mind, an air of anticipation and trepidation hung heavy in his home.

Would the Pastor's quest for truth be successful, or would the forest's secrets consume him whole?

The Pastor's thoughts swirled with a mix of doubt, curiosity, and solemn responsibility as he again considered the implications of the sisters' warning. He wasn’t taking their confessions lightly knowing that if anyone in the community knew about the men, it was the two gossip queens. To ignore these tales would be irresponsible, especially when the spiritual guidance of the community was at stake. The Pastor decided that he had no choice but to accept the hunting invitation and all of its threats to his faith, but he was determined to uncover the truth behind the rumors. But as he planned his departure, a sense of uneasiness continued to grow within him. In his mind, he could see the forest loom as an enigmatic presence, its secrets waiting to be unraveled. Little did he know, the hunting trip would change the course of his life, and the fate of the valley, forever.

Will the Pastor discover the mysteries hidden within the depths of the forest?

What secrets will be unveiled on this fateful journey? The outcome was uncertain, and the congregation's anticipation would reach new heights as the Pastor remained poised to embark on his quest, at least in his mind.

The Pastor's resolve would remain firm despite the weighty revelations. He knew that this journey could shape the destiny of their community, and so he reasoned within himself that he would prepare with the utmost diligence. The forest's mysteries were ancient, and the secrets it held might reveal more than he could fathom. As the day of his departure approached, the gossip surrounding the hunting trip only intensified in his mind as he turned the car key to start the car.

The next day was the last Sunday of the month and the pews wee filled to capacity. Evidently, the Sanders sisters had spread word throughout the town that the Pastor was indeed going to share something with them that they would never forget. The church's corridors buzzed with speculation, and the Pastor's steps echoed with purpose. Tales had reached him of the coroner's findings on the body of a slain hunter, recovered from the depths of the forest. The autopsy had revealed a peculiar anomaly: within the hunter's chest, a strange object had been discovered, a mysterious artifact implanted in the very heart of the unfortunate soul. It was a discovery that defied logic and raised more questions than answers. The artifact, an enigmatic talisman of unknown origin, seemed to exude a primal power, one that seemed to warp the very fabric of reality. The coroner's report suggested it had grown within the hunter, merging with his physiology in a way that defied explanation.

Chapter NINE

The Elder Hunter

Kermit Henderson, was a quiet man of short to medium stature. I often asked my father about this elder man who limped on his left leg as if he’d been shot or stabbed many years prior. There wasn’t much information from my father about the elderly man other the fact that the man was not only a great story teller, but one of the best hunters that ever lived.

My dad and the elderly Henderson man eked out a marginal living alongside the other men in the area in the mines owned by men who lived hundreds of miles away. Those men from a different cast system than those in the hollers and coal camps, wouldn’t come to visit their investment or dare allow themselves to be lowered into the depths that were darker than pitch black where black gold waited to be harvested.

In these coal camps where we, like the elderly man, lived as children, it seemed that the truth as an elusive. And, like the elderly man, my imagination came to life as I sat near an old coal stove eating a portion of bread with butter. I dreamed of writing stories or telling stories like the ones my Mama read to us children every evening to keep us quiet and slow the pace of the day down to a crawl. Having loved the idea of stories since an early age, I found them thought-provoking, I found them astonishing, and I found some of them scary. Many of the stories kept me and my siblings up at night. Many of the stories kept me pulling at my covers, hand-made quilts, to protect me from the demons, the spirits that swirled around in the rooms of my imagination. But I and my siblings, much like the elderly, Mr. Henderson, loved listening to our mama read stories to us from a particularly large scary book that spoke of spooky things that went bump in the night and scallywags who wouldn't behave. It was a tradition, a particularly strange tradition that kept us huddled together in a tight circle on the floor right after dinner until the midnight hour.

I remember the moment when my imagination sparked to life envisioning those creepy crawly things moving through the rooms of our not-so-stylish shanty. I remember the sensation that crept up my legs as I listened to the tales of ghosts, nightly "hunters", and unwelcomed hands that pulled at the covers on my bed. And, I remember the first time my mama told us about the “Hunters” that changed men during what was called the “hunt”.

Perhaps it was my personal struggle to overcome my dread of the night’s darkness that kept me listening, kept me seeing swirling fog or steam floating in the hallways and hearing footsteps on the stairs. I just wanted to understand. I wanted to believe that the stories were just stories, nothing more. I wanted to believe that the ‘"hunters"’ were nothing more than some ole wives’ tale that the women of the valleys told their children to keep them from misbehaving.

In the soft evening light as the day was dying and before it gave up its last breath, Mama took the old book from the shelf, and held it up so we could see the front cover. A cover, that in itself, engendered terror and sent chills up our spines. As she read the stories filled the silence with sounds that caused our heartbeats to race faster and faster in expectation as to which story Mama was going to read to us.

Like many of the characters in the large scary book who were travelers, I too wanted to see beyond the tall mountains that stood as sentinels that kept all of the residents of Destiny captive. I too wanted to walk a different road than those dirt roads that led to my house, but there were unseen hands that held all of us there in the coal mining camps where ‘black gold’ was ripped from the earth and shipped out on coal trains. We weren’t aware of the "hunters" all the time, but in the evening’s dim light, near the edges of the muddy dirt roads, we were able to catch a glimpse of them or that’s what we told ourselves they were. As far as us children were concerned, the "hunters" were ghosts, plain and simple.

Some of the stories were about the ‘"hunters"’ and their antics, some about travelers from faraway countries. And like some of the characters, I too wanted to see those star-lit cities that touched the heavens that the story’s characters talked about. But that wasn’t to happen for me or the other children for some time. Many years later in a different place, a different world, perhaps everyone would know the truth about a place named Destiny, maybe not. There would be a time when the stories of the holler people would be known if not to everyone on Earth, but at least to the new generations growing up in the coal camps of a place named Destiny.

As a child, I wanted to see around the next bend in the road or look behind billowing clouds that piled high in the sky overhead to see if I’d ever become free, but the hidden secret agenda of the “hunters” kept all of us sequestered behind lush foliage deep within the valleys. Whatever pushed me forward, whether personal aspiration or childhood fantasy or innate curiosity to know what might have been lurking in the trees and bushes that surrounded our shanty-like dwellings, I'm grateful because there came a time when I was no longer a child, but a man who would uncover the truth told to me and my cousins by my Grandma one evening while storms raged above us as we sit on what we thought was a magic patchwork quilt.

The large scary book, even though engendering fear and suspension as to who it was looking through the windows or walking up the dirt walkway leading to the front door, opened up an unseen world of curiosity to know more, to experience more, to understand more of the things that went bump in the night. And, unknown to us, it opened up a lot more.

Curiosity, an inner desire to know, drove me, drove all of us, to experience life in different ways as best that we could in a place locked away from the rest of the world. We only needed to look within ourselves to find unbelievable answers, that would free all of us from what came to visit us in a place known as Destiny.

The memory of the stories and the story-teller was always fresh in the mind of the children and the elderly Mr. Henderson. Even though the two weren’t connected by blood or marriage, the stories of the “hunters” was a part of their lives nonetheless. It would always be a part of their lives.

“Kermit, you’re going with us on the hunt planned for this weekend, right?” asked one of the men as he walked toward the coal elevator that dropped the miners into the depths of the earth.

“I always go don’t I? What would be the reason that I shouldn’t go this time?” asked Kermit as he looked away from his fellow coal miner who was at a loss as to how to respond.

“Well, what I was getting at is that you know what happened the last time we went, right?” quizzed the coal miner as he pulled the elevator’s front wire gate closed and waited for the crane operator to press the down button to drop the 25 men into the earth some one-thousand feet.

“Yes, I remember. I think everyone remembers. Everyone was at the funeral of our fellow hunter. It’s what we do. We mine coal for those we’ll never see or shake hands with and we hunt. That’s what we do. If we don’t do these two things, our families won’t be able to survive. You know that. I can’t help that things happen. They’re always been a concern, a worry that none of us would come back from the hunt. That’s just the way it is!” stated Kermit as he felt the bottom of the elevator begin to drop out from under the miners in the elevator.

Steadying himself, the other miner, a younger man who was also one of the many men who hunted, looked over at Kermit. “So, no matter how many it takes or how many of our men never come back, the hunt must go on? Is that what you’re telling?” he asked and turned to watch Kermit’s facial expression.

“You know, it’s a funny thing to me that you’ve been with our hunters group for, what, eight, maybe nine years, and now, just now, you’re beginning to question why we go? Have you seen the prey, have you seen them?” asked Kermit as he tried to control his voice so that it didn’t appear that he was scolding the young man.

The silence washed in between them as the younger man lowered his head and gathered his thoughts before he answered the older miner. “Ah, well, no I haven’t seen the prey. I haven’t even caught a glimpse of them in my gun sight yet. But, I’m told they are fast and almost impossible to shoot. That’s what I’ve been told,” said the younger miner who was reluctant to admit that he’d only heard of the prey but never seen one.

For Kermit, the younger man’s response was just about what he had expected to hear. Some younger men have a lot to say about things they know nothing about. It happens a lot in Destiny where gossip and rumors spread faster than melting butter.

“Well, all I got to say is that you’ve got a lot of learnin’ to do before you come to understand “the hunt” young man. It’s more than just an over-night stay where a bunch of men get together and drink beer and tell stories of their youth where their wives and girlfriends can’t hear them brag about the female conquests. The “hunt” is something a lot more serious. Yet, when the gang of men are faced with the truth about the hunt, most are changed forever and never speak of it to anyone, not even their wives,” admitted Kermit as he reached up to flip the switch that would turn his light on attached to his miner’s hat.

“Now, let’s get this shift over with and call it a day,” he added as the top of the elevator dropped below the top of the shaft’s surface and plunged into the earth below.

Chapter TEN

Mother’s Warnings

Once the dishes were done and put away, Heather walked slowly down the long hall that led to her boys’ room, a room shared by the both of them until they got old enough to have their own space. Now, just about thirteen, they didn’t mind sharing the room and it made sense since there was another baby on the way. It wasn’t a planned pregnancy, just a pregnancy. They’d have to make a few changes in the house’s routine, but life is life and Heather knew things would work out alright.

“You boys ‘bout ready?” she asked as she stuck her head around the edge of the doorway and watched her two boys pushing the last of the necessary things into the backpack.

“I guess,” replied the oldest boy who insisted that his rabbit foot had to be in the front pocket of the backpack where he could get to it if he needed to if either he or his brother was confronted with something they needed luck to get away from in the woods. Neither of the boys was completely confident in the old man’s words that he’d take care of whatever came into the campsite or threatened the hunters. It wasn’t natural in the first place, going into the woods and flushing out creatures of all sizes just to shoot. That’s what the two boys said anyways, at least to each other in secret. They wouldn’t dare say something like that in front of their daddy or any of the men in the valley. They’d be labeled as sissies and lord only knows what the Sanders sisters would say about the whole thing.

“Mom, I think we’re ready,” commented the younger boy, James, as he zipped up the last of the four compartments on the bag and pushed the bag away from him on the bed.

“Mom, what do you know about the hunting parties? You and dad have lived in this valley for some time and, well, what do you think that the hunters see in the woods other than the deer?” asked Heather’s oldest son, Joshua, Jr.

Heather, being a faithful wife and not wanting to create fear in the hearts of her sons nor get her husband angry, simply said she didn’t really know all that much about the “hunt’ only that some of the times, the men came back from the woods with a different look on their faces. It was a look of disbelief or fear or something that she didn’t quiet understand. None of them spoke of the “hunt” only about the deer that got away or the one that they drug out of the woods, gutted, and skinned. She didn’t want to tell her boys that “hunting” was not what it appeared to be but she zipped her lips together about her own thoughts on the matter and simply said things would be alright, they were always alright.

“Boys, your daddy is excited that you two will be going with the men this year on the “hunt”. He’s been waiting a long time for you two to get old enough to go with him, share the experience and learn about being in the woods,” said Heather as she put on the best smile that she could hoping that the boys did see through her failing attempt to deceive them.

With the chit chat finished, bags readied, and shoes on their feet, the two boys lifted their backpacks off of the bed and followed their mother out into the living room where their father was waiting with the weapons they would be taking on the “hunt”. The rifles were not the most powerful on the market but they would deliver the necessary firepower to down the target if the two boys came across a deer during the weekend trip. There was always a possibility that they wouldn’t even see a deer. That had happened several times in the past, but according to the last group of hunters who came back with their trophy, there was a few more deer to be killed this year. It would take a bit of skill but it could be done. Besides, the local government allowed a certain number of deer to be harvested each year. As far as anyone knew, there were several more to be claimed.

Once in the living room, Heather stepped away from the two boys and her husband so he could go over the safety features and practices of how to handle a rifle when on the hunt. Motioning the boys to sit down on the sofa apposite from the chair where he was seated, their father began the much needed instructions that could save the boys lives if they took heed.

“Now boys, this here is called a 30-30 rifle. The 30-30 Winchester rifle, also known as the.30 WCF (Winchester Center Fire), is a popular lever-action hunting rifle that has been in use since its introduction by Winchester in 1895. It’s known for its moderate recoil, effectiveness within 200 yards, and its suitability for hunting medium-sized animals like deer,” said their father as he turned the rifle around for both of them to see how the lever action worked.

“I have one for each of you but you must remember it is not a toy. It can and will kill you if you don’t follow the rules I’m about to teach you,” said the father in the most stern voice the two boys had ever heard.

“These two rifles you’re looking at is the Winchester Model 94 Sporter Brush Polished Blued Lever Action Rifle. It cost me over $1,300 for each rifle for you boys. I figure if you’re going to be going on the “hunt” each year for the rest of you lives, this rifle would be the one you’ll need for all of the years of the “hunt”. Now, as you see, I mean business when it comes to the “hunt”. It’s very important that you understand that the “hunt” is expected of every man in the valley to take part in during his life. The only excuse that you could use to not go on the hunt is some emergency that comes up that requires you to stay home. I hope I’ve made myself clear. This is not a game! This can and will define you as a man here in the valley!” stated their father as he showed the boys how to load the guns.

“This is not a game. There may be a time when hunting will save your lives!” insisted their father as he held the gun barrel pointed toward the ceiling to enforce his instructions about being safe and handling the rifle responsibly.

“Now, if you have any questions, now is the time to ask them. Don’t wait until you’re in the woods and start asking questions. If you wait that long, it’s too late,” stated their father as he lowered the rifle and placed it on the coffee table in front of his two sons.

Josh, Jr, and James didn’t say a word but nodded that they understood what their father was saying. For them, the question that needed answering wasn’t so much how a rifle worked or how to shoot it but rather the answer to the questions regarding the sightings in the woods. The sightings didn’t involve the deer but something much different. That was the unanswered question that burned in the hearts of the two boys seated on the floral love seat across from their father.

“Okay, well since you two don’t have any questions I take it you’re ready to go,” said their dad as he stood up, took the two rifles along with his own and walked across the room, opened the front door, and marched to his truck to stow the rifles away for safe keeping.

