12 views
What The Hunter Killed
Gus could barely contain his excitement. For a moment, he just smiled ear to ear, pacing back and forth in the snow. His heart was thumping like the first time he had sex. He didn't even expect to see this wolf today, let alone shoot it. There the big grey bastard lay. His shot left a neat circle of red in the white snow. This elk killer was huge. So big that from his two hundred yard shot, he could see it taking its final breaths. Breathing at a rapid pace, Gus couldn't wait any longer, it was time to see this beast, he had been stalking for seasons now.
As an elk hunter, Gus wouldn't say, publically at least, that he hated wolves, the fact was, left unchecked, they decimated the game he and others loved hunting. That was the public excuse. If he was honest, he had malice in his heart for these four-legged terrorists. Wolves are extremely adept at evading capture, superbly good hunters, and Gus knew that this animal he just shot was a local nuisance. He was just doing the high country of Idaho a service. When he got back to town and told everyone, not many people were going to be upset at this kill.
Wading through the thigh-high snow, his excitement grew. Knowing this wicked animal was finally down, filled him with glee. So many bull elk had fallen to this ferocious killer. Just upon him now, he looked and saw one of the biggest wolves of his life. It's teeth we're menacing and the size alone of the beast was enough to make a man shiver. It just lay there not moving, eyes looking glassy in death. He couldn't wait to get his victory picture. Fairly certain he was dead, Gus reached around the wolf's neck to stand him up to measure him. Just as his arms made the circle, the wolf turned its head and bit Gus on the shoulder. Reeling back in pain and surprise, Gus had his rifle off his shoulder and a round in the animal just as fast.
Gus cursed his stupidity. Wolves are notorious for playing possum. He should have been more careful. Checking his shoulder, the bite was not all that bad. Gus figured he could change his jacket and nobody would ever know about this amateur hour move. Kicking the wolf for good measure, Gus was going to be careful this time. He walked the short distance back to his ATV and drove it over. He had a chain for these purposes. Knowing the animal was dead, but taking every precaution, he chained the animal's hind legs. He dragged the wolf across the terrain, not caring at all, how undignified it was to the death of this creature.
In town, you would have thought he killed Osama Bin Laden. The hunting community was all praise, lots of pictures, and back-slapping. Harvesting the wolf as is done, Gus hustled off home. His wife was pleased to see him. Their six-year-old daughter wanted to hear all about her daddies exploits. He may have embellished a few areas, but he gave her the rundown. Closer to late afternoon, the thrill of the hunt wore off, his wife busied herself making Gus's favorite hunters pie. All in all, Gus was pleased with everything but the bite in his shoulder.
After a shower and a cleaning of his gear, Gus took the first couple steps to his home, without warning, he vomited. Like a punch to the gut, a feeling of sickness floored him. As he rose from his heaved over position, his vision blurred, his heart raced, and a foul taste coated his mouth. The kitchen window faced this little scene, his wife hurried out the door and to his side. She was so sweet, always a servant to him. He assured her he was fine, told her he would lie down, and rest if off before supper. She felt his forehead, he was most certainly burning. Helping him to their bed, Gus slept.
Tossing and turning, sweating, and uncomfortable, he dreamt the strangest dreams. He felt the sensations of running, being scared, chased, and always on the alert. More strange than that, he felt the feeling of tearing his teeth into raw meat, being wild at night under the moonlight, he had the keenest sense of smell, sight, and taste. What was more strange, he saw a man, a man he did not know, another hunter like him, hunting a wolf much like the one he just killed. The dream was disturbing it felt so real. He awoke to the very worried face of his wife. Something was god awful wrong. She begged him to go see the doctor. He refused. He told her, "honey, this will pass, I just need some of your hunter's pie, some time with our little girl, and I will be right as rain." She smiled at this and relented.
Dinner was set and Gus was ravenous. He never felt a hunger like this. All of the places we're set, and he didn't even wait, he tore into the food before his wife and child even sat down. When they did, and when they attempted to eat their own portions, Gus, all but growled and yelled at them, spit and wild in his eyes. In a moment of utter shock at what he did, what he felt. He stood so abruptly from the table, ashamed, horrified. He had never raised his voice at them. Now he felt as if he could kill them over hunters pie? Sick or not, he knew he was a danger. He grabbed his coat and fled through the door.
The snow cold, starry night, greeted him with its crisp chill. The snow was not falling. Most was simply freezing as the temperature fell with the night. He had no idea what to do. He figured he would ride out whatever this was in the shed. The benefit of being away from his family, but also not freezing to death, made sense in his delirium. Opening the door to the shed, the last thing he remembered was walking in and his world going black. Inside the home, his wife was hurriedly putting their daughter to bed.
She needed to know what had gotten into her husband. His behavior was terrifying. Grabbing her winter coat, she rushed out the door. His tracks were visible in the snow. She was thankful to see he had enough sense to go into the shed and not wander aimlessly through the night. Slowly opening the door and turning on the overhead light, she saw signs of his torn and ripped clothing, evidence that he must have been thrashing about the ground, but no Gus. Frantic now, she looked everywhere. Where would he go without his clothes? She walked outside and around the shed. There was nothing. As she returned to the entrance, she did notice something. Clearly defined wolf tracks lead away from the shed and into the tree line.
