My Last Hunt
I live in a tiny rural town. Population? About 345 people. The closest city is about a thirty-minute drive down the interstate, right smack dab in the middle of a Texas nowhere. Surrounded by red clay and mesquite trees. In the small town, cotton and Milo farming are the norm if you are not raising animals with the school Ag program.
The Milo fields stretch across what you would call the “outskirts” of town. If you were kind enough to deem it “big enough” to have an outskirt. In those fields, it is common to see dead hogs. Those wild pigs are attracted to Milo and it being Texas, well, we are overrun with the damn things. It is not uncommon to observe farmers wait near a field and pop ten or thirteen hogs to scare them off. They always leave the bodies, though. The pigs, while inbred and off-putting, made great fertilizer once the natural order of things brought them back into the dirt. You couldn’t eat them, so many people often try to poison them. At this point, it is just nuisance control.
It was late October and deer season had already opened earlier in the month. My Dad and I shot pigs all year long to help the farmers in town, but deer were a rare treat. When we hunt, it is not malicious or for sport. Yes, the big impressive bucks are always nice, but more often than not, we just take one. We had one particular buck in mind this time. We found him through game cameras that we had set up on our property. He wasn’t a huge deer antler wise, but you could tell from his battle scars and blinded right eye he was the boss in these mesquite woods. We called him Uno, for his one working eye. He was a nice, big-bodied eight-point buck. I’d age him about five to six years.
My Dad and I bought corn and spent hours figuring out where he bedded down his routes, and his favorite patches to eat. We decided we were ready. We geared up for that evening. Grabbing our compound bows, some knives, and one handgun. Just for emergencies, sometimes the pigs in our area tend to be aggressive. Many a time, a dumb boar who thought he was going to show us what’s what has charged us.
Once we got to the property at about 3:30, we parked the truck and walked in for the evening ahead. My Dad took his place at the hunting stand near the water tank. A three-legged metal stand with a chair about eight feet off the ground. Wedged perfectly between some tree branches for adequate cover. Little did I realize that would be the last time I saw my dad alive.
“Whoever sees Uno first, Kid.” He said jokingly. “I know I got the deer last year, but don’t get your hopes up.” I smiled at him.
“Oh yeah, he’s gonna smell you from a mile away, you old fart!” We hugged, and I started going further into the property to my hunting stand.
“Do you want the gun today, tough girl? The pigs might sniff you out.” I gave him a thoughtful look and shook my head
“No, thanks! I’m not sweet enough!” We laughed as we parted ways.
I had to write this. I had to let others know what happened. Not only that, but I haven’t been hunting since. I’m so sorry, Dad.
The property itself is about a hundred acres of land. It isn’t huge by any means, but it is about an hour and a half walk through all the brush and game trails. To get to town was another forty-five minutes, and cellphone reception was nonexistent. So calling for help was difficult, to say the least.
I walked down the dirt game trail, taking in the crisp evening air. I stepped over twigs and small barrel cactus until I could climb into the stand. A sturdy four-legged metal stand made for gun hunting. There I sat, and I realized something. I had not heard a single bird. I never saw a single rabbit or squirrel. It was complete silence. The only thing I could hear was the sound of wind lightly shaking the trees.
Quiet days happen, sure, but this was different. Eerie, as if something was waiting on the other side of the fence line. As time went on, I noticed a smell creeping in. It was slow at first, barely noticeable. Musky and thick, like the smell of pig wallows after heavy rain. It was about 6:00 now, and it got too dark to hunt with my bow.
I climbed out of the stand, trying to stay quiet. Something was off. The smell was undeniably strong now. It smelled old, though, like whatever was spreading, it wasn’t even near me anymore. I felt unease build in my chest as I walked my way back to where my dad was at.
As I drew closer, the dusk turned into night, and I pulled out my headlamp and turned it on. I could see the stand where Dad was, but he wasn’t there. I was confused. He wouldn’t just leave. If he was going somewhere, he would have come told me. I looked around the area and saw something in the nearby brush.
I crept my way towards it and looked at what it was. It was Uno. My dad got Uno! For a moment, a giant grin stretched across my face, but as I grabbed Uno’s antlers to get him out of the brush and see his face, I immediately dropped him. His face was gone. Uno’s face seemed to have been ripped off! Pieces of bone and muscle were broken and torn off. The blood was visible now; it covered the nearby smashed branches and leaves. Gigantic scratches covered his body, and its back leg was twisted at such an angle that it was definitly broken.
Another thing came into my view, my old man’s hunting backpack. Its contents were strewn all across the ground: arrows, snack wrappers, and my dad’s bow. I looked through it and found the handgun in its holster at the bottom of the bag. My heart was pounding in contrast to the utter silence that was the mesquite woods around me. Then, I heard it.
My Dad’s voice, but every cell in my body was telling me to run. Something was wrong, terribly wrong yet, I called out.
“D-dad? Where are you?” I heard something move in the dark. The smell was stronger, and it sounded big and heavy. It permeated the air with a thick, putrid musk. Not only that but it can only be compared to a wild boar. Upon that conclusion, I brought the gun out of its holster and readied it to fire.
I heard it again, toward the mutilated body of Uno. A powerful shuffling noise, along with a now distorted version of my dad’s voice. It was deep, guttural, scratchy. As if a skeleton could speak with gravel in its mouth.
“Tougghhh Giirrllll?” Before I could process what happened, it threw something at me. I dodged it, and it rolled on the ground and hit the ladder of the hunting stand before stopping.
Keeping my eyes toward Uno, I backed until I was at the ladder. I glanced down and just as quickly jumped away. I saw it for only a moment, but I saw the now disfigured head of my dad. A now bloody, chewed-up pulp. There was a roar that sounded like a pig in distress. So I ran. The smell lingered all the way to the pickup. I got the keys from my pocket and clambered into the truck, I threw my stuff into the back and put my key into the ignition. The truck roared to life, and the headlights unveiled a horror.
Standing about twenty-five yards from the pickup was “It”. It stood at about six feet tall. It hunched its hulking frame over and a wirey-haired body with muscles twisting in unnatural ways that one couldn’t even think possible stood before me. Its head was pig-like but was uneven, as if they had broken it several times and healed wrong. Its crooked snout sniffed the air, and it made eye contact.
The eyes reflected in the headlights, giving the already terrifying creature more to work with.
“You son of a bitch!” I yelled. Its shoulders started bouncing up and down. Snorting filled the air. It was laughing. It was fucking laughing. I put the truck into drive and floored it.
The beast roared in surprise as I rammed into it as fast as I could. Running over it, I turned the truck into reverse and did it again before backing out the gate and onto the road. I sped home that night. The police were called by me. I did everything I could, but it changed nothing.
They found what was left of his body and even brought his bow and pack back to me. I can’t even explain what happened that night, but I know I didn’t kill it. I know only because I can still hear the laughing sometimes. Please, never separate from your hunting partner. You never know what might come and pay them a visit.
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