They’d leave for the hunt later in the evening. It would be his boys first hunt, their initiation into a world they knew nothing about.

“Boys!” said Heather as she stepped back into the middle of the show-and-tell with the rifles and hunting. “You listen to your father. He won’t lead you down the wrong path!” she insisted as she looked as sternly at her sons as she could to emphasize the seriousness of the hunting expedition.

Chapter ELEVEN

The Enchantment

Today's comment with its colors and contrasts brings to mind life's purpose, life's attempt to create our world, one, that in the beginning lacks luster, lacks temperance, tolerance, and acceptance, and, with time, transforms it into a masterpiece. From our first breath, our first words, and our first moments of silence, life begins the inevitable task of changing our lives from shades of gray to a prolific palette of colors, textures, and hues that, even though hidden from our view, it paints our experiences upon canvases for the world to see. Much like this man with cup in hand, I've sat by my life's window looking out into a world almost unbelievable, a collage of fantasy and reality. An invisible hand holds my life's palette knife firmly against the canvas moving it first one way, then another. Laden with variegated colors, blues, greens, yellows, and reds, the artist's textures the scenes meant only for me, messages spread out like a sleuth's clues reserved, hidden within the colors painting my life., They've colored my days one by one with furrowed mounds of paint, valleys spread wide, peaks fashioned to depict crescendos. Upon my windowsill I sit with my cup filled of experiences yet to be splashed upon the living canvas of my life. In those moments of shades of gray, I relinquish my personal self and become part of the working canvas stretched out before me. Journal of Ascension Unknown Author

Late into the shift, Kermit finished up his last task, that being, to check the methane density levels for he turned over his responsibilities to the next shift’s lead foreman. The acceptable methane levels in the mines is 2.5%. Anymore or any higher concentration could be dangerous conditions will exists causing breathing issues and possible explosions.

Satisfied his work was done, Kermit made his way back to the shaft elevator that would lift him and the other miners back up to the surface and away from the shaft’s dangers and the smell of coal dust. Kermit was the oldest man at the mine. He’d been working in the coal mines for thirty years as of his last birthday. Working in a coal mine was dangerous work but it paid well. In the beginning when the first holes in the ground were punched and the shafts began to be lowered into the earth, miners were considered less than men, dirty, uneducated, slums of the earth. But over time and interaction by the labor unions, pay and respect was forced to be given the miners by those who owned the mines. Gone were the days when miners like Kermit were paid pennies for back-breaking work. There was a time when Kermit was a little boy that the “breaker Boys” were used to break the coal into smaller pieces to be loaded on to train cars for shipment to the steel mills were used.

Kermit thought of those days when five dollars was a lot of money, enough for a week’s groceries. It was a time of Company stores owned by the coal barons who controlled every day and every minute of the coal miner’s lives. Songs about owing the company stories so much that the miners would not be able to die because they owed their souls to the company stores in the valley. The song’s lyrics written by Tennessee Ernie Ford told the story of what it was like being a Coal Miner in the valley of Destiny. The lyrics read:

Some people say a man is made out of mud

A poor man's made out of muscle and blood

Muscle and blood and skin and bones

A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one morning when the sun didn't shine

I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine

I loaded sixteen tons of number 9 coal

And the straw boss said, "Well, a-bless my soul"

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one morning, it was drizzling rain

Fighting and trouble are my middle name

I was raised in the canebrake by an ol' mama lion

Can't no-a high-toned woman make me walk the line

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store

If you see me coming, better step aside

A lot of men didn't, a lot of men died

One fist of iron, the other of steel

If the right one don't a-get you, then the left one will

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store

As the mine elevator settled into its docking port at the top of the thousand foot shaft, Kermit thought of the song’s lyrics, ponders them a moment but shook them off as if they were flakes of snow. His life, the life of a miner, wasn’t all that bad now in the more modern world. Times had changed, pay was better, and the working hours were as normal as they were going to get. Besides, his life wasn’t all about mining, but creating the illusions needed to keep the valley people pliable and believing that the “hunt” was a necessary thing that kept the families fed, the lights on in the house, and the story told to the younger men who would join the “hunt” year after year. He was the story-teller. He was the one responsible for the enchantment.

“I suppose I’ll see you later on, Kermit,” said Josh as he walked with slowed his pace to match that of the older man as they walked to their trucks waiting in the parking lot.

“Yep, I guess you will. See you and the boys tomorrow,” replied Kermit as he reached to open his truck’s door, climb in, and pull the door shut. Rolling the window down on the half-century old truck, Kermit called out to Josh to remind him that his boys needed to be going this year. It was time for them to hear the story told to all of the men of Destiny as they sat around the campfire in the middle of the forest.

Chapter TWELVE

The Boys

After the boys had busily packed bags for their upcoming hunting trip, their mother stood at the front door watching them with a bittersweet smile. Her husband had finished the “talk” about the guns and now all that was left was for the time to pass until it was time to go. She knew this trip would be a rite of passage for her sons, an initiation into the world of adulthood. The older boy, Josh, seemed confident, while the younger one, James, appeared nervous and excited all at once. Their father, a stoic man of few words, had prepared them for this moment, sharing tales of past hunting expeditions and the rewards that came with them. The boys' excitement was palpable, but an air of anticipation hung heavy in the room. Their father had told them to pack for the unknown, a journey that could change their perspectives forever.

The clock ticked towards their departure, and the family gathered around the old oak table for one last meal together. The mother's eyes drifted towards the window, where the sun was making its final stand against its encroaching the night. A sense of foreboding lingered in the air, a reminder that their lives were about to embark on a new course. A course that couldn’t be changed no matter how much she wanted it to.

As the sky darkened, the boys' enthusiasm burned brighter, illuminating the impending adventure that awaited them. The Holster family was poised at the threshold of an experience that would bond them together or possibly tear them apart, knew for assurity that tomorrow would take on a whole different atmosphere. The mysteries of the valley and the mountains that loomed over it would reveal their secrets, but only if the family dared to venture deeper into the heart of the wilderness. Little did they know, the weekend ahead would change everything, it always did.

As the Holsters sat down for their meal, the sun's final rays illuminated the dining room casting a warm glow on the family's excited faces. Mrs. Holster looked at her husband, John, who returned her gaze with a subtle nod, acknowledging the significance of this moment. Their sons, Josh and James, chatted excitedly about the upcoming hunt, their eyes sparkling with anticipation. John cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.

"Boys, this trip will be a test of your strength and resilience. We'll face challenges together and we may have some tough times, but we'll stick together no matter what." He paused, grasping the edges of the table for emphasis. "This will be a journey of discovery, and I want you to think about one thing-the importance of unity in the face of uncertainty. We're a team, and we'll leverage each other's strengths to overcome any obstacles that come our way."

The boys nodded, their eyes widening at the prospect of an adventure that would forge their character. After dinner, the family retired to the living room, where the flickering fire cast dancing shadows on the walls. John stood up, his tall frame filling the room with a sense of authority.

"Now, before you head off, I want to share a story with you both. A tale of a similar journey your old man took when he was your age." He paused, gauging their attention and continued.

"It was a cold, crisp night, much like this one. Three friends and I set out into these very mountains, full of hope and excitement. We thought we were prepared, but the wilderness has a way of humbling even the most confident of men. What happened that weekend was incredible, terrifying, and life-changing. It's a story I've never shared, but it's time you heard it. It's a tale of survival, friendship, and the raw beauty of the untamed wilderness."

As their father continued his story and he talked about how the boys would be transfixed at the supernatural, their eyes widened eager to hear this unknown chapter of their father’s life. He spoke of the day of the journey.

The boys sat enraptured as their father spun a tale of his own coming-of-age adventure. He spoke of the breathtaking beauty of the mountains, the sheer power of nature, and the invaluable lessons he'd learned. As he regaled them with stories of survival and camaraderie, an air of awe settled over the room. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the boys' faces, reflecting the excitement and anticipation that bubbled within them. Their journey into the wilderness loomed, a test of their character and resilience. Armed with their father's words of wisdom and the gear they had meticulously packed, Josh and James felt a renewed sense of determination. They would face the unknown together, embracing the mysteries that lay within the heart of the mountains. As the boys retired for the night, their dreams were alive with visions of the adventure ahead.

The morning sun would be their alarm clock, a signal to begin their rite of passage. An unforgettable weekend awaited them, one that would challenge their perceptions and forge their bond as a family.

Chapter Thirteen

The Revelation

The young miner's words hung in the air, an awkward silence filled the elevator shaft as the miners descended further into the earth. Kermit could almost feel the weight of the younger man's uncertainty pressing against him. He had heard the stories, of course – everyone had – but Kermit knew that the reality of the hunt was far more complex and terrifying than any tale. As the elevator jerked to a halt, Kermit took a deep breath, steeling himself for the upcoming shift and the hunt that loomed ever closer. The doors opened with a loud creak, and the miners filed out into the dark tunnels, their headlamps cutting through the darkness. Kermit fell into step alongside the younger man. "You'll see soon enough," he said quietly. "The prey is unlike anything you've ever imagined, and the hunt. It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience, if you're lucky."

The further they ventured into the maze of tunnels, the more the young miner's enthusiasm grew. Kermit could hear the excitement in his voice as he asked question after question. He seemed to forget the somber reality of their work, the dangerous depths to which they ventured, and the high possibility that they might not all return. Kermit couldn't blame him for his ignorance; it was the way of things in Destiny, a necessary veil of ignorance to keep the miners sane.

As they walked, Kermit could almost make out the young miner's wide-eyed gaze, the excitement evident in his every step. He had that same look of awe and wonder that Kermit had seen in the mirrors of countless new miners over the years – a look that said they thought the mines held more mysteries than could ever be explained. Kermit knew better than to hope that the younger generation would ever truly understand the dangers that lurked in the depths, not just of the mines, but of the hunt itself.

As they traversed the dark tunnels, the air grew colder, and the walls seemed to drip with unseen moisture. Kermit could sense the young man's anticipation, and he knew that soon, very soon, it would all be made clear to him. The further they ventured, the more the tunnel echoed with the sounds of their footsteps, the clinking of their tools, and the ever-present drip of water. Kermit's heart pounded with the weight of what was to come, and he found himself remembering the first time he had ventured into these dark depths. The mine's dark tunnels seemed to go on forever, a labyrinth that led them deeper into the heart of the earth. Kermit stopped suddenly, and the miner behind him bumped into him, breaking the spell.

"Here," Kermit said, shining his light into a side tunnel. "This way."

They turned off the main path, the young miner's enthusiasm bubbling over. Kermit could hear his breathless whispers, questions that would soon be answered. The tunnel opened up into a large chamber, and Kermit signaled the other miners to keep back. With a dramatic sweep of his arm, he revealed the cave's secret, hidden from all but the most trusted hunters. The young miner's eyes grew wide at the sight that greeted him – the prey, hidden in the shadows, waiting.

The young miner's excitement was palpable as they continued their journey into the depths of the earth. Kermit had seen this many times before – the allure of the unknown, the promise of adventure and the thrill of the hunt were enough to make most men forget the inherent dangers. As they walked, Kermit's mind wandered back to his first hunt, many years ago. He could still remember the sense of anticipation and excitement he had felt then, a feeling that had since been replaced by a grim determination. The further they ventured, the more the cold seemed to seep into their bones, and the air grew thicker with an anticipation that Kermit had felt many times before. The weight of the upcoming hunt settled on his shoulders as he remembered the last hunt and the man they had lost. But Kermit knew that this was a debt that must be paid, a sacred ritual that bound them together as brothers in arms. He also knew that the young miner, eager for his first hunt, had no idea what was coming. The prey was unlike anything imagined, and the experience would mark the young man forever. As they approached the hunting grounds, Kermit could almost smell the faint trace of blood in the air, a reminder of the lives that had been lost. The excitement in the young miner's eyes began to falter as the reality of their surroundings started to set in. Kermit said nothing, allowing the gravity of the moment to wash over the younger man. The hunting party had almost reached the predetermined meeting spot when Kermit felt a sudden shift in the air, a subtle change that sent shivers down his spine. He signaled the others to stop, and they stood in silence, straining to hear something, anything, that might indicate the presence of the prey. Then, from the shadows ahead, came a low, menacing growl. The hair on the back of Kermit's neck stood on end as the young miner's enthusiasm turned to fear. Kermit met his gaze briefly before turning to the other hunters, signaling them to ready their weapons. The prey had been located, and the hunt was about to begin

The young miner stood in awe, his eyes darting around the cave, taking in the sight of the mysterious prey hidden in the gloom. Kermit could almost feel his excitement and anticipation as the air grew heavier with the promise of the hunt. The miners had ventured deep into the earth's crust, deeper than most would dare traverse, and the young man was about to experience a rite of passage that would change him forever. As they stood in the cold, damp chamber, Kermit recalled his first hunt. The memories flooded back like it was yesterday; the adrenaline rush, the sense of adventure, and the unyielding determination to succeed. But with each hunt, a toll was exacted, a sacrifice made, and the last expedition had been no different. A grim reminder of the reality of their traditions loomed large, and Kermit knew that the young miner would now face his initiation into their world. The growl echoed again, closer this time, and Kermit could see the fear mix with determination in the younger man's eyes. He had been blessed with the curiosity and courage to venture here, but would he have the skill and luck to survive? Kermit knew that the hunt would be a test of his mettle, an experience that would shape him, and possibly break him. The prey was out there, lurking in the darkness, and the miners were mere mortals facing an immortal foe. The battle ahead would be fierce, and the outcome was uncertain. But such was the way of the hunters of Destiny; their fates were intertwined with the mysteries of the deep, and the young miner would now learn why they fought, and why some did not return. The young miner's eyes widened further still as the growl was followed by a creaking, scraping sound, like some great beast dragging its bulk across the cave floor. Kermit's heart pounded in his chest, and he felt the weight of his years spent hunting in these very depths. The signals were sent, and the miners formed a tight circle, weapons at the ready. Kermit's gaze swept the darkness, searching for a glimpse of their elusive prey. The air crackled with anticipation, and then, suddenly, there it was. A massive, shadowy figure emerged from the blackness, its outline vaguely human but distorted and monstrous. The young miner's weapon shook in his hands as this mysterious creature loomed before them, and a low, rumbling growl emanated from its direction. Kermit's eyes darted across the creature's form, noting the impossible bulk and sheer size of it, and he felt a cold sweat break across his brow. The creature took a menacing step forward, and the miners' circle tightened. Kermit's determination returned with a rush, and he fired his weapon at the beast. The bullet connected with a meaty thud, but it seemed to have little effect, if any, on the creature. It roared in response, an otherworldly sound that echoed through the chamber, and charged towards the miners. The hunt had truly begun. The young miner's eyes grew wide as saucers, and he could feel the blood draining from his face as the creature advanced. Kermit, driven by years of experience, fired shot after shot at the beast, encouraging the others to do the same. The air crackled with the thunder of gunfire, yet the creature showed no sign of slowing. Its eyes, a pale yellow, glowed with an otherworldly light, and its massive jaws dripped with a thick, viscous saliva. The miners fired until their magazines were empty, and still, the creature approached. Kermit knew that this was one of the prey—a relentless, unstoppable force that showed no fear or pain. As the creature reached the outer circle of miners, Kermit gave the signal, and the group scattered, vanishing into the maze of tunnels, leaving Kermit alone to face the beast. The creature roared with anger, its bellow echoing through the chamber. Kermit ran, his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of his years bearing down on him. He knew that he could not outrun the creature, so he made for the elevator shaft, the beast close behind him. As Kermit reached the elevator, the creature leapt, its massive claws swiping at him. One claw grazed Kermit's arm, tearing his flesh and sending him spinning to the ground. The beast loomed over him, and Kermit looked up into its grotesque face, his eyes filled with terror. Then, with a final, defiant growl, the creature pounced, and Kermit's world went dark. The young miner fled through the tunnels, his mind a blur of terror. He could still hear the roars of the creature, the thunder of its footsteps pursuing him. He stumbled in the dark, his headlamp offering only a faint beacon of hope. Rounding a bend, he saw a faint light ahead, the emergency exit, and he pushed himself to run faster. The creature's breath was hot on his neck, and he could feel its hot, putrid breath as he ran. Just as he reached the exit, the creature clamped its jaws around his leg, pulling him back with a mighty roar. The young miner screamed in agony as the beast dragged him away from the safety of the exit, back into the depths of the earth.