© Rising Darkstar
As an elk hunter, Gus wouldn't say, publically at least, that he hated wolves, the fact was, left unchecked, they decimated the game he and others loved hunting. That was the public excuse. If he was honest, he had malice in his heart for these four-legged terrorists. Wolves are extremely adept at evading capture, superbly good hunters, and Gus knew that this animal he just shot was a local nuisance. He was just doing the high country of Idaho a service. When he got back to town and told everyone, not many people were going to be upset at this kill.
Wading through the thigh-high snow, his excitement grew. Knowing this wicked animal was finally down, filled him with glee. So many bull elk had fallen to this ferocious killer. Just upon him now, he looked and saw one of the biggest wolves of his life. It's teeth we're menacing and the size alone of the beast was enough to make a man shiver. It just lay there not moving, eyes looking glassy in death. He couldn't wait to get his victory picture. Fairly certain he was dead, Gus reached around the wolf's neck to stand him up to measure him. Just as his arms made the circle, the wolf turned its head and bit Gus on the shoulder. Reeling back in pain and surprise, Gus had his rifle off his shoulder and a round in the animal just as fast.
Gus cursed his stupidity. Wolves are notorious for playing possum. He should have been more careful. Checking his shoulder, the bite was not all that bad. Gus figured he could change his jacket and nobody would ever know about this amateur hour move. Kicking the wolf for good measure, Gus was going to be careful this time. He walked the short distance back to his ATV and drove it over. He had a chain for these purposes. Knowing the animal was dead, but taking every precaution, he chained the animal's hind legs. He dragged the wolf across the terrain, not caring at all, how undignified it was to the death of this creature.
In town, you would have thought he killed Osama Bin Laden. The hunting community was all praise, lots of pictures, and back-slapping. Harvesting the wolf as is done, Gus hustled off home. His wife was pleased to see him. Their six-year-old daughter wanted to hear all about her daddies exploits. He may have embellished a few areas, but he gave her the rundown. Closer to late afternoon, the thrill of the hunt wore off, his wife busied herself making Gus's favorite hunters pie. All in all, Gus was pleased with everything but the bite in his shoulder.
After a shower and a cleaning of his gear, Gus took the first couple steps to his home, without warning, he vomited. Like a punch to the gut, a feeling of sickness floored him. As he rose from his heaved over position, his vision blurred, his heart raced, and a foul taste coated his mouth. The kitchen window faced this little scene, his wife hurried out the door and to his side. She was so sweet, always a servant to him. He assured her he was fine, told her he would lie down, and rest if off before supper. She felt his forehead, he was most certainly burning. Helping him to their bed, Gus slept.
Tossing and turning, sweating, and uncomfortable, he dreamt the strangest dreams. He felt the sensations of running, being scared, chased, and always on the alert. More strange than that, he felt the feeling of tearing his teeth into raw meat, being wild at night under the moonlight, he had the keenest sense of smell, sight, and taste. What was more strange, he saw a man, a man he did not know, another hunter like him, hunting a wolf much like the one he just killed. The dream was disturbing it felt so real. He awoke to the very worried face of his wife. Something was god awful wrong. She begged him to go see the doctor. He refused. He told her, "honey, this will pass, I just need some of your hunter's pie, some time with our little girl, and I will be right as rain." She smiled at this and relented.
Dinner was set and Gus was ravenous. He never felt a hunger like this. All of the places we're set, and he didn't even wait, he tore into the food before his wife and child even sat down. When they did, and when they attempted to eat their own portions, Gus, all but growled and yelled at them, spit and wild in his eyes. In a moment of utter shock at what he did, what he felt. He stood so abruptly from the table, ashamed, horrified. He had never raised his voice at them. Now he felt as if he could kill them over hunters pie? Sick or not, he knew he was a danger. He grabbed his coat and fled through the door.
The snow cold, starry night, greeted him with its crisp chill. The snow was not falling. Most was simply freezing as the temperature fell with the night. He had no idea what to do. He figured he would ride out whatever this was in the shed. The benefit of being away from his family, but also not freezing to death, made sense in his delirium. Opening the door to the shed, the last thing he remembered was walking in and his world going black. Inside the home, his wife was hurriedly putting their daughter to bed.
She needed to know what had gotten into her husband. His behavior was terrifying. Grabbing her winter coat, she rushed out the door. His tracks were visible in the snow. She was thankful to see he had enough sense to go into the shed and not wander aimlessly through the night. Slowly opening the door and turning on the overhead light, she saw signs of his torn and ripped clothing, evidence that he must have been thrashing about the ground, but no Gus. Frantic now, she looked everywhere. Where would he go without his clothes? She walked outside and around the shed. There was nothing. As she returned to the entrance, she did notice something. Clearly defined wolf tracks lead away from the shed and into the tree line.
© Rising Darkstar
