The Hunter

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

Ariel, who had been walking through this section of woods for years, caught the gleam out of the corner of her eye and stopped in her tracks to stare. No one had come out here in years; urban legend held that it was haunted, and after a few unpleasant events involving squatters and a mob with torches and spears, the authorities had had all the entrances sealed and left the old cabin to crumble into disrepair. So who was up there, and how had they gotten in?

Hesitantly, she approached the boarded-up door. The nails that held the boards in place across the doorframe still looked secure; she tried tugging on the wood, but nothing gave. Frowning, she looked around, seeking a window that looked vulnerable enough to penetrate, but the only windows that were not secured were on the top floor, far out of reach of her grasp. As she glanced up, she could still see the candle burning at one of those high windows. Even as she stared, she thought she glimpsed a human-shaped shadow flit across that window in the light of the candle. At the same time, she was startled by a thunk just in front of her. Scrambling away in sudden fright, she stopped herself and looked up to see that the boards, which had seemed so secure a moment before, had crashed to the doorstep. Behind them was nothing: no sign of the original door that should have been there, only an empty doorframe.

Uncertainly, she stepped inside, trying not to think of the doorway as a yawning maw waiting to devour her. The instant she was inside the doorway, she heard a creak and a snick behind her. Spinning around, she saw that a ghostly door had appeared within the frame, which—she pressed her hand against it—was as solid as the boards had been a moment ago. She was trapped inside.

Inside, the air was thick with gloom, pressing in on her and seeming to dim her flashlight’s beam, as if even that tiny light was unwelcome here. Surfaces were all dark and shadowy, but with dramatic curves—almost gothic. Skittering sounds in the shadows made her twitch; she reasoned—tried to convince herself—that they were only insects, or maybe mice or rats. All around her, the house creaked as if in a high wind, even though it was a calm summer evening outside.

Peering around in the dim beam of her flashlight, she located a stairway that seemed a likely candidate to lead up to the room where she had seen the candle. As she ascended, she realized that the rail was covered with some black, sticky substance, which seemed to ooze down over every surface she could see.

Ignoring her instincts, she gained the top landing and inched towards the room whence the light was coming. That light was faintly reddish in color and cast an eerie sheen over the black substance that covered even the walls and squelched beneath her boots. Before she could even see inside the room, however, a human figure appeared in the doorway: he was tall and lean and incredibly handsome, wrapped in a dramatic black cape with a raised collar, and a faint reddish glow gleamed in his slanted eyes. He was, in fact, the stereotypical picture of a vampire, and despite the fact that Ariel had never believed in such creatures, she stopped dead in her tracks again, only now beginning to realize how much danger she was in.

“Ariel,” he purred. He spoke her name with an unexpected ease of familiarity and pronounced it with a distinct accent, lingering over each syllable as if savoring a dainty morsel. His not-quite-human eyes languidly surveyed the full length of her body. “Pray, step into my humble lair.”

At least, that was what she though he said. She could not swear that he had not said Prey. His voice was soft, persuasive, seductive, and Ariel’s heart pounded. Surely that was fear firing through her veins—and yet, there was something else, too. A strange, twisted kind of desire as she could not help admiring the perfect, muscular lines of his body, too. She could not swear that it was not lust that made her heart race. Slowly, he extended a long-fingered hand, palm up, in invitation. Her panic was beginning to subside, her breath quick in her throat, and she found herself wondering why she had been so afraid. Some part of her longed to accept his invitation, to do as he bade her. Surely only obedience could be right in this moment.

Her hand had dropped to her side, the flashlight pointing uselessly at the floor. She took a hesitant step forward, unable to drag her eyes from those mesmerizing red points of light, glowing brighter in eagerness. “Who are you?” she whispered. “How did you come here?”

She found her left hand resting in his without recalling deciding to place it there, his forefinger resting on the inside of her wrist. Thumb and forefinger of his other hand encircled her throat just below her chin, feeling the racing of her pulse. He stood a head taller than she, looking down hungrily into her eyes, and she could not look away. “Is that how you address your lord and master, my child?” His voice was still soft and persuasive, but now it carried a buried menace, a hint of displeasure.

Her skin was on fire, and yet deep within her something else stirred. It was almost like a reflex, that surge of rebellion, rearing its head to combat the mindless obedience that his mere presence had instilled in her. How many times in her childhood had the adults told her that she asked too many questions, to her endless frustration? How was she supposed to learn if she did not ask? It made her so furious, and that anger came to her rescue now, burning away every trace of the lust that the vampire had inspired in her. Her limp right hand came up so fast that even the lightning reflexes of a vampire could not evade it; using the flashlight as a club, she knocked him as hard as she could on the side of the head, knocking him off-balance, and ripped her left hand from his grip, then turned and raced for the stairs. Behind her, she heard a wordless snarl of rage, much like the angry hiss of a snake, and a leathery whoosh, as of wings.

She skidded to a halt in front of the stairs, her panicked brain catching up enough to recall the ghost-door downstairs, no doubt the work of the vampire. If she went down there, she would be trapped. The only windows that had not been barred were up here. She took a moment to imagine what that drop could do to her, then shoved it away. She had no choice.

The creature was upon her before she could move. It was now eight feet tall, leathery wings spread to balance its movements and resulting in a strange agility, arms ending in long, curved talons, skin wrinkled and scaly, sharp fangs no longer disguised, its alien red eyes fixed on her unwaveringly. One taloned hand grasped her long hair, pulling her head back by force, and the other encircled her waist. Its fangs drew apart, reaching for her throat.

Utterly revolted now, she struggled to escape, but she could barely move a muscle against the inhuman strength of its grasp. In instinctive defense, she used her hand to try to push against its neck, but it merely released her long enough to grasp her wrists and effortlessly force her hands down by her sides. She could feel its breath on her throat.

Writhing her hands, trying to free herself from its iron grip, she accidentally flashed the flashlight across its belly. It howled in rage and pain, stumbling back to get away and releasing her. She raced for the room, shining the light over her shoulder to keep it at bay, scrabbled with the latch, and then flung herself through the window.

The drop was not as great as her wild imagination had made it; she landed uncomfortably in the soft dirt and, the instant that she had caught her breath, sprang up and fled into the forest, ignoring the smarting of her hands and knees.

Eventually, she had to stop, both because her lungs were burning and because the horror she had witnessed and experienced had nauseated her to the point of vomiting. When she was done, she felt marginally more human, though she was still shaking. Every sound in the forest made her twitch, looking for the immense creature coming in pursuit. Shivering, she pulled herself to her feet, leaning against a tree for support. “Last time I take a ‘Keep Out’ sign as an invitation,” she muttered, trying to regain her equilibrium with an edge of humor.

Shivering, she steeled her nerve enough to peer back through the trees in the direction of the cabin. She could just make out the light in the window, but the distance was too great to tell if the creature was still in the room. The whoosh of wings overhead made her spring back with a muffled cry, but it was only a bat, far too small to be the immense hunter.

She began to run again, pelting to put distance between her and that nightmarish cabin. She would never return to this wood again.

Yet it is said that, even to this day, that light shines out from that window, waiting to entrap unwary passersby and bring them as prey to its immortal master, the vampire who owns such hunting-grounds…