Chapter Fourteen

Church Gossip

“From what I’ve been hearing, Sarah and Sally, the Sanders sisters, are some of the ones people need to be lookin’ out for. They’re the ones who have all the stories, all of the chatter. They seem to know what’s going to happen even before it happens. They’re into everyone’s business but their own,” stated Sadie Higgins as she pointed to her older daughter who was packing their church-going basket with plastic forks and spoons and paper napkins for the church’s homecoming and dinner on the ground that was slated for the next day, the third Sunday of July. Her opinion was shared with many of the other women at the church who knew that behind all the smiles and foolishness portrayed by the sisters, there lurked two sinister spirits seeking to devour the innocent.

The community church, the largest in three counties, held a prominent place in the hearts of almost everyone in the three counties. Most folks were married there, if the truth be told and most forks were eulogized there as well. Many had their names on the church’s membership book, but not all of them showed up for services. It was the talk at the ‘tea parties’ held by the sisters that it was just a ‘sign’ of the times and soon ‘hell’ itself would open up and swallow up all those who shied away from the services.

Most folks were baptized by the same pastor down in the creek that runs alongside the piece of property where the church was built many decades before the valley was incorporated. There were a few holdouts who didn’t want nothin’ to do with the church folk, but for the most part, anybody who was anybody huddled up to the pews, listened to the preacher or ignored him respectfully, but everyone attended the homecoming that was held each year on the third Sunday in July.

The church was built in 1865 by some of the locals’ ancestors. The builders wanted the folks to have a place to worship that wasn’t tied to any highfalutin city church or national organization that always tried to tell the folks how to walk and talk. ‘Sides, that’s why the pastor was there. He told them the right things to do or say, it was up to them to either heed the callin’ or do as they pleased.

The homecoming was to be the celebration of the church’s anniversary, its 157th anniversary. Granted the original church didn’t resemble the present church that was located not too far down the road from the elder hunter. It was common practice for the elder hunter and his wife to come to the homecoming, but he wasn’t quite sure he’d be goin’ this year.

“It’s said that when you go to socials like the ones down at the church this coming Sunday, tomorrow, and you know this as well as I do, we don’t know what the town folk are bringin’ for us to partake of. It might be some stuff that we don’t want. So, you mark our bowls of stuff with some kind of X or something so when I come ‘round the tables I know which is which. That is if I decide to go this year. Something ain’t quite right. I just have a feelin’.” stated elder hunter as he looked at his wife across the breakfast table on Saturday morning, homecoming eve. That memory was ten years old now. The Elder hunter didn’t attend many of the functions at the church much any more.

“If I was guessing, I guess you are afraid of other church folks cookin’ ole man,” she rebutted, smiled, and reached for one of her homemade biscuits and fig jam.

“Why you go an’ say such a thing? You know I’ve been to homecomings before, I ate other folk’s food before, and if the truth be known, some of their fried chicken is almost as good as yours?” he stated to let his wife know that her fried chicken was still the best as far as he was concerned.

He smiled at his wife, put another biscuit on his plate, buttered it, and reached for his favorite strawberry jam, homemade by their neighbor Clayton Wilson. Clay had a way with his strawberries. He was probably the best ‘round their parts at makin’ strawberry jam. When Clayton was all finished up with the canning, the elder hunter would stop in and pay him for five or six jars of jam. That’s what neighbors do, they take care of each other.

At one time, the Elder hunter and his wife were pillars in the community or so they were told by their fellow residents so when they said something, people paid attention to it. Not everyone did, must most of them did.

Later on Saturday morning ‘round noon time, elder hunter was down at his friend’s store like he always was keeping things moving, greeting customers, and giving direction as needed. He liked helping out if he could. Funny, most of his friend’s employees had worked for ole man Sam for some time and didn’t really need any directin’ as they called it. The butchers, personally trained by ole man Sam, learned the skills of the trade, even improved on them over the years. In fact, there weren’t any better butchers in the tri-state area than Dave and Chris. It just goes to show what a little pride in your work can do. It keeps the customers coming back.

It was customary on Saturday morning that the woman of the valley came to ole man Sam’s meat market to get their weekly supplies. Since the church’s homecoming was the next day, even the Sanders sisters made their way from the back woods of Webster county to what they referred to as the “city”.

Sally and Sarah dressed in their finest for their excursion to the little market in the center of the valley. The town boasted various department stores, sports variety stores mostly outfitted for the men of the area, a ladies’ boutique, and various other small, family-owned stores, but there was only one meat store, ole man Sam’s place.

It was often thought that the Sanders sisters were twins, but that wasn’t the case. Sarah was a year older than Sally.

As the early afternoon lay heavy in the streets in the little community, Sarah and Sally braved the afternoon sunshine and made their way to the ole man’s store for their portion of vittles designated for the homecoming at the church. Mostly all of the folks in the area bought their meats from the little store, but as with any community, there were a few holdouts who said they’d rather shop at the Piggy Wiggly or the other grocery store just over the county line.

“Well, Sarah and Sally, how y’all doin’? It’s been a spell since we’ve seen y’all in these parts. It’s good to see you both!” called out Heather from behind the fresh meat counter that lined the back wall.

“Is there anything special we can get for you or the guys in the back can cut for you.?” asked Heather as she walked up to the larger-than-life women, each well over two hundred pounds each.

“As for right now, Ms. Heather, me and Sarah are going to try to figure out what would be the best thing we could take to the homecoming tomorrow. You know how some church folk can be when it comes to eatin’ other people’s cookin’.” stated Sarah as she opened her insufficient purse that was bulging almost as much as her tulip dress was that she and her sister picked out for their trip to the city together. Sarah chose a large floral print with gigantic white lilies to go along with Sid’s dress filled full of bright red tulips.

“You know me and Sarah been hearing some folks talkin’ ‘bout that old hunter man and some other valley people meetin’ last month. That’s kind of strange don’t you think Ms. Heather?” asked Sidney as she started her usual tight-lipped stories and repeating gossip she’d heard from at least four other woman folk at the church just last Sunday.

For a moment Heather listened as the two women freely unloaded every secret that said they’d keep to themselves. Evidently, the other women folk knew the two jabber jaws and didn’t care if they told the stories ‘round town or not. It was all made up stuff except the meeting with the old hunter man and the valley men some time back.

Even knowing that the other hunters from another county had been in their parts was enough to stir some loose-lipped women to create their own stories whether true or not. For the locals, any sight of any person not connected the local area meant only one thing, a mystery that needed to be solved.

It wasn’t like Ms. Heather to buy into the local gossip grapevine, but she couldn’t help herself when it came to these two heifers, so without even must effort, she started a tale that she knew would circle back ‘round to her by late afternoon tomorrow at the church’s homecoming. Rather than keeping things to themselves, the Sanders women made it their business to embellish any small piece of information until it was a tale worthy of being written down in a book if anyone had time to do so.

“Well, since you brought it up, and you gotta’ swear on your mother’s good name you won’t tell a soul what I’m going to tell ya’, there was a visitor here in this very town, a stranger not from these parts looking for the old hunter man. I’m not sure what he wanted but from what I’ve been able to put together, the two did meet to talk about something, well, something mysterious.” confessed Ms Heather as she held her breath to keep from laughing out loud right in the two women’s faces. She hadn’t told them anything that they didn’t already know, but it was how she said it that made the two take a deep breath, hold it, and then slowly let it out as they shook their heads.

“Land’s sake Ms. Heather, can you believe it? We’ve got a little mystery going on here in our little neck of the woods that would pay us to pay attention to. We don’t know what’s going to become of us or our folks by the way you sounded just then,” said Sarah as she searched for a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

It wasn’t so much the story that got her all worked up as it was the fact that she was overweight and unsteady on her feet and almost fell over the person behind her as she listened to Ms Heather relate her thoughts on their gossip topic.

“There, you know about as much as I do about all this chatter going on in the valley.” admitted Ms Heather as she wiped her hands on her apron, turned, and walked back behind the meat case to finish up bagging her whole “birds” as they called them.

“If y’all need anything, let us know. We’d be happy to help!” she added, turned, and laughed to herself about how gullible the two women were to believe the same gossip they were spreading, just told in a different way.

As the evening drew to a close, the cleaning done, garbage had been taken out, and the floors mopped, the employees filed out the back door waving as they departed. It wasn’t really family members who worked at the store, but the feelings of the workers ran deep. Many of them had worked for over a decade with old man Sam. To them, he’d become more than just the owner, he’d become their friend. To the elder hunter, ole man Sam was simply his friend. The local community church homecoming was tomorrow. It should prove to be interesting.

Chapter Fifteen

Brothers ‘Til The End

It was a cold, crisp evening, and the air was scented with the faint wood smoke from the campfire. The two brothers, Josh and his younger brother, were sitting together, lost in thought. They had grown up together, spending countless nights thinking about camping trips like this one. As they gazed into the flickering flames, they were reminded of all the adventures they had shared. There was the time they caught a giant trout, and the time when a bear had wandered into their camp. They laughed and reminisced about the silly pranks they had played on each other, and the fights they had had. But there were also moments of silence, when they would just sit together, lost in their thoughts. They were thinking of their father, who had taught them everything they knew about hunting. He had hunted for years, and it still inspired them.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of the horn signaling the start of the hunt/ It must have been from one of the other campsites deeper in the forest. It was known that there would be other hunters but neither Josh nor his younger brother ever heard their father talk about them. They looked at each other, nodded, and stood up. They were ready. The hunt would be long and difficult, but they were finally going to find out what it was all about.

Chapter Sixteen

The Hunt

The campfire spat out angry shards of fire and ash as the wood hissed like a viper. The air was humid and warm, filled with the heavy smell of the jungle, and the incessant noise of insects and animals.

The man who lay on the damp earth did not move.

The campfire continued its assault, the flames growing higher and brighter as they devoured the fresh wood.

A hand emerged from the darkness. A hand attached to a muscled arm. The hand found a stick, and prodded the body by the fire, turning the corpse over.

The fire lit up the face of the lone thin elderly-looking man. The skin had wrinkled and hardened, and the bones protruded like mountains. He was not old though, far from it. He was young. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

'Wake up, old man,' said the one who held the stick.

'Don't call me that,' the dead man said, without moving. 'I'm not an old man.'

“You are to the rest of us. And that's what you want, isn't it?'

The corpse turned its head to the right and looked at the other. He was also thin, but there was muscle on his bones. His hair was long, tied back, and his skin was tanned dark from the sun. His face was weathered, but not as much as the other's.

“Yes, it's what I want.”

The second man nodded. He threw a few more sticks onto the fire and the flames licked and snapped.

'I don't need a fire. I'm already dead.'

“You're cold. I can see the goose flesh. And besides, you're not dead. Not yet. The fire will keep the bugs off you.

The night air was crisp and cool, their breath forming small clouds of condensation in the chilly air. The forest loomed around them, the moon casting an ethereal glow on the trees, their branches reaching high into the sky. Joshua Aldridge, or little Josh as he was known, led the way, his eyes scanning the surroundings warily, the weight of his rifle feeling strange in his hands. The enchantment his grandfather spoke of seemed to hang heavy in the air, an unseen force that filled the forest. As they ventured deeper into the forest where their prey waited unknowingly, the silence became almost oppressive, the only sounds being their footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Josh could feel the anticipation among the group, a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He knew that soon, very soon, the story would be told, the mystery unveiled, and the hunters would understand the true meaning of their expedition. With each step, he felt a growing sense of destiny, an inexorable march towards an unknown future, and the revelation that would change their lives forever. The camp was set up in a clearing, a sacred space where the hunters gathered each year. Josh's father instructed the boys on the art of camouflage, showing them how to blend into the surroundings, their faces painted with green and brown streaks. As the night wore on, the fire was lit, its flames dancing wildly, casting an orange hue on the faces of the men. Josh's grandfather sat tall and proud, his eyes glinting with an otherworldly knowledge. The time had come for the tale to be told, the enchantment to be spoken, and the hunters to discover the truth hidden within the woods. The “hunt” would take one of their own. The newly transformed deer would become a possible prey if it got in the hairline target of one of the hunters.

Earlier, near the campsite, the night air grew colder as the hunters continued their journey deeper into the woods, the fire in their camp growing smaller. The men huddled together, their eyes darting anxiously into the darkness, unsure of what lay ahead. Joshua's grandfather stood up, his face illuminated by the flickering flames, and began to speak in a deep, resonating tone.

"The hunt has always been a mysterious event, a rite of passage for the men of Destiny. But few understand the true meaning behind it. Tonight, that changes. Tonight, you have witnessed the revelation that has been kept hidden for generations. The secrets of the forest have been unveiled, and your eyes are now open to the truth."

The old man's voice echoed through the trees, a chilling breeze whispering through the camp as if the very woods themselves were listening. Josh's heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation and mystery of it all almost too much to bear.

"Long ago, our ancestors made a pact, an agreement with the ancient spirits of the forest. They called them Visitors. But as time has passed, those of us who are up in age understand that the Visitors are really aliens from another world. In exchange for their protection around out community and the sustenance the land provides, we offer our skills as hunters by allowing them to transform one of us into one of the deer who possesses their spirit for the hunt. But it is a dangerous bargain, for the spirits demand a sacrifice. Each year, some of us must venture deep into the heart of the woods, to face the unknown and bring balance to the land. This is the enchantment, the ancient ritual that binds us to this place. It is a duty passed down from generation to generation, a legacy that defines us as men of Destiny."

