Hunting Season

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. To the man hobbling on his homemade crutch toward the light it offered hope, a beacon leading him toward shelter from the quickly descending darkness around him. Little did he know that the candle in the cabin was lit with that sole intention; to guide lost souls to the light…and only on this very special night.

The mist began to creep in from the woods, rising eerily upwards like so many ghosts. But the man kept going toward the flickering light with steadfast determination. As he approached the rustic dwelling, he noticed a shadow move behind the tattered curtains in the window and felt the keen sensation of being watched, perhaps even “lured” to the destination. He paused, catching his breath before the final push to reach the cabin and looked around at the ominous woods that seemed to be closing in around him. The abrupt hoot of a solitary owl followed by the flapping of wings broke his reverie and compelled him to move on.

The final ten feet to the dilapidated porch of the cabin seemed the longest and hardest part of the man’s journey. Fears grabbed at him like unseen forces as he felt the eyes behind the curtains willing him forward. It almost seemed as if supernatural claws would reach out at any second and drag him back into the eerie woods away from his goal. When his wooden crutch tapped the bottom stair, his dread peaked, and he lunged toward the cabin’s frail door. Sprawling across the porch, he managed to knock from his prone position, begging to be let inside.

At first he heard nothing but the sound of his own labored breathing and a strange chittering noise coming from the surrounding trees. He raised his fist to knock again when the wooden door squeaked open a few inches and he looked up. In the muted light a partial figure silhouetted the gap, revealing the pale face of a young woman peering down at him, her eyes locked on his with a silvery, shining intensity. Thinking it a trick of the moonlight, he blinked and gasped a simple, “Help me. Help me, please!” as his hand reached toward her long, homespun skirt.

The woman stepped back, out of reach, but opened the door a little farther to push herself forward, frantically looking around at the creeping mist from the woods. Satisfied the man was alone and not a threat, she bent down to help him. When their eyes met again, the man realized she looked normal and shook off the fear of her glimmering eyes as just another irrational fear of the woods.

“Get up,” her soft voice commanded as she grabbed his crutch. “Come inside. You must hurry. They are here.”

“They?” he questioned as she fixed his crutch under his arm so that he could lift himself up. The chittering from the trees was increasing, suddenly accompanied by scratching noises as if unseen creatures were crawling down the trees and toward the cabin.

With great effort, the man hoisted himself up, and leaning on the young woman for support, entered the tiny cabin. She left him so suddenly he almost fell as she quickly turned behind them, shutting and bolting the door. She came back to his side, guiding him over to a wooden bench to rest by the dark fireplace. Once he sat, she gathered the small pile of kindling on the hearth and arranged it neatly in the blackened maw of stone.

“Are you hurt?” she asked suddenly as she lit the fire and gently blew the flames to life. When he didn’t respond right away, she looked up at him to see him staring at her. He cocked his head as once again he noticed her eyes blazing with a silvery radiance.

“It’s hunting season,” he answered matter-of-factly. “My horse threw me while I was in the woods today, and I think I twisted my ankle in the fall.”

The woman had looked away when he began to speak and now tended the growing fire, encouraging it with fuel in the form of a couple of well-placed logs. Without looking up she asked cautiously, “And where is your horse now?”

The man began to relax as the warmth of the fire entered the room. “Oh, I imagine he high-tailed it back to the barn.”

“Let us hope so,” was her only response before standing up and smoothing out her long skirt. Satisfied with her work, she asked the man if he wanted some water. She found it curious when he refused. She sat down across from him then, feeling the chill in the room disappearing. An occasional “pop” from the fire was the only sound as the dark night descended on the tiny cabin in the woods.

The man looked around, noticing the few dusty shelves with old-looking bottles on them, a few bundles of dried herbs covered in cobwebs hanging from rudimentary beams across the ceiling, and a tiny make-shift bed in the corner.

“Do you live here?” he asked the woman as she stared into the fire. It caught her out of her trance and she turned to answer him. He once again noticed her eyes blazed with a shimmering silver glow.

She blinked before answering, “No. I only come here sometimes.”

“I hunt these woods often,” he stated initiating a conversation, “but I’ve never seen you before. In fact, I don’t think I would have noticed the cabin if you didn’t have the candle lit.”

She continued to stare at him without comment; her strange eyes seeming to change color in the firelight. “As I said,” she spoke softly, finally answering him, “I don’t come here very often. Tonight is…” she hesitated, finding the word, “...special. I lit the candle to help travelers find their way.”

“Well, thank you for letting me in. I appreciate it…with the coming darkness and all.”

“Yes, tonight is not a time to be outside, alone, in the woods,” she commented, adding another log to the fire. “There are many predators,” she said as she looked over at him, her eyes shining, “and you are…’weak’...”

The man sat back with his arms behind his head and stretching his legs out as if to prove her wrong. He winced a bit when he moved his hurt foot, and his pain did not go unnoticed.

“I could look at your ankle, if you would like,” she volunteered after a moment of awkward silence. “I’m not inexperienced in the ways of healing.”

He met her unusual eyes staring at him before he looked away. “Oh, I think it will be okay by morning. Just resting here is doing a lot already, but thank you for the offer.”

She poked the fire and studied the man across from her before speaking. “You came to my door seeking assistance - asking for help - yet you refuse my offer of water and my willingness to assess your injury.” She put the stick she had used as a poker into the fire and looked directly at him, “May I ask why?”

The man looked back at the woman. The firelight was creating shadows dancing on the walls with each movement of the flames. The woman’s silver eyes appeared to actually glow beneath her fine, questioning brows.

