A Gaunt Silence Within Snowy Woods
I roam the snow-frosted wood warily,
as gaunt as the night itself. My gut is
all wretched pain, as though I’ve not eaten in all of eternity.
I have, of course, and recently. The taste of the child’s flesh this dusk was
sweet, but all too fleeting a sensation.
A sound intrudes, but it is welcome,
not frightening: a four legged stride on a distant road means, perhaps, my next
meal. I move softly, soundlessly, in
that direction. Shrouded in night, I go
close enough to see while yet remaining beneath the trees. My tail curls around one white trunk, and the
barbs with which I tickle my prey anchor in its papery skin with small ripping
sounds. I taste the air with my tongue, and
saliva spurts at the smell of unwary flesh to also be shred.
In just a few moments I see my
target. Horse and rider! I’d moan if I could make any sound at
all. Drool falls from my jowls as I
consider the ideal moment to attack. But
then, of a sudden, the man pulls up on straps of dead skin, and the beast
beneath him stops. The falling snow is
as silent as they suddenly are. I see
his face clearly when he peers into the woods in my direction.
Sudden terror sears my veins and I
freeze. Does he hunt for me? Once,
when men were merely feral little warm bits, I hunted with impunity, but I have
since learned caution, caution.
The man looks behind himself,
considering. I can smell a lake beyond
him--he is at almost the exact midpoint between it and the edge of the woods I
stalk--and I wonder if he leads a pack I cannot yet sense. Has he
seen me? My hunger would have me
attack immediately, my fear to withdraw.
Undecided, I remain motionless except for tightening my tail’s grip on
the tree.
His beast’s head lifts suddenly, and
bells on its harness shake with a shockingly LOUD sound. The ichor in my veins pulses hot again, with
confusion and fear. It scents me! Flee! FLEE!
But for that moment, I can’t make
the talons of my feet release from where they puncture the forest’s floor, my
tail unclench from the wood, and so I watch, and listen, and wait. For long moments there is only the sweep of
the wind and the snow in the stillness.
I am paralyzed by ever-increasing
terror. Is he the father of the morsel I took earlier? Is his thirst only to be slaked by
vengeance? Is this night my ending? I feel weak, the ichor in my veins aflame
to the point that falling flakes begin to hiss where they strike my flesh.
Then the man flicks the straps
suddenly, and the sharp crack they make cleaves the air viciously, such that I
cannot breathe! Woe! Death comes for me!!
But before I can break away, to
strive to prolong this suffering life, his horse begins moving sleepily down
the road as if unaware of me. The slow
sound of its hooves against the road muffled by the snow which has thickened
since they had stopped there. Safe?
My ichor flows cooler, and I draw a shaky breath.
His apparently unconcerned passage
along the edge of the wood lulls me almost enough to give in to the hunger—But caution!
Caution!—yet it seems this hunter is not done toying with me. Eager for my murder, his voice shatters the
fragile silence. “And miles to go before
I sleep,” he mutters.
I cringe, and a new, worse pulse of
fear scalds me. Nerves taut, I clench
claws and wait for him to come and try to claim me.
He does not.
A
trick?
I stand motionless and wait until
long after he and his beast are gone, because I have learned that the cunning
of men is not to be underestimated. Hours
pass before I dare to steal away silently, deeper into the woods.
Perhaps
another child tomorrow?
But
caution.
Yes. Always, caution.
David M. Hoenig
David is an academic surgeon who
lives to write, instead of writing to live. He's had poems and stories
published with Flame Tree Publishing, Elder Signs Press, and Cast of Wonders,
among others. He is working on his first
novel, and has a cosmic horror poetry chapbook in process with Oscillate Wildly
Press. Slowly.
https://davidmhoenig.wordpress.com/about/
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0164YY4FW
Tags:
Short Fiction