The old man's words hung heavy in the air, the hunters transfixed by his every word, their minds racing with questions and a hint of fear. The hunters stood in awe, their eyes fixed on the old man as he spoke of the ancient pact, a shiver running down their spines. Josh felt a sense of pride, knowing that his grandfather held the key to the mystery that had intrigued him since childhood. The old man continued, his voice steady, "The spirits, the aliens, demand a sacrifice, a ritual that must be carried out to maintain the balance. It is a task that falls upon the bravest among us, a test of our courage and skill. Tonight, you will become those brave souls, embarking on a journey that will either make or break you as you hunt for our fellow member of our community deep within the forest."

As he spoke, the forest seemed to creep closer, the trees looming over them, their branches reaching skyward in silent sentinel.

"But fear not, for the spirits are fair. They will test you, but they will also bestow upon you gifts beyond measure. Embrace the enchantment, for it is your birthright as men of Destiny."

The old man's words echoed through the camp, an ominous chant that stirred the very essence of the forest. The hunters stood transfixed, their rifles forgotten, as the reality of their mission sank in. Little did they know that the night would change their lives, setting them on a path of no return. As the old man finished his tale, the forest seemed to sigh, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves, a subtle reminder of the power that lurked within. The hunters, now bound by an ancient oath, prepared themselves for the unknown, their hearts pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Little did they know, the adventure that awaited them would be unlike anything they had ever imagined. Little did they know, the forest held secrets beyond their wildest imagination, and the enchantment would unveil a destiny that would bind them forever. As the final words of the enchantment left the old man's lips, the forest seemed to stir, and again otherworldly presence descended upon the camp. The hunters felt a sudden shift in the air, a subtle sign that their lives were about to change irrevocably. The hunters stood in awe, the weight of the enchantment heavy upon them. The forest loomed, an enigmatic presence that whispered secrets only the brave could decipher. Josh's grandfather stood tall, his eyes glinting with an otherworldly wisdom as he spoke of the ancient ways, the rituals that bound them to this land. "The spirits of the forest are ancient and powerful. They’ve traveled from far away celestial places to be with us tonight. They demand respect and adherence to the old ways. We are but mere mortals, yet through the enchantment, we are gifted a glimpse into their world. Tonight, you will venture deeper into the woods than ever before, and the secrets of the hunters will be revealed to you." The old man's words hung in the air, a haunting melody that sent shivers down the spines of the hunters. As they prepared for their journey, an air of anticipation and mystery enveloped the camp. The forest seemed to breathe, its ancient secrets waiting to be uncovered. Little did the hunters know, the night would change their lives forever, leading them down a path of wonder and terror. The hunters stood in awe, the weight of the enchantment heavy upon their shoulders. The forest, an enigmatic presence, loomed over them, its secrets waiting to be unraveled. As the old man continued his tale, the air grew colder, and a faint rustle of leaves signaled the approaching mystery. Josh felt a sense of foreboding, an unmistakable feeling that their lives were about to change drastically. The enchantment, a centuries-old ritual, bound them to this sacred land, and tonight, they would embrace their destiny. With each step deeper into the woods, the hunters felt a growing sense of uneasiness, an invisible force pulling them forward. The moon, a pale beacon, guided them along the path, the trees stretching tall, their branches reaching skyward in silent sentinel. Josh's grandfather, a figure of authority and mystery, marched ahead, his eyes fixed on the unseen forces that only he could perceive. The night air whispered secrets, an otherworldly language that only the brave could understand. As they ventured further, the forest seemed to come alive, its ancient spirits stirring, and the hunters felt a profound sense of being watched. The camp fire, their only source of warmth and comfort, cast an eerie glow upon the faces of the hunters, illuminating their determined expressions. The old man's voice, deep and resonating, echoed through the trees, his words a bridge to the unseen world.

"The spirits of the forest are ancient and wise. They bestow gifts upon the brave and punish the foolish. Tonight, you will face your greatest test, a trial that will forge your character and reveal your true selves."

The hunters stood in awe, the weight of the enchantment heavy upon them. The forest, shrouded in mystery, loomed over them, its secrets waiting to be unraveled by the brave souls who dared to venture in. As the old man continued his enchanting tale, a chill ran through the camp, a sign that the night would bring forth momentous changes. With each step deeper into the woods, an unseen force pulled them forward, the moonlight acting as their guide along the eerie path. The trees towered above, their branches reaching high, acting as silent sentinels, while the camp fire, their beacon of warmth and comfort, cast an amber glow upon the hunters' determined faces. Josh's grandfather, a figure of wisdom and authority, marched resolutely ahead, his eyes darting to the unseen spirits that only he could perceive. The night air whispered ancient tales, a language understood only by the valiant. As they traversed further into the heart of the forest, the trees seemed to stir, their whispers carrying an otherworldly lore that sent shivers down the hunters' spines.

The old man's voice boomed, resonating through the forest, his words a portal to another realm. "The ancient spirits of the woods are impartial and unforgiving. They test the brave and reward them accordingly. Tonight, you will face trials that will shape your destinies and reveal your true characters." The hunters, transfixed by the mesmerizing story, absorbed every word, their eyes glued to the storyteller. Little did they know, the forest held more than ancient secrets; it held their future, and the night would etch their lives in ways beyond their imagination.

As the hunters continued their journey, the forest grew darker, and the fire's warmth became a distant memory. The old man's words echoed in their minds, a haunting melody that propelled them forward into the unknown. The trees seemed to loom closer, their branches reaching out like fingers, and the air grew colder with each step. Josh felt a growing sense of foreboding, an unmistakable premonition that their lives were on the brink of irreversible change. The forest, a mysterious entity, whispered secrets

The hunters continued their journey into the enigmatic forest, the weight of the enchantment binding them together. The night air grew colder, and the trees seemed to loom over them, their branches stretching towards the sky like reaching fingers. As they ventured deeper, the mystery intensified, and an unmistakable sense of dread settled in the pit of Josh's stomach. The forest whispered secrets, ancient tales of courage and sacrifice, and the hunters felt an overwhelming sense of being watched. The camp fire, a fading ember, cast an eerie glow on the determined faces of the men. Josh's grandfather, the embodiment of wisdom and courage, strode ahead, his eyes fixed on the path ahead, unperturbed by the unseen forces that danced around them. With each step, the old man's voice echoed through the trees, a chilling narrative that invited the hunters to embrace their destiny.

"The spirits of the forest are ancient, their powers beyond our mortal comprehension. They observe us, guide us, and test us. Tonight, you will face your greatest trial, a test that will unveil your true selves. Embrace the challenge, for it is through courage and bravery that we are gifted with the forest's secrets." he said again.

As the Pastor spoke of the hunting trips, an eerie feeling washed over the crowd. They couldn't shake the sense that there was something more to these excursions than met the eye. The old man's tale continued, his words carrying a weight that seemed to suspend reality. The forest seemed to breathe, its whispers carrying warnings of the unknown dangers that lurked within. They glanced at the faces of the other hunters, each of them locked in our thoughts, processing the tales we'd been told. The Pastor's voice boomed, echoing through the trees, a chilling narrative that both fascinated and terrified me. He spoke of ancient spirits and their demand for sacrifice, a ritual that bound the men of our community together. I felt a surge of curiosity and a hint of fear as the reality of our situation began to sink in. What secrets lay within the depths of this enchanting forest? As the Pastor's tale reached its climax, the very air seemed to shimmer, an otherworldly presence descending upon us. The forest's secrets were being unveiled, and we were but mere spectators in this age-old drama. I felt a personal connection to the story, as if the enchantment wrapped around us had chosen me for a destiny yet unknown. The night sky above us seemed to dance with anticipation, the stars twinkling as silent sentinels, bearing witness to the events about to transpire.

chapter Seventeen

Transformation

Off in the distance, the wind swirled and pushed the dried leaves toward the campsite. A strange and eerie feeling filled the men as each of them looked at one another. The transformation was about to begin. The revelation was about to be seen. The annual visitation of the strangers from beyond was about to become evident as they selected the first candidate to be transformed from a man into the prey.

The men felt a chill run down their spines as the wind howled, a foreboding signal of the night's events. They sensed a mysterious force at work, one that brought about a shuddering anticipation. The air grew heavier, and an otherworldly glow illuminated the darkening sky. Nature itself held its breath, as if the world had reached a standstill, awaiting the moment of revelation. Suddenly, from the depths of the eerie silence, a faint sound emerged. Like the beating of drumbeats, it echoed through the trees, growing louder and more intense. The men felt a pull, a magnetic attraction toward the heart of the forest. They knew the visitors were near, the ones who came once a year, bringing with them a mystical wonderment that defied logic and reason. The drums' pace quickened, and the men felt a transformation begin, a change that was both exciting and terrifying. The air crackled with energy, and a faint outlines appeared among the trees. Figures, otherworldly and ethereal, began to take shape, their forms swirling with a mystical haze. The visitors had arrived, and the men were transfixed, captivated by this annual phenomenon.

The men’s eyes were glued to the eerie spectacle unfolding before them. The drums' relentless beat echoed through the still air, signaling the commencement of the ancient ritual. The visitors, shrouded in mystical haze, advanced slowly from the forest's heart, their purpose clear yet shrouded in mystery. As the first rays of moonlight touched the sacred clearing, the transformation ritual began in earnest. The visitors, otherworldly and enigmatic, moved with purpose, their eyes fixed upon the chosen one. With each passing minute, the air grew colder, signaling the impending change. The candidate, once a man, now stood on the brink of an incredible metamorphosis, his form slowly contorting, his flesh shifting, and his very essence transforming into that of a majestic deer. Amidst the wonder and awe, a hushed silence fell upon the campsite as the magic reached its climax. The men witnessed the miracle, their eyes wide with wonder and a hint of fear, for they knew that tonight, their comrade would never return to his human form before daylight but would remain a deer until the dawn. And yet, a sense of reverence filled the air, a testament to the awe-inspiring power of the visitors from beyond. This time of transformation allowed the “visitors” to become a part of the man and deer for the sake of experiencing what it was like to be hunted, running for your life.

The men stood in awe as the transformation ritual continued unabated. The chosen one's body contorted and shifted, his humanoid features giving way to those of a majestic deer. As if in a trance, the rest of the group watched in reverential silence, their eyes fixed on the spectacle before them. The visitors, shrouded in a mystical aura, moved with deliberate steps, their mysterious purpose unfolding with each passing moment. The air crackled with otherworldly energy as the transformation neared its completion. The deer, newly born, stood tall, its antlers a testament to the magical powers at play. The visitors, having bestowed their gift upon the chosen candidate and becoming part of the creature themselves, paused for a brief moment, allowing the onlookers to absorb the magnitude of what had just transpired. The night sky, illuminated by a faint glow, served as a backdrop to this annual miracle, a testament to the power of the unknown. As the remaining visitors slowly retreated back into the depths of the forest, the men were left in awe and wonder. The deer, now fully transformed, stood proudly, its eyes reflecting the mystery of the universe. Nature's secret remained, a sacred event witnessed by a fortunate few, leaving them forever changed. The night unfolded with stories of this extraordinary occurrence, retold around the campfire, a testament to the enigma that had unfolded before their very eyes.

The men were entranced as they witnessed the visitors' ancient ritual. It was a spectacle of otherworldly proportions, a miracle that unfolded before their very eyes. A hush fell over the campsite as the magnitude of the event sank in. The men were in disbelief that their comrade had been chosen for this incredible transformation. Yet, a sense of honor accompanied the wonder, as they had been granted a glimpse into a realm of magic and mystery. The night air was crisp and cool, and the moon shone brightly above, illuminating the newly transformed deer. The deer, sensing no threat among its fellow creatures, trotted off into the forest, joining a herd of wild deer that had gathered nearby. The men, still in a trance, watched in silence as the deer blended seamlessly into the wild, an incredible sight that confirmed the power of the mysterious visitors. Nature's secrets were indeed profound and full of wonder. As the night wore on, the men remained captivated by the events that had unfolded, their minds racing to comprehend the enigma they had just witnessed.

The night was filled with an aura of mystery and magic that seemed to linger, even after the visitors' departure. Their minds raced with questions and marveled at the spectacle they had just witnessed. What powers allowed these visitors to bestow such a remarkable gift? What other mysteries and secrets lay beyond the depths of the forest? And who among them would be chosen for this honor—or trial—in the following year? These thoughts kept them captivated, their attention alternating between the forest's eerie depths and the majestic deer that had gracefully joined its wild counterparts. The deer, unaware of the impact of its newfound form, roamed freely, a testament to the enigma of the natural world. The men, still entranced, remained at the campsite, processing the events of the evening. As the moon reached its highest point in the sky, a solemn respect settled upon them. They knew that their stories would forever be changed, and this night would live on in their memories as a sacred, otherworldly experience. Yet, even with the knowledge of this transformation, the men knew that the hunt must go on.

Chapter Eighteen

Homecoming

The day of the homecoming brought everyone out of the hollers and valleys near the edges of the forest. There wasn't much talk about the latest victim, the latest deer hunter who was carried to his final resting place just months earlier. But the Sanders sisters always had a word or a story to tell about other people's business.

As the sisters remembered the day, it loomed alive in front of them. The sun shone brightly on the gathering crowd, casting a warm glow on the faces of the inhabitants of the forest's edge. The Sanders sisters, ever the town gossips, stood aside, whispering and pointing, their thin lips curled in satisfaction at the spectacle. The new widow, a young woman with eyes as dark as the depths of the forest, stood stoically before the assembled villagers, her face a mask of grief, hiding the turmoil within. Her gaze, fixed on the pine box that held her husband's body, gave no hint of the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. The hunter's fate, an unfortunate accident, was not spoken of; instead, the sisters' sweet, sing-song voices carried tales of other mishaps and misfortunes, each story a reminder of the harshness of life on the forest's edge. The crowd, hushed and respectful, listened intently, their eyes flitting between the speakers and the solemn procession, a stark reminder of the fragility of existence. With the service over, the crowd dispersed, leaving the widow alone with her thoughts. The sisters, satisfied with the day's events, retreated to their cottage, their cackles echoing through the trees, a chilling contrast to the somber proceedings. The widow, her heart heavy, made her way back to an empty home, her mind already dwelling on the long road ahead, a road that led deep into the mysterious forest, a place of secrets and silent suffering.

The widow's heart was heavy as she walked away from the burial site, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. She was alone with her thoughts, lost in a sea of memories, each step taking her further away from the bustling crowd and deeper into the eerie forest. The mysterious trees seemed to tower over her, their branches reaching high into the sky as if trying to touch the clouds that floated overhead. The forest, a place of both beauty and danger, loomed large around her. It was a constant reminder of the unknown, a testament to the secrets it held, hidden from prying eyes. As she ventured deeper, the sunlight faded, giving way to the forest's dark interior, where shadows danced and the wind whispered through the leaves, telling stories of its own. Her mind began to wander, her thoughts drifting to the tales the Sanders sisters so often shared, their sweet voices now an echo in her mind. The images of the day continued to flash through the widow's mind as she made her solitary journey. The faces of the villagers, though solemn, seemed to blend into the forest's edge, their presence a faint memory. The pine box, a simple yet stark reminder of the fragility of life, was now part of the earth, and her husband's memory would forever be etched into the annals of the forest's stories. With each step, she knew she was leaving him further behind, and the weight of her loneliness grew heavier still.