“It’s silly, really. I apologize. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, and I don’t want to offend you after giving me sanctuary.” He sat forward as he hesitated to finish. “I just have ‘heard’ stories about the Witch in the Woods, and I…” he half-smiled and gave an uncomfortable laugh before continuing, “I guess I was just wondering if, maybe, that was you.” He realized she wasn’t engaged in the lightheartedness of his accusation, and uncomfortably cleared his throat and sat up straight. An awkward silence enveloped the moment.

Finally, she spoke, her head bowed and her voice soft, “There are those that call me that.” The man sat up a little bit straighter at her words. “I think it is because I am alone,” she continued, “and come and go as I please.”

“No doubt,” the man confirmed, “small-minded people in small-minded villages tend to look down on outsiders - especially if they are beautiful women with unusual eyes.” He smiled then, hoping his flattery would ease the tension.

She looked up at him then before beginning to relax. “I’m surprised then that you accepted my hospitality if you believe the rumors to be true.” A tiny smile flirted with her lips. “It’s a wonder you didn’t think I deliberately lured you here to cook you up into a stew.”

“Well,” he laughed, “I suppose you do have all night to do that, and I don’t see a pot big enough to hold me here abouts.”

Their jovial conversation was suddenly interrupted by a heavy ‘thump’ on the roof above them followed by the familiar chittering from the woods. Startled, the man visibly jumped.

“What was that?” he exclaimed.

“That,” replied the woman, nonplussed, “was a predator.”

Another heavy thump sounded overhead with ensuing footsteps on the porch and the sounds of scratching along the outside walls. The man was in a near state of panic with all the noise.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “What are they? Why are they here?”

The woman sat calmly, curiously following each new sound with a tilt of her head and a slight smile. “They’re here because they are hungry. And it’s hunting season.”

The frightened man sat nervously on the bench, twisting his body to track each new sound. “These things - these predators - can they get inside? Are we safe?” the man asked, nearly hysterical.

“We are safe, I assure you. I told you this was a special night.” The scratching on the roof and walls intensified as she spoke, as if excited by the sound of her voice, knowing their prey was within arms’ reach. The cabin creaked under their weight, and the ceaseless chittering grew louder with frustration and excitement.

“What are they?” the man asked, whipping his head around at every sound.

“Predators,” was the woman’s aloof reply. “Creatures of the woods. They prey on those caught outside after dark, but only on this special night,” she informed him. The woman’s face suddenly betrayed her sadness. “They killed my mother many years ago outside this same cabin. She pushed me through the door in time, but attacked her before she could join me. I believe she sacrificed herself to save my life.” The woman nervously twisted her hands together at the memory. “They tore her apart and ate her before my very eyes.” A tear glistened in the firelight and ran down her cheek. “And they’ve been after me ever since.”

The man felt her sadness but seemed confused. “So why do you come back every time? Why do you risk being here if you have such a grievous history with these creatures?”

“To taunt them, I suppose. It’s my revenge.” She took a deep breath and stared at the man. “My mother was the real Witch of the Woods. She was kind and good. She loved these woods and all the animals in them. We lived peacefully here, and I grew up as a child of nature. But as people moved into the area, hunters began to come into the woods.” The woman paused for a moment to catch her breath. “We came upon the aftermath the hunters left behind…during their ‘hunting season’. All the animals we knew and loved were slaughtered, harvested for pelts and meat…mostly killed for ‘sport’. My mother became very angry and called on dark forces to cast a spell on the men that hunted here. But something went wrong somehow, and instead of punishing the men for their deeds, she accidentally created these creatures, these ‘predators’ that are now bound to live in these woods. They were angry when she couldn’t change them back. They killed her because of it.” She stopped for a second, looking around the small room. “They hibernate, I believe, and emerge on a very special night. Or maybe they change into other creatures the rest of the time, I don’t really know. I like to think maybe they turn into other animals that are hunted by hunters, you know? A bit of ‘poetic justice’…” She looked at the man, “But they will never forgive my mother. They killed her because of it, and now they come to kill me.”

“Aren’t you afraid they will get through the roof…the walls? Break down the door? This cabin is no fortress, from what I can see.”

“This house is protected. My mother put a spell on this cabin long ago. No one can get in. They have to be invited.”

“But why do you come here then, deliberately, if they can’t leave these woods?”

“To remind them…of what they did to my mother. It’s also to protect the other innocent creatures of the woods. If I am the target, then my animal friends are safe. I would rather endure a night of this,” she gestured to the chaotic noise surrounding them outside, “then have the predators tracking down lost travelers or innocent animals.”

The man lowered his head, shaking it in disbelief.

“Besides,” the woman said, “I like to think of them frustrated and hungry when the sun rises to end their hunting season.”

“It seems you want revenge as much as they do. You are depriving them of their lives and their food the same way your mother did the hunters.”

“I believe there are other ways to live.”

A log popped on fire as the woman looked away. The man stared at her with loathing as his smile turned into a grimace, and finally a snarl. “And there are many ways to die,” he growled as he stood up. She looked up in horror to see the man shapeshifting into one of the very creatures outside the cabin. His hands snapped into claws with nails growing sharp and long. His wild eyes stared at her through the pain of his transformation as his teeth became razor points and his shoulders hunched over with the bend in his spine.

The look on her disbelieving face was one of panic as she realized her situation. She had nowhere to run.

The creature stepped toward her, menacing, and said with his last human breath, “It’s hunting season. I am a hunter…and you invited me in.”

The screams in the cabin were echoed throughout the woods by the frenzy of the chittering creatures waiting outside the cabin for scraps. They knew they would never go hungry again on this special night.