In the widow’s mind, she saw herself walking deeper into the forest's heart, where the light struggled to penetrate the dense canopy overhead. The Sanders sisters' tales of woe and misfortune echoed in her mind, their sweet, poisonous words intertwining with her own thoughts. She recalled the faces of the villagers, solemn and serious, a stark contrast to the vibrant life of the forest that surrounded them. The path grew darker and the air grew colder as the sun's rays failed to reach this far into the ancient wood. The mystery of the forest loomed an ever-present reminder of the unknown, an enigma that beckoned and intimidated in equal measure. As she walked, her mind began to drift to the very heart of the forest, a place untouched by human eyes, a realm of secrets and silent screams. The burial site and the crowd faded further away with each step, leaving her alone with the whispering trees and the haunting echoes of the sisters' stories. The forest seemed to breathe, its living, pulsating presence a comforting and menacing companion, a force that both attracted and repelled her in equal measure.

The weight of her solitude grew more profound. The images of the day's events replayed in her mind, an endless loop of the somber procession and the solemn faces of the villagers. The forest, a place of both beauty and menace, enveloped her in its eerie embrace, the dappled sunlight doing little to dispel the air of mystery that permeated the area. The sisters' tales of woe resonated within her, their sweetly poisonous words weaving through her thoughts like a haunting melody. With each step, the widow felt a growing sense of unease, for the forest held secrets that even the bravest souls feared to uncover. The very heart of the wood was a place untouched by sunlight, a realm of darkness and enigma, a magnet for those who sought the unknown. And yet, something compelled her forward, a silent call that echoed within the depths of her soul.

As the light faded, the widow's senses grew sharper, the forest's whispers becoming more distinct. The wind rustled through the towering trees, their branches reaching skyward in a silent, eerie dance. She could almost decipher the hidden stories the forest tried to tell, a language of secrets and suffering that only a few could understand. Then, the image was gone from her.

Even though the homecoming was supposed to be a festive time for everyone, it lacked heart and spirit. The Sanders sisters, Sally and Sarah glided around the crowd like soft floating feathers hoping to hear something new, something delicious worth spreading about the widows or perhaps the young girls who came to the church within the last several weeks.

"Sally, you are not going to believe the latest on Mrs. Smith and Mr. Jones. I know you don't like her, so this is a great treat for you to have a bit of gossip. You are going to love what I have to tell you. It will make your day!"

Sarah could hardly contain herself and she grabbed Sally's arm, and pulled her close. "We have to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere where we won't be overheard." Sarah wasn’t a thin woman, never had been, but she was taller than her older sister Sally by two inches. Sally was the prettier of the two, with long dark hair, but Sarah had a wild, carefree spirit, while Sally was a more cautious and calculating person.

Sarah led her older sister to the garden along side the river that flowed near the west side of the church’s property and when they were far enough away from the crowd, Sarah leaned over to whisper in Sally's ear.

"I saw Mrs. Smith and Mr. Jones out at the edge of town in the field near the river, the one that is off limits. You know, the one that is not used anymore because of the drought? I was out there and was walking along the river when I heard a rustling in the tall grasses. I looked over and I could not believe my eyes. There was Mrs. Smith lying on top of Mr. Jones. She had her hands on his chest and was rubbing it, and they were kissing and fondling each other, and their hands were everywhere! They didn't see me, thank the Lord seeing that I’ve been chosen to be the church caretaker of those in need, but I was so scared I didn't know what to do. I ran home and I didn't tell anyone. What do you think, should I tell?"

Sally thought about the question for a moment and replied, "I think we should wait until later, and then we will see if this information is true. I don't want to spread a lie around town and have the wrong people find out, you know, the good people of the church, because if word gets out that I was the one who spread a falsehood about a member of the church, well, you know how that would end, don't you?"

"Of course, I know. I would be shunned by the entire town, and all of my friends, and I would become an outcast, just like that horrible Widow Adams, or whatever her name is. I know how that would end, but it is such juicy news, don't you think?"

"Sarah, you know I don't like her, but that doesn't mean I am willing to spread lies about her. I want to wait a couple of days and if the news is still hot, then we can start to share the information."

"Fine, but don't wait too long. I may have to tell someone else about the affair if you wait too long. You know me and secrets; they are hard for me to keep."

"Yes, I know, which is why we are going to wait a few days to see if anyone else comes forward with the same information."

"I guess that makes sense, but I really want to tell someone right now. Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now, come with me, let's go talk to some other people and see if they have anything new to tell us."

The sisters moved about the crowd and engaged in various conversations. As the afternoon went on, the sisters noticed that the mood in the air was becoming more relaxed, and the townspeople were beginning to enjoy themselves, all except the widow who appeared to be lost in her own world.

It was as if a great weight had been lifted from the town, and everyone was relieved to finally be able to talk about the widows.

As the sun began to set, the townspeople gathered around the bonfire and enjoyed roasted marshmallows, popping popcorn, and drinking hot chocolate. The atmosphere was festive, and the sisters were enjoying themselves. However, the mood changed quickly when a voice cried out from the crowd.

"What is that?"

CHAPTER Nineteen

Training

During the Hunt

In the dim undergrowth deep that completely surrounded the valley and within the forest far from the parameter of the valley’s treeline, several of the creatures stood watching their fellow comrades peek under the branches and bend low to avoid the thorns that would stick them, the ones growing along the hidden path. It wasn’t their first time watching, there had been many attempts to get the full effect of the ‘Hunt’.

The older of the group wasn’t as captivated by the events as the younger ones were simply because they had experienced it many times before. It was true that their time had come and gone but it was their determination to show and teach the younglings what it meant to be caught on the offense and run for their very lives. That was what the journey to this planet was intended to teach them. It was a time of transformation not only for the humans involved but for the younglings from their home world.

Their appearances blended in with the night’s deeper tones of grays and blacks making it almost impossible for them to be detected by the human who was chosen for this evening’s event. It was necessary to remain concealed in the undergrowth and camouflaged to prevent their discovery. Their presence was only allowed to be seen or known by the ‘elder hunter’ for he had been at one time one of them from their world. In his earlier years as he watched the change, he solicited the high council to allow him to become human after the his first visit to the planet. He convinced the ruling counsel that he could and would provide at least one volunteer for the ‘hunt’ each year to allow his ‘kind’ to become not only a deer but a human until the next ‘hunting’ season. As he explained, the choice was his with their blessing to allow their kind to eventually come to Earth on a more permanent basis if needed.

The elder of the group knew that the time had come to share his wisdom with the younglings. He stepped out from the shadows, his form blending into the night's darkness.

"Listen carefully, younglings," he said, his voice a low growl.

"Tonight, you will witness the true power of the hunt. You will understand the terror that the humans feel, and the potential they hold for our kind. But do not fear, with careful planning and strategy, we can outsmart them and prolong our lives here on the planet."

The younglings watched in amazement as the elder creature demonstrated the art of camouflage and stealth. He showed how to carefully navigate the hidden path, avoiding the thorns and branches that could reveal their presence to the human hunters.

"We must move with speed and precision," the elder said. "We must be silent as the whispering wind, and invisible as the darkness. Only then will we survive this night as all of those who came before us for millennia."

The younglings nodded, eager to learn from their elder's wisdom. They understood the importance of this night-it was a journey of transformation, not just for the humans, but for their kind as well. They would be stronger and wiser for the experience, and they would carry the knowledge of how to avoid the hunters and return to their home world if all went as planned.

The elder nodded in satisfaction, knowing that the younglings were ready for this night, their first introduction to the transformation. He disappeared back into the shadows, leaving his young charges to their own devices. As the night wore on, the younglings remained hidden, waiting for their chance to escape from the human’s view. They were ready to apply the knowledge they had learned from their elder, and they knew that if they succeeded, they would be better prepared for their future visits to Earth and the eventual invasion.

The humans moved through the undergrowth, their flashlights cutting through the night. They were intent on their mission, focused and driven. The younglings watched them carefully, their instincts on high alert. Suddenly, one of the humans stopped and shone his flashlight in the direction of the younglings' hiding place. They froze, their hearts pounding in their ears. The human moved on, but the younglings were on edge, their instincts telling them that danger was near. The elder creature had been watching from the shadows, and when he saw the human's flashlight, he knew it was time to make his move. He crept forward, his body blending into the night. The human moved deeper into the undergrowth, and the younglings followed, their hearts racing. They knew that if they could make it to the hidden path and find their fellow ‘hunter’, they would be safe. As they crept closer, the elder creature whispered to them, "Remember what I taught you. Be silent as the wind, and invisible as the darkness. And run for your lives."

The younglings nodded, their confidence bolstered. They moved closer to each other, their senses attuned to their surroundings. And then, suddenly, they spotted the hidden path, the one spoken of by their teacher, the elder hunter.

Chapter Twenty

The Backstory

On a distant planet, there lived a group of aliens who were fascinated by the concept of humanity, of their physical abilities and emotions. They had heard stories about human beings via their galactic connection to the cosmic radio structure that, when intercepted, was converted into visual waves like the human’s televisions but on a much more sophisticated form. Having become obsessed with the idea of becoming like them, a counsel was set in their governmental body and a plan was established to eventually become human through something that was called ‘transformation’. The aliens were not technologically advanced enough at the time of the radio wave interception, and they had no idea how to become human. But they had an idea, if they visited Earth in a ritual called the ‘Hunt’, the there might be a possibility to find a way for at least one of their inhabitants to become human. They decided to experiment with animal transformations first by using the humans themselves for lab rats. They knew that human beings had evolved over time from simpler life forms or so the human’s educational system had led them to believe, so they thought that if they could transform the humans into animals, they might eventually be able to transform and become human themselves. They began by seeking out animals that were similar to human beings in some way. They studied these animals in great detail, learning everything they could about their habits, behaviors, and anatomy. Once they had a good understanding of their chosen animals, they began the process of transformation. They used their advanced technology to artificially reverse transformation of the human they chose each year during the ‘Hunt’. The human, making them more and more animal-like over time. At first, the original transformations from alien to human were rough and awkward. The aliens' new bodies were not used to the movements and sensations of being human, and they often made mistakes and stumbled around and in most cases, reverted back into their original form to keep from dying. But over time, they improved. They learned to walk, talk, and behave like human beings.

As they continued to transform into more and more human-like adaptations, the aliens began to question what they were doing. They realized that the transformation was not making them human for a lifetime, it was turning them into monsters without feelings or emotions. There had to be a way to correct this problem.

The first several trips to Earth delivered little towards the transformation project that changed aliens into humans then into deer and several of the human candidates died during the initial phase. Yet, after the fourth season of the ‘hunt’, things began to look more favorable for the transiting aliens.

Chapter Twenty-one

Rumble at the Homecoming

The crowd fell silent, and all eyes turned towards the widow who was pointing at the Sanders sisters who were standing afar off from the crowd snickering.

"I saw them, with my own eyes, whispering and giggling together. They were talking about something, and when they saw me, they quickly hushed and walked away. I know what they were doing; they were plotting against me, spreading lies and rumors. I knew I couldn't trust those two. They have always hated me, and this proves it," said the widow of the latest ‘hunting’ victim. The crowd began to murmur, and some people nodded in agreement.

"It's true," someone shouted.

"I saw them too, they were talking behind her back, whispering and giggling. I'm sure they were talking about her." another said.

The mood shifted from the usually accepted one of lightheartedness that the homecoming was supposed to nurture, and the crowd turned against the sisters.

"They started it," said one.

"They were spreading lies and rumors, and now everyone is upset. They should be ashamed."

The sisters were surrounded by an angry mob, and they knew they had to escape. They ran back to their car and stood transfixed on the crowd of church members who were turning against them, but the mob followed, surrounding the car and shouting threats.

"We know you're hiding something," they yelled.

"We know you were talking about the widow. You're going to tell us the truth, or we'll make you."

For once in the lives, the sisters were terrified, and they knew they had to tell the truth. They stepped away from the car door and stepped closer, facing the mob.

"We were telling the truth," they cried.

"We were talking about something else, not the widow. We would never spread lies about her, not our sister in the church. We would never hurt her."

The mob continued to shout and jeer, but the sisters stood their ground. "We're sorry we upset you," they shouted, "but we were telling the truth. We would never lie or hurt anyone. Please, leave us alone."

The crowd continued to jeer, but the sisters remained firm. Finally, after several minutes, the crowd began to disperse, and the sisters were able to return to their car and drive away.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Unveiling

The Elder hunter made his way back to the clearing where the campfire was burning. He’d insisted that the men keep the fire burning at all costs to keep away the spirits of the night that would invade the air like whispers of smoke. The fire was a form of their protection from the creatures of the night and none of them could allow their protection to turn to embers. The creatures that the rest of the men were unaware of or simply didn’t believe that they existed waited just beyond the parameter of the light that glistened and reflected on the shiny leaves of several plants.

The spirit-like aliens were a group of aliens who were on a mission to transform themselves into humans, and then into deer to allow the human population to understand what it was like to be hunted and then killed for the sake of ‘fun’. The first several trips to Earth were unsuccessful, as the first couple of the candidates died during the transformation process and were placed about the vessels so that the community would never find their bodies. However, after the fourth season of the "hunt", things began to look more favorable for the transiting aliens.

One alien, in particular, who was pretending to be an old man, the elder of a hunting party, had been on Earth for many years. He had survived the transformation process and was living as a human. He was successful in his disguise and was able to blend in perfectly with the human population. However, he was lonely and longed for companionship. One day, he came across a beautiful young woman named Cynthia. She was kind and compassionate, and the old alien felt drawn to her. He decided to pursue her, and soon the two began a relationship. As their relationship grew, the old alien began to have doubts about his true identity. He confided in Cynthia, and she encouraged him to seek the truth. The old alien began to investigate his past and discovered that he was a transiting alien on a mission to transform himself into a human. He was shocked and devastated, but Cynthia convinced him that his mission was noble and that he was a good person. She encouraged him to continue his transformation, and he resolved to complete the mission that would in turn be taught to the others of his planet.

With the help of his wife, the old alien was able to successfully complete the transformation. He got married, and they began a happy life together. The old alien was grateful to his wife for helping him find his true self, and he vowed to always be together. That was the history behind the old man who now was known as the ‘elder story teller’ of the hunting group.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Night’s Closure

With the first flecks of morning’s light floating in the air, the hunters began gathering back to the campsite. Most of them didn’t have a story to tell. Most of them were returning empty-handed and disappointed as they had done many times before. It wasn’t the lack of not trying. It wasn’t the lack of ability. It was for the lack of not being prepared. Not, it was because the Elder hunter selected only one from the group to be successful in the hunt.

“Looks like we’re all going home empty-handed again this year,” stated Josh as he lowered his head as if he was apologizing for his inability to shoot or his inability to down the prey. He’d fought his own conscious throughout the night trying to focus himself as he’d been taught. He knew that the ‘hunt’ was something he’d looked forward to all of his life. He’d talked with his dad many times trying to get insight as to what he should do or how he should stand or how to correctly take aim if the pray came down the path where he would stand. Yet, even with all the anticipation, all the training, all the expectations satisfied, he still stood looking as if he’d lost his best friend or lost the national challenge for some football game.

“Now, Josh, let’s not be so hard of ourselves. Everyone knows you were ready. That’s not how this works, son,” stated Josh’s dad as he placed his hand on his right should, patted him, then moved away. He wasn’t going to pull him to him for a hug like he did at home, not in front of all of the other men. That would be embarrassing for you man and his father was trying to let him grow into the man he’d raised him to be.

“There’s always next season!” explained Josh, Sr. “You’ll get your turn,” he added.

After a short time, most of the men had returned to the campsite, all except for two. It wasn’t time to sound the alarms or stand to shout for the other men to rush into the forest to find their fellow hunter, no, it was time to wait.

“Men, as I’ve told you many times, ‘the hunt’ isn’t always about bagged your trophy. Sometimes it’s about understanding how the prey feels when it’s standing in the crosshairs waiting for the hunter, maybe one of you, to pull the trigger. Sometimes, it’s about a more meaningful experience one that happens every year during this season. Y’all know what I’m talking about or at least you older, more experienced hunters do. Last night, during the onset of the hunting trip, all of you knew except for Josh senior’s boys, that one of us wouldn’t go home. We do this for the sake of our families, we do this for the sake of our secret oath. Now, let’s restrain ourselves from jumping to conclusions and going off half-cocked into the forest that you know full well holds more than just animals and vegetation. It holds what we’ve all come here to understand, the transformation,” said the elder hunter in an attempt to unify the group as they waited for their fellow hunter to return to the circle around the fire.

After some time, their was a rustling in the undergrowth, a sound of huffing and puffing, a sound of someone trying to break through from the thickets and thorns. Within a few minutes more, one of the miners from the group appeared with forehead sweating and his shirt wringing wet from sweat. He pulled his prize behind him and smiled a the first man he saw stand over near the fire.

Everyone waited to see what he was dragging behind him, what was causing him to look so exhausted. He broke through into the clearing dragging his trophy behind him. Smiling he pulled the trophy all the way into the clearing and let go of the rope letting it drop to the ground in front of the ‘elder’.

“It’s done”, said Arnold as he looked around at each of the men who stood examining the kill.

“Where’s Ralph?” he asked.

“It was his turn,” responded the ‘elder’.

“His turn.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Meat Processing

Mid-day, Charles, one of the hunters from another nearby county, arrived at the local meat markets, one that everyone knew and everyone shopped at during the week. Sam, the owner had secured the legal papers to provide meat process services to the local hunters throughout the four surrounding counties. It was a good business decision for him seeing that there were a lot of hunters in the community and local surrounding counties. It was what was done, not questions asked.

Today, like all of the other times the men of the community brought their trophies to the market. First their was Bruce from over in the next county, Bruce Hardwick. He didn’t look much like a hunter, rather slim and malnourished. Yet, he hoisted his large cooler upon the cart provided by the facility to allow him to bring his kill through the store and back to the doors leading into the butcher department.

“Bruce, well I see you got yourself a big one this year,” stated Chris, one of the butchers and processors working for Sam’s store.

“Yep, it’s a big one alright,” he replied as he pulled the lid off of the large cooler to let the butcher admire his trophy.

“He thought he was getting away from me but I showed him!” exclaimed Bruce in such a manner you’d thing he’d shot the most sought after trophy in his county.

“Would you look at this, Heather,” shouted Chris as he waved for her to come over and take a look at the carcass as if she’d never seen a dead animal skinned and beheaded.

“Yep, that’s a whopper!” she proclaimed, laughed, and went back to her station where she and Amber were were bagging chicken livers for resale.

“You know, Amber, these guys kill me with their attitudes and boasting how great they are with their hunting. They’d be crying ‘holy murder’ if they had to give birth!” laughed Heather as she looked over at the two men still standing over the open contain holding the raw meat.

“Okay, we’ll get this going for you today. You can pick it up tomorrow later in the afternoon,” instructed Chris as he placed the lid back on the cool, taped the preparations instructions on the top of the lid, and pushed the cart back into the back and alongside the other coolers waiting for processing.

It’s a nasty and bloody process but it brought in a lot of clients the store, many had been Sam’s customer for over ten years, maybe longer. There were other processing stores but none like Sam’s. He took special pride in his employees handling each customer with pride and respect. It had work for him and he didn’t intend on changing a thing.

Watching from the other side of the room, Heather and Amber continued their work with the cut up chicken parts, legs and wings. The chicken preparation procedures was one of the worst things to be done at the store. The routine at the store included the repackaging of more things sold at the store. Sam purchased the products in bulk and repacked it in smaller plastic bags or boxes added on the price of the labor and materials involved to be paid by the customer. For Heather, it was her way of making ends meet whereas, for Amber, it was simply an in-between job until she could do better. She was attending college part-time in hopes of having a brighter future other than cutting up chickens and pricing chitterlings.

“Have you heard the latest, Heather?” asked Amber as she turned to another man enter the store with a larger-than-life cooler covered in plastic.

“What?” asked Heather as she turned to see the man struggling to get in the front door.

“Hold on a minute,” instructed Heather as she slipped the plastic gloves off of her hands, walked around the meat cooler case and over to the front door where the man was still trying to get the cool into the store.

“Here, let me get that door for you,” said Heather as she pushed the opposite door open, grabbed the other door with her right hand and held the both open until the man pushed the cart laden with the oversized cooler into the front of the store.

“Wow, that must be some big kill you got there, buddy!” laughed Heather as she helped the man to the back counter where the processing information would be written down on a sheet of paper and attached to the top of the cooler.

“Now, let me help you, sir,” said Heather as she took one of the sheets of paper and began to fill out the information as to how the man wanted the finished product.

“Name?” she asked and poised her pen on the top line.

“Ah, that’ll be Arnold Bradshaw, young lady.” he said as he watched Heather write his name one the first line.

After filling out all of the information needed by Mr. Bradshaw, Heather told him that it would be perhaps one or two days depending on how backed up the butchers were.

“That’ll be okay. A couple days is alright. I have to go out of town for a day or so, I’ll be back in day after tomorrow,” informed Arnold as Heather took down the “pick-up” date information.

“We appreciate you business, Mr. Bradshaw,” said Heather as she turned to push the cart through the double swinging doors just as Mr. Bradshaw turned to walk out of the store.

As the day progressed and as time permitted, Chris and David, the two profession butchers in the back room worked diligently to process the carcasses in the coolers lined up against the wall. Some of the kill was smaller and took only an hour perhaps less to prepare for the final stage. Bones were removed and any remaining hide was pulled off of the lean read meat. Once every piece of lean meat was stripped off of every bone, Chris would dump the pail of meat into the ‘burger’ grinder to process the meat as burgers. Some of the remains were cut into chops or made into sausages seasoned as requested by the customer.

Most of the afternoon was devoted to clearing out the remaining smaller coolers in hopes of getting to the largest one sitting in the cooler. It belonged to Mr. Bradshaw and weighed in at over two hundred and fifty pounds, the larges ‘kill’ recorded by the store in all of its years in operation.

“Okay, Chris, I think we’re caught up with the backlog we had. Now, let’s get to the big one. It’s going to take a while. I have a few questions about that one. Have you looked at it yet? The flesh doesn’t look like the other kills. Something strange about that one,” stated David as he pulled open the cooler door and prepared to remove the largest cooler so that he and Chris could finish it up before the end of the day.

"What do you mean there's something strange about it?" asked Chris, looking up from where he was wiping down the meat grinder.

"Well, look at this flesh," said David, holding up a piece of meat from the carcass. "It's a different color, for one thing. And it's much softer than any of the other kills I've seen. It's almost like..."

"It's like it's been altered," finished Chris, looking at David with a concerned expression.

The two butchers looked at each other for a moment, both realizing that something was off about the kill. "I don't mean to be a pessimist," said David, "but we should probably let Sam know about this. He may want to call the local authorities."

"You're right," agreed Chris. "I'll go find him and let him know what's up."

Chris left the room, leaving David alone with the carcass. He stared down at the larger-than-life carcass, trying to process what he had seen. He couldn't quite figure out what it was that was so off about the kill, but he knew that he had to tell Sam about it. Sam was the owner and operator of the meat market, and he had been in the business for decades. He had always been honest and trustworthy, and he knew how to handle difficult situations. David found Sam in the back of the store, where he was overseeing the packaging and labeling of butchered meat.

"Sam, there's something we need to talk to you about," said David, approaching him cautiously. Sam looked up at David, his eyebrows raised. "What is it?"

"It's the kill from Mr. Bradshaw. Chris and I noticed that something seems off about it. The flesh is a different color and it's much softer than any of the other kills we've processed."

Sam's expression turned serious as he listened to David's words. "Altered?" "I don't know," said David, "but that's what it seems like." Sam thought for a moment before speaking. "I think we should call the local authorities. This could be bigger than we thought."

"I'm scared," said David, his voice cracking.

"So am I," said Sam, "but we have to be prepared for the worst. We'll face this together."

Sam and David made their way to the back of the store, where Chris was waiting. They explained the situation to him, and the three of them were in agreement that they had to contact the authorities.

"We'll deal with this one step at a time," said Sam, trying to reassure himself as well as the other two. "First we'll call the local authorities, and then we'll see what they have to say."

The three of them made the call, and before long, the local police arrived at the store. They examined the kill and asked questions of the three butchers. "Do you know anything else about this?" asked one of the officers.

"No," said Sam, "nothing beyond what we've told you."

The officer looked at the trio for a moment before speaking again. "Well, thank you for your cooperation. We'll take this from here." And with that, the officers left with the remains of the kill, leaving the three butchers alone in the store.

"What do we do now?" asked David, his voice shaking.

"We wait," said Sam, "and hope that everything is alright."

The three butchers stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. They knew that they had done the right thing by reporting the altered kill, but they also knew that this might not be the end of the story.

Chapter Twenty-Five

What Is It?

As the police drove off with the remains of what was supposed to have been an odd looking deer, the three butchers stood silently in the meat market’s back door with their hands rubbing their heads. They couldn't believe what they had discovered – that the animal they had thought was a deer was actually the remains of a human body.

"What do we do now?" asked David, his voice shaking.

Sam looked at the other two men. "We wait," he said, "and hope that everything is alright. We have done everything we can. It is in the hands of the authorities now."

Chris nodded in agreement, but David couldn't bring himself to say anything. He was too shocked and disturbed by what had transpired.

The three butchers finished their shift at the meat market, but their minds were still on the shocking discovery they had made. As they drove home, David couldn't help but wonder if they would ever find out the identity of the victim and what had happened to them. Chris and David's wives were supportive of their husbands, but they could also see the strain on their husbands' faces. They knew that something serious had happened, but their husbands wouldn't tell them anything more than what they had already known.

Over the next few days, the police conducted a thorough investigation, but they still did not have many answers. They determined that the body was that of a young man who had disappeared no more than a couple of days earlier, but they had no idea how he had ended up in the meat market.

As the police investigation continued, the three butchers couldn't help but wonder if they were somehow involved. They had gone into the woods with the group of men only a few days earlier with the intention of hunting as they had always done over the lifetime, but they had never dreamed that they would discover a human body that appeared to be an over-sized deer in one of the coolers

Eventually, the police were able to rule the butchers out as suspects, and the case was cooler down without any further leads. The three butchers tried to put the incident behind them, but they could never forget the horror they had stumbled upon, especially right after the hunting party and the mysterious comment that the ‘elder’ made about Ralph and it being his time.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Minister’s Secret

The congregation settled into their seats along the worn pews, their eyes fixed on the minister as he stepped onto the pulpit. He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice low and somber.

"My beloved brothers and sisters," he began, "I have called you here this evening to tell you something that has been weighing heavily upon my heart and soul. It is a secret that I have kept hidden for far too long, but now I believe it is time to share the truth with you."

The congregation exchanged glances, sensing something serious was coming.

The minister continued,

"As you know, we live in a small community that has always been close knit. We have supported each other through thick and thin, and we have worked together to build a good life for our families. But there is one more thing that sets us apart from other communities. We have a secret that has been passed down from generation to generation." The minister paused, allowing his words to sink in.

“And for the sake of the Truth, I must explain what I found out about our community that the world beyond the treeline doesn’t know. Some of you may or may not know that there is a small population of men who have the ability to transform into deer who live in our community. They live among us, hidden in plain sight, and they have been a source of food for us for centuries."

The congregation gasped in surprise, and the minister held up his hand to quiet them. "I know this may come as a shock to you, but it is something that we must accept as part of who we are. These men are not monsters, but they are a part of our community, and they provide us with a valuable resource. I understand that this may be a difficult concept to accept, but I ask that all of you keep an open mind. These men are not so different from us, and they deserve our respect and acceptance."

The minister looked out at the congregation, his eyes filled with sadness and compassion. "I know that this will be hard for some of you to accept, but I cannot keep this information hidden from you any longer. It is time for us to face the truth and to embrace our true nature. But, there is something else that must be told that is also living among us. "

The congregation sat in silence, processing the minister's words. Some looked horrified, while others seemed intrigued. After a few minutes, the minister continued.

"I know that this will be a difficult journey for all of us, but we will get through it together. We are a strong community, and we will not be afraid of who we are."

With that, the minister ended his speech and sat down. The congregation remained in their seats, unsure of what to do or say. But the minister was right – it was time for them to accept the truth and to embrace their true selves.

The comment that rang in the ears of everyone that sat in the pews was the one comment the minister said just before he sit down. He made the comment in as if no one would hear it or make it out but many did hear it and wander further explanation. The comment was, “But, there is something else that must be told that is also living among us.”

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Chapter-Twenty-Seven

Sanders Sisters Surprise

The Sanders sisters, Sarah and Sally, well-known for their love of gossip and their eagerness to spread it around the neighborhood took every opportunity they could to create or stir any story old or new. They loved nothing more than to gather at the town's local coffee shop, sip on their hot tea, and trade all the latest whispers and rumors.

This particular morning, as they were in the midst of their usual gossip session, they received an unexpected phone call. The caller was a coroner's assistant and he needed their immediate attention or so he said.

"Miss Sarah, Miss Sally, I'm sorry to bother you ladies, but we've found something extremely unusual about the dead body in our latest examination," the assistant explained in a rushed tone. "And... and the strangest thing is, the body doesn't appear to be human at all. We're not sure what it is."

The sisters were taken aback by the news, but they quickly regained their composure and eagerness to know more. "What do you mean, it doesn't appear to be human?" Sarah asked, her voice filled with curiosity. "What does it look like?"

"Well, it's hard to describe," the assistant replied. "It's not like anything I've ever seen before. It's... well, it looks like some sort of alien creature under my microscope." The sisters' eyes grew wide with shock and disbelief. They had never heard such a far-fetched story in their entire lives. "An alien creature?" Sally repeated, her voice laced with excitement. "Are you sure?"

"I wish I were making this up," the assistant said, his voice heavy with frustration. "But it's true. The body is unlike anything I've ever seen before. It's unlike anything anyone has ever seen before."

The sisters were overwhelmed with curiosity. They couldn't wait to get down to the coroner's office and see this strange creature for themselves. As they arrived at the office, they were greeted by the assistant who showed them into the examination room. “You know I’m not supposed to let you two in here, but you’ve been a friend to my family for decades. And, well, my mother says I owe both of you a debt I can’t pay back. I’m not sure what that debt is but well, here you are. There, on the table is the remains of what the police thought was a human body but it’s an alien creature. It’s unlike anything I’ve had ever seen before. It is unlike anything any of us have ever seen in our lives. It was unlike anything they had ever seen before. The sisters were mesmerized by the creature’s skinned body. They couldn't believe their eyes. They had never seen anything like it before. They stayed for as long as the assistant would allow them to stay, studying the creature and speculating about what it might be. They were completely fascinated by this mysterious, otherworldly being.

As they left the office, the sisters were forever changed by their encounter with the beheaded alien creature. They had never experienced anything like it, and even though they gave their word to not breathe a word of what they had seen, they couldn't wait to share their story with the whole town.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Religious Dogma versus Truth

The Next Sunday:

The pastor had the congregation's full attention and the silence was deafening. Everyone wanted to hear what he would say. Everyone wanted to hear what the Pastor had to say following the closing comments made the previous Sunday

In their usual pews, the Sanders sisters waited for the reaction of the congregation if the Pastor confessed what they believed he was going to talk about this morning before his sermon. They knew that the coroner’s assistant was in the congregation this morning and was more than willing to them the nod if they decided to spill the tea to the town’s folk. Even though he didn’t want to do it himself, to reveal the truth, the knew he couldn’t keep the sisters for wagging their tongues until the Lord returned if give the chance.

The pastor looked at them and took a deep breath before beginning to speak again. "I know that this is going to be difficult for you all to hear, but it is something that needs to be said."

He hesitated for a moment and then continued, "The truth is, there are aliens living among us."

The congregation gasped and looked at each other in disbelief. How could this be? They had always believed that they lived in a normal town with regular people. But now, it seemed that there was a whole other world outside their own.

"I know that this news is going to come as a shock to you," the pastor went on, "but it is something that we must accept. The aliens have been living here for centuries, and they are a part of our community. They are here to help us and to protect us. They are here for a reason, and we must try to understand them and to accept them for who they are."

Hesitantly, someone in the congregation spoke up, "So, what you're telling us is that we have been living among aliens this whole time?"

The pastor nodded. "Yes, that is what I'm saying. They are here, and they are a part of us. We must stop fearing them and begin to trust them. They are our friends, and they deserve our respect," stated the Pastor knowing full well that there wasn’t enough information about the aliens to justify his statement. He knew that they were in the forest during the ‘hunt’ but he didn’t know exactly why they were there.

There was silence once again as the congregation tried to wrap their heads around this new revelation. But the pastor was right – it was time for them to accept the truth and to embrace their true selves regardless what they had been taught over the many decades of living in the valley. It was a time for change but many would be reluctant to believe, to understand, to accept the irrefutable truth that was staring them in the face. They were living in a town that was anything but ordinary, and it was up to them to make the most of their extraordinary situation.

“I know this isn’t what many of you came here this morning to hear. As for the today’s sermon, it looks like I may have to tweak it a bit to incorporate it into our discussion. Today isn’t as much about the celestial catching up or the indwelling of the new life as I had intended to speak about. No, today we need to have a heart-to-heart talk with each other. Let’s call it a “calling out” between the members of this church. As soon as we are able to accept each other for who we are, the sooner we’ll be able to accept whatever has been visiting us and living with us all of these years.”

chapter Twenty-Nine

Heather and Others

Heather, the store’s front-of-the-house manager, stood behind the counter of the Ole Man Sam's Meat Store, ringing up purchases and chatting with the regular customers as she had done for the last thirteen years. It was supposed to have been an “Until I can find something better job”, but that better job never materialized or so she told herself every time she felt a twinge that she needed to move on.

As she stood at the cash register as she’d done more times than she wanted to count, she remembered the day the ‘deer’ was carted into the store that wasn’t at all what the butchers in the back had expected it to be. Granted, there had been some strange things carried into the store for processing, such as: opossums, raccoons, and an occasional roadkill, but this ‘deer’ was not at all what it appeared to be. In fact, the police were called to investigate and, in turn, they whisked it away to the coroner's office like it was a human carcass or something. As she stood there she remembered the day vividly.

"Hey, Heather," said Sarah, one of the Sanders sisters, as she and her sister Sally breezed through the door side-by-side. It was as if the Sanders sisters lived just next door by the number of times they came to the store during the week. It wasn’t always for supplies even though it was known by the valley people that the two over-sized woman could eat any man under the table. They didn’t come to purchase much but to gather gossip if there was any to hear.

"What's cookin' today?" they asked as they had done every single time they opened the door and greeted Heather.

"Just about the same as you left it the last time you to took the time to grace us with your presents, just the usual," said Heather.

"But I do have something strange to report. The police just brought in a deer for processing, but it looked.. off." admitted Heather as she held back her grin to keep from appearing as if she was trying to trick the two old girls into believing something that wasn’t true.

"Off?" asked Sally, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that, Ms. Heather?"

"I'm not sure," said Heather. "It just looked strange, somehow. Like it's not a real deer. Of course that couldn’t be right, now could it?"

"Oh, my goodness," said Sarah, her eyes widening. "Do you think it's some kind of mutation or strange invasive deer. I’ve heard from the other counties that the government has been releasing strange creatures into our forest. You think they’re trying to get rid of us?"

"I don't know," said Heather. "But I'm definitely going to keep an eye on it." Just then, David and Chris, the two butchers, came bustling out of the back room, arguing about something.

"I can't believe it," said David. "The police took the deer to the coroner's office for inspection." "What?" said Chris. "Why would they do that?"

"I don't know," said David. "But I hope it's not some kind of conspiracy." "Don't worry, David," said Sarah, with a reassuring smile. "It’s probably just a strange looking deer. They don't make conspiracies out of stuff like that."

"I hope you're right," said David, as he went back into the back of the store to finish up slicing pork chops for a special order for the nearby neighbor who operated the only affordable restaurant into the small town.

As the day went on, the customers came and went, and the strange deer was forgotten, at least for a while. But Heather couldn't help but wonder, what was really in that deer? And what would happen to it at the coroner's office?

The image of the butchers arguing and the Sanders sisters trying to console them was fresh in her mind, as if it had been the day the whole thing took place. There wasn’t a time that she remembered that the Sanders sisters had been so cooperative or consoling regarding any issue that took place in the store. It was extremely interesting that they should take an opposite stance on an issue seeing how they always tried to stir the pot.

“I wonder what that’s all about?” questioned Heather as she turned away from her memory to help a customer who was standing at the counter in front of the register.

“What?” asked the customers as she placed her items on the counter and looked at Heather.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Have you ever had a memory that you wouldn’t shake. I mean it just sticks in your head like a thorn and surfaces at the most unwelcomed time,” added Heather who was trying to focus on the current events in the story, its customers, and her job.

Suddenly, the front door burst open and the Sanders sisters filled the front foyer. It was what they did every time they came to the store. It was their way of making an entrance, making a statement, and make everyone annoyed.

“Hello, Heather! Great day isn’t it?” Sarah asked as she wobbled over to the cart station, pulled out one of the small carts, and pushed it over to her sister, Sally, who was as equally excited about getting to the store.

“As the two slowly made their way into the grocery lanes, some of the customers hurriedly finished up their shopping and went directly over to the counter where Heather was standing. They weren’t as inclined to stay any long now that the ‘Sisters’ were in the store. They didn’t feel free to share stories or comments about the week in fear that the ‘Sisters’ would get hold of the stories, twist them around, and create some foolishness that was never intended or even hurt someone’s feelings. It’s what they did and the other customers knew it from previous experiences with the ‘Sisters’.

“Ms. Heather, please check us out as soon as possible,” whispered on of the ladies, a faithful church member who minded her own business.

“Ah, I see,” commented Heather. “Now that your favorite ‘Sisters’ are here, all of you got to run,” laughed Heather as she held her hand over he mouth to keep from yelling out more boisterously.

“Ms. Heather, we don’t mean no harm, but you must understand that those two, well, God only knows what they’re up to. You know it and I know, well, for heaven’s sake, we all know it’s the truth,” said Ms. Grover who wasn’t one to speak harshly of only one.

“Now, now, ladies, we must remember that not everyone has the ability to understand that their tongues must be chastised to keep the peace, especially in this small community that all of us have chosen to live in. What, it’s been nearly a century hasn’t it?” asked Heather as she lowered her head but kept her eyes on the two fellow citizens as if all of them had a secret that all of them had to guard.

“Well, Ms. Heather, it’s been a journey true enough but did you ever think that we’d be tied to the likes of those two?” asked the other woman standing beside Ms. Grover.

“My friends, this isn’t the time nor the place to spell the tea. Yet, in time, we’ll all get together and reminisce about what has been one of the greatest experiences we’ve every undertaken,” whispered Heather as she leaned over toward the two other ladies and touched them lightly on their foreheads.

“Ms. Heather, you’ve always been the more sensible one of the who group. Sometimes we need a little shaking, a little refocusing as the humans call it,” said Ms. Grover as she pulled the bags to her, gathered them under her arms, and motioned for her friend that she was ready to go.

‘I’ll be right there, honey,” said her friend of over sixty years.

“Heather, child, if you could, pull the reigns in on those two before they give the how story away to these people we live around,” insisted the woman who was convinced that Sally and Sarah or whatever they called themselves in this valley, might pose a serious threat to the “Hunt”.

chapter Thirty

The Sanders sisters, Sarah and Sally, sat in the second pew from the front, their eyes darting around the small, dimly lit church. The congregation's whispers grew louder as they awaited the pastor's next words, their curiosity piqued by the cryptic comments of the previous week. The air held anticipation, the scent of aged hymnals and candle wax mixing with the faint aroma of rain-soaked clothes.

Sarah felt the weight of the community's gaze upon them, her heart racing with excitement and anxiety. She had always been the more adventurous of the two, often leading Sally into trouble, yet Sally had a knack for smoothing things over. This time, though, she wasn't so sure their shared charm would suffice. The rumors of their midnight escapade had spread like wildfire through the town.

Pastor Daniels took a deep breath, his stern eyes surveying the congregation. "Today," he began, his voice booming through the ancient rafters, "we gather to discuss matters of grave importance. The sanctity of our town is being threatened by forces of darkness, and we must come together to protect it." His words sent a shiver down Sarah's spine, and she swallowed hard.

Sally reached over, her hand resting gently on Sarah's trembling knee. "It's going to be alright," she murmured, her voice a soothing whisper that barely broke the silence. But Sarah wasn't convinced; she knew their secret was about to be unveiled.

Pastor Daniels paused dramatically, allowing the anticipation to thicken like the storm clouds outside. "Rumors have reached my ears of two souls, cloaked in the shadows of night, escaping into the night, into the woods to investigate the ‘hunter’," he announced, his gaze finally landing on the Sanders sisters. The whispers grew into a murmur of accusation, and Sarah felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

Her thoughts raced back to that fateful night. They had only been trying to bring a bit of light and joy to the lives of the townspeople by finding out the truth, using all the rumors and knowledge they’d gathered about the ‘hunt’, about the ‘transformation they had been told about by the coroner's assistant. They had never meant for anyone to find out, let alone for their innocent prank to be misconstrued as something so sinister.

Sarah glanced over at Sally, whose face had gone ashen. She knew they had to do something, but what? They couldn't let the townsfolk believe they were crossing the line that divided the men of the valley from those who knew nothing of the ‘hunt’. That would lead to nothing but fear and persecution. The town had a storied history with the supernatural, one that didn't often end well for those accused. Many of the accused were removed from the congregation, tossed out of the church only to wander the streets of the small community aimlessly until the next ‘hunt’ was scheduled.

The murmurs grew to a dull roar as the pastor paused for effect. "We cannot stand idly by while our brethren are led astray by the devil's hand!" His eyes bore into the sisters, and the room's tension was palpable, like the charged air before a lightning strike.

Sarah's mind raced. They needed to come up with a plan, fast. If the townsfolk turned on them, there would be no escape. The whispers grew louder, and she felt the heat of accusation burning through her very soul. But then, she had an idea. It was risky, but it might just be their only way out. She leaned in to Sally, her voice barely audible. "Remember the time the ‘Elder’ came to our house to confide in us about the ‘Hunt’?

Sally nodded, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and hope. They had practiced their conversation over and over again if they were ever caught in a situation such as they were at this time. "You think it'll work?"

Sarah took a deep breath, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. "It has to."

The pastor raised his hand again, silencing the murmurs. "Let us pray for the salvation of these lost souls," he announced. The congregation bowed their heads, but Sarah and Sally had no intention of joining them. Instead, they exchanged a furtive glance and began to murmur the ward that the ‘Elder’ spoke to them under their breaths. The words rolled off their tongues with surprising ease, each syllable a thread in the fabric of their desperation.

The air in the room grew colder, and the candle flames began to flicker erratically. The townsfolk looked up, puzzled expressions slowly morphing into fear. A gust of wind blew through the open windows, and the pages of the hymn books fluttered wildly. The sisters' eyes locked onto each other, their grip tightening as the incantation reached its crescendo. They could feel the power of the ‘Elder’s’ words as they swirled around them, a force both comforting and terrifying in its intensity.

As the final word left their lips, a brilliant flash of light filled the space, momentarily blinding everyone present. When the spots cleared from their vision, they saw the sisters standing before them, untouched by the flurry of activity. In the center of the room, hovering a few feet off the ground, was a shimmering image of the ‘Elder’. His eyes, wise and knowing, surveyed the congregation before focusing on the pastor.

The pastor staggered back, his face a mask of shock. The room was frozen in a tableau of awe and horror. "You dare to invoke the name of the Almighty while you stand in the presence of true power?" the Elder’s ethereal voice boomed, echoing through the rafters. His spectral form grew larger, casting a long shadow over the cowed townsfolk.

The sisters felt a rush of relief, but they knew the battle was far from over. They had to make the most of this moment. Sally stepped forward, her voice steady despite her trembling hands. "We do not wish to harm anyone, nor do we wish to be persecuted for simply trying to expose those who are involved in the ‘Hunt’ and the secret of the missing men. We only ask that you hear us out."

The ‘Elder’s’ image nodded solemnly. "The path of the ‘Hunters’ is one of balance, not chaos," she intoned, her eyes sweeping over the congregation. "These women have been guided by love and the wisdom of the earth, of who lives in the valley, and why the ‘Hunt’ must go on. They seek to heal, not to harm. Can you say the same of yourselves, who hide behind the cloak of righteousness while spreading fear and discord?"

chapter Thirty-one

On their home planet, the infiltrators, the imitators, gathered to consider the actions of the valley's people who were not being made aware of what was going on. The transformation, the "Hunt" was no longer a secret. The purpose of the visitations was to allow the alien race the opportunity to show the humans what it was like to be hunted, to be run in fear for their lives, and unfortunately for some, to feel what it was to be shot and experience death as one of the deer living in the forests around the valley. There was a need for the transformation and there was a need for the extra provisions for the coal mining camps in the valley between the mountains facing the north. But now, with the Sanders sisters being held at bay by the Pastor, one of the very ones that went on the 'Hunt', it was time to reveal to the congregation who was involved in the 'Hunt' and why it was so important for the aliens who vacationed in the valley and lived among the people in the disguise of being humans.

The Pastor, a burly man with a stern face and eyes that seemed to hold a hint of sadness, stepped up to the podium in the church. His hands, though rough from years of labor, trembled slightly as he clutched the worn Bible. The whispers of the congregation grew louder as they sensed something was off. He took a deep breath, and in a voice that echoed through the hallowed space, he announced, "My dear friends, we have been visited by angels in our time of need." The crowd fell silent, their eyes locked on him, a mix of shock and confusion playing on their faces. He paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing, "These angels are not like the ones in our scriptures, but they are beings from another world, seeking our help."

The whispers grew to murmurs, then to hushed gasps as the Pastor revealed the Sanders sisters, bound but unharmed, at the back of the church. Their faces were a picture of defiance and fear as they realized the gravity of their situation. "These women," he said, pointing at them, "have been collaborating with these beings, carrying out their will for personal gain. They have deceived you, endangered your families, and brought horror to our once-peaceful valley." The congregation stirred, a few rising to their feet, anger and fear palpable in their expressions.

Even though the Pastor was trying to persuade the congregation that the two Sanders sisters were the ones involved in fear mongering and making up stories about what was living in the forest, he felt his words would carry more weight to convince the congregation to remain calm and hear him out. He knew that he, himself, had seen the transformation in the gather where the campfire grew casting shadows all around the group of men who waited for the; change; to take place. Now, standing in his church facing his congregation, he had to wait for the "Elder" to speak the truth.

The Elder, an ancient alien in human form, with a calmness that could only be described as otherworldly, took the podium next to the Pastor. The room grew so quiet you could hear the tick of the antique clock in the corner of the church. "I am not here to harm you," the Elder began in a soothing tone that seemed to resonate through the very air. "Our race is must find a way to 'change' to conform to your world or else we will cease to exist. The 'transformation', the change that I've allowed your men to see and experience is only the beginning for "my" race. We must survive, me must live one, we must become a part of who you are," said the 'Elder' as he slowly raised his hands and placed them on the top of his head. "Now is the time for the unveiling!"

Suddenly, a blinding light filled the room, and when it dimmed, the Elder had transformed into a creature that resembled a majestic deer with a crown of antlers that shimmered with an unearthly glow. The congregation gasped, some falling to their knees in terror, others backing away in horror. The Pastor felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He had hoped that by bringing the Sanders sisters here, he could convince everyone that they were the ones to fear, not his alien allies. But now, with this revelation, he knew he had underestimated their thirst for the truth.

The Elder spoke again, his voice now deep and resonant. "Fear not, for we come in peace. Our home planet faces a grave crisis, and we seek refuge here. In exchange for your hospitality, we offer you our knowledge, our technology, and the means to protect yourselves from those who wish to harm you." The words hung in the air, and the room remained silent for what felt like an eternity. The Sanders sisters exchanged a knowing glance, realizing their fate was now in the hands of the very people they had sought to manipulate.

A young girl in the front row began to weep, clutching her mother's hand. The mother, though terrified, offered a tentative nod, her eyes never leaving the creature before her. Slowly, others followed suit, recognizing that the aliens had not brought immediate harm and seemed earnest in their intentions. The Pastor swallowed hard, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just revealed.

The Elder took a step forward, his hooves clicking against the wooden floorboards. "We understand your fear, but we assure you, we mean no harm. Our existence depends on your acceptance and your willingness to help us blend among you." He paused, allowing his words to resonate through the stunned congregation. "The Hunt," he continued, "is a sacred tradition for us, a way to understand and respect the life we seek to become."

The Pastor, still trembling, stepped aside, allowing the Elder to take the center stage. He watched as the creature began to explain their plight, their home planet dying, and their need for a new place to call home. The congregation listened in rapt attention, the tension in the room slowly giving way to a cautious curiosity.

"We need your help," the Elder continued, "to learn your ways, to live as you do, and to contribute to your society. In return, we will share with you the secrets of our world, knowledge that can change your lives for the better." His words were met with a mix of awe and skepticism. Some still clung to their Bibles, seeking comfort in the familiar, while others leaned forward, eager to hear more.

The Sanders sisters, now standing defiantly in the spotlight, could feel the tide turning against them. They had always been outsiders, but now, with the truth revealed, they were vilified. The congregation's anger grew as the Elder spoke of the sisters' deceit and how they had used the aliens' presence for their own gain, inciting fear and violence.

One of the braver congregants, a middle-aged man with a stern expression, stepped forward. "What do you want from us?" he demanded, his voice shaking slightly. The Elder's gaze fell upon him, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

"We require your assistance in maintaining our cover," the Elder replied. "Our survival is dependent on our ability to blend in, to learn from your kindness, and to share our own gifts. We need your help to build a life here, and in doing so, we will aid your community in ways you cannot imagine."

"By changing us men into deer to be hunted and killed, is that how you plan to help us?" asked one the of men standing in the back of the church, sweating and holding his old hunting cap.

The Elder lowered his head in a gesture of respect. "We regret the loss of life that has occurred, but it was a misunderstanding. The Hunt was not meant to harm you, but to show you our struggle, our need to become as one with the natural world. An opportunity for you, you humans, to know what it felt like to be hunted for food" His antlered head tilted slightly to the side as if trying to convey the gravity of the situation through a non-verbal language.

The congregation shifted uneasily, the tension thickening the air as they grappled with the reality before them. The Pastor stepped forward again, his voice steady now. "We must consider their proposal carefully," he urged, looking around the room. "Their knowledge could be our salvation, and their friendship could bring prosperity."

"But their presence here and their interference in our 'Hunt' could prove to be our undoing!" shouted the man in the back of the church who felt that things weren't what it appeared to be no matter how soft the alien spoke.

The Elder lifted his head, his eyes glowing with a gentle understanding. "We do not wish to cause you harm. Our methods may seem harsh, but they are born from necessity. We seek not to control, but to coexist, to learn and grow together. The Hunt is a bridge between our worlds, a way for us to understand your fear and your strength. It is a test for us, a means to acquire the wisdom we need to live alongside you without revealing our true forms."

"Well, I'm not so sure I like the idea that my fellow coal miner has the potential of ending up on my dinner table like some turkey or ham for Thanksgiving!" shouted another of the men from the other side of the church.

The Elder's gaze never wavered from the man. "We understand your concern, but we assure you, the transformations are temporary. We do not wish to replace your kind, but rather to become a part of your world, to learn and to evolve together."

The Sanders sisters took their seats on the pew behind them and lowered their heads. They knew that if it wasn't for them, the secret of the 'Hunt' would've been kept secret. But, now that the secret was out, they had no idea what they were going to do to re-acclimate into the coal camps and regain the trust of their church members.

The Pastor looked at the congregation, gauging their reactions, trying to figure out how to move forward. He knew that this revelation would either bring them closer to God or push them away from the church forever. "We must pray," he said solemnly, "and seek guidance from the Lord."

"You do that, Pastor! The rest of us will make our way back to our homes, take our rifles and hunting guns down from their racks in our living rooms, and store them away. There ain't going to be any more killing, ain't going to be any more 'transformations' and there ain't going to be any more 'deer' processed in this here valley! You can take that to the bank!" shouted another of the hunters who stood up beside his wife, hugged her for a long time, turned, and walked out.

The Elder still in the form of the deer, stood listening and watching the outbursts of the church's members. It wasn't his intention nor that of his kind to force the people of the coal mining camps to accept them. He felt that the 'sharing' of the "Harvest of the Hunter's Moon" would've been enough for the humans. Humans, in their truest form, are killers no matter what nature had tried to teach them. They were and would always be, 'Killers under the 'Hunters" Moon'.

"We come not as foes," the Elder continued, his words carrying an ancient wisdom beyond his animalistic exterior. "We are the guardians of the balance, the protectors of the land you call home. Our kin once walked alongside your ancestors, sharing the bounty of the forests and the rivers. We came here eons ago to visit, to enjoy this world's lush forests, and to transform into the creatures that you take for granted. I've explained what is happening to your valley and yet you do nothing to help yourselves. I've told you the truth and yet, you curse me under your breath. I've shown you the truth and yet, you shy away from the very essence of what could be your only escape. So, having told you the truth and you seem to reject your only way out, it is my kind who will take over the 'Hunt'. It is my kind who will engage in the transformation as we've always done whether you agreed to participate or not. It is my kind who will keep you in the 'Hunt' to ensure your survival for without us, my kind, you will cease to live, cease to move forward, cease being a part of this valley living under the 'Hunters' Moon!".

The congregation stared in a mix of horror and fascination. The air grew colder, as if the very presence of the creature was sucking the warmth from the room. The candles flickered and danced, casting eerie shadows on the stunned faces. A young girl, no more than ten, began to weep silently. Her mother, a stout woman with a weathered face, took her hand and squeezed it tightly, willing the child to be brave.

The Elder noticed the reaction and stepped down from the pulpit, his hooves clicking against the stone floor. He approached the girl and knelt before her, his gaze softening. "Your fear does you no service," he whispered, his voice soothing yet firm. "You must understand, we are not here to harm you, but to protect. The balance is shifting, and your world is changing. The 'Hunt' is as natural as the turning of the seasons."

A murmur grew among the townsfolk, a mix of skepticism and curiosity. An older miner, his face etched with lines of hard labor and a glint of something else—perhaps a distant memory of folk tales from his youth—stood slowly, his eyes locking onto the Elder's. "What must we do?" he asked, his voice gruff but steady.

The Elder looked at him, a flicker of respect crossing his gaze. "You must choose," he said solemnly. "Choose whether you wish to stand with us and uphold the balance, or if you wish to live in ignorance and fear."

Epilogue

Several years later:

"Honey, I've decided to go with the men this weekend. What choice do I have? If the 'Hunt' doesn't go on, neither will our valley!" said Josh in a reluctant tone filled with desperation.

"But it's dangerous," his wife protested, her eyes wide with fear. She knew the stories of the Hunters' Moon all too well.

"But, I have no choice!" stated Josh as he walked toward the kitchen door.

"Oh, and just so you know, the boys said they wanted to go regardless of the danger." he added, turned, and pushed the screen door open then letting it slam against the door facing.

From time to time, Josh, Jr. asked about the little snippets of abbreviated stories or tales jotted down in a small journal about life's journey, people’s ancestry, and the strange bloodline. He became curious and rightfully so. Having mentioned to him how important it was for me to write down these mental pictures, these keepsakes of our human existence so that, in time, all of the family would have them to remember our time together.

In the late evening hours after the sun collapses, I’ll share one special story from my childhood now swallowed up by time in a place no longer visited nor remembered by anyone other than perhaps myself and a few other older men who still live on the parameter of the valley’s floor. But, due to the revelation we all experienced and the truth that we now know, I’ll attempt to unravel a mystery for my sons before my passing. It’s a mystery that will change them forever or at least cause them to question who they are, who we were.

In the waning years of the late 1940's, early 1950s in a rural encampment where cookie-cutter houses lined the roads and were referred to as jot'em-downs, three room sheds splashed against the mountain sides where daily living was a chore and not a luxury. It was a plade where dreams were left unfulfilled, and thoughts of tomorrow were reflected only upon sheets of paper to be stored away until things got better. I sit once more writing what some might call a fairy tale. I write what some would dismiss a just a silly dream. But, for me and those who were there at the time, it was real and remains real until this day. My name is Joshua Aldridge, some call me Josh, and this revelation is written for my boys who will hide it away to read to their children after I’m long gone.

...

I walked with my brothers, my dad, and my uncles down a muddy dirt road. It wasn't considered drudgery at that time, but commonplace in the encampments tucked beneath the mountains in valleys sequestered in timeless permanence. Without questioning where we were going, we plodded along being careful not to slide down the sides of the road's slippery slopes to become lost in the undergrowth. "Now, be careful and stay on the top of the mounds." my dad instructed as we performed a balancing act on the mounds in the center of the muddy dirt road.

"Y'all follow me." he summoned and walked gently to the side of the road some ten feet ahead.

"Here, take this." he stated as he handed us the small but adequate rifles he'd carried along with his own tucked in a small canvas bag. They weren’t loaded or ready to be used for the ‘hunt’ and it would only be another hour, perhaps two, before we would accept the time-tried and proven ritual that would make me and my brother’s men or so we were told.

"Now hold them tight, just keep the barrel pointed down towards the ground. I'll keep an eye on y’all to be sure you don’t drop your rifles into the mud," he said.

Guiding us alongside the embankment and warning us of snakes that ventured out in the late summer, early fall morning air, we followed along what seemed almost all day until we came to a wide clearing in the road leading down to the valley a hundred maybe two hundred feet below us where each of our hunters used to set up camp and to prepare for the hunt.

"Now, hold ya guns tight against your sides as we go down this hill to git to the valley below,” he ordered having kept his secret about why we came down the muddy dirt road to himself up until we'd finished our journey from the housing encampment to the hillside overlooking the valley below.

It wasn't the first time we ventured along dirt roads nor would it be our last. Whether it was for checking out the ‘rubbings’ as they called it or hunting for ‘droppings’, each journey left a tale to tell, a story to share, a memory to pass on to my family members of a life now forgotten in time and in a place where things that appeared to be real wasn’t real at all but an illusion waiting to be discovered by the men of the wilderness.

When I found out the truth about the ‘hunt’, I could hardly believe it. It held me in a state of disbelief. Yet, having witnessed it myself firsthand, there was no way of denying that it wasn’t real.

Not all of the men who went into the valley’s forest to hunt returned alive. It was a risk that each of us understood and accepted as a fact of life. It was, at least for me and my brothers, something that we’d wanted to do, no, something that was expected of us to complete before we became much older. It was expected to be one of the ‘rites of passage’ in our lives that would define who we were to the world around us and especially to our families. It was our time to become men, to become something that we were destined to become.