The Hunter

It watched the man step out into the bitter night. It saw the gated door slammed shut and the man's breath clouding, a shudder not far behind followed by ginger steps across the wooden porch. The ice from this latest spat of unseasonal weather remained, invisible as it may be, and the old timer was taking no chances. Bereft of his cane he steadied himself against the railings and began descending the steps. Even for winter it was a bitter night, the observer didn't feel it though. Its concealed presence on the other side of the street cast no shadow onto the snow-dappled ground. Its breath formed no condensation. Its narrow-slitted eyes unwavering in their attention.

The old man was at the bottom of the steps now. He took a quick glance back at the brightly lit porch before pulling his chamois coat tighter and pressing on down the path ahead. The figure smiled, a patient smile. A smile born of experience. It had been the same as this for the past three nights, the slow shuffle to the path followed by a turn to the right, to collect logs for the fire. On the previous nights though the man had emerged earlier, when the sun was still setting and the darkness yet to close in. But not tonight.

The figure crouched, a brief release of excitement in an otherwise controlled performance. It was so close now. Its last kill had been a week ago, it wasn't like it needed to feed but the thrill, the joy of it drew him ever back. Its senses felt sharp, its muscles taut. As the man disappeared from view the creature crept forwards. Its soft leathery feet making no sound on the hard concrete, its eyes clearly making out the way despite the lack of anything but the moon for guidance. It had been leaving the town when it had come across this place, and the opportunity seemed too good to pass up. Isolated at the end of a long, hilly road the cottage was well set back from the road and lay alone, surrounded by dense woodland and fields. In the day, when the light burned it, the creature took refuge in the woods. What little sunlight made it through the persistent cloud subsequently failed to break through the tightly packed leaves and branches leaving the creature relatively free to wander. From this shaded position it had come to observe the life, as it was, of the old man currently struggling to lift logs into his feeble arms. He lived alone, and stayed indoors mainly. Only venturing out when the postman came, for a chat, or to clear the fallen snow and ice from his patio and garden.

From outside looking in it seemed a waste. A waste of life, to be spent in such isolation, in such mundanity. The creature was incensed by this. It's bloodlust growing with every thought, its patience tested with every day spent watching, waiting. But it had to be cautious. Time the great teacher had imparted that lesson and it heeded it well. Its continued existence was testament to that, its relative rarity compared to the past a constant reminder. The confidence of power is foolishness, and so he watched and waited. Until tonight.

Moving closer still the nameless creature entered the gate silently and made for the cover of the trees to the left. It's inky black skin made it hard to detect but it was taking no chances. Meticulous hunters they may be, but a frailty that had never been bred out remained, the creatures were no match for gun or flame, the development and use of which had diminished the once thriving populations to what they were now. Ancient they may be, but it was only a select few who survived the upheaval mankind wrought on the world. An age, a second, a century but a blink. Their perception of time shifted so that it seemed a blur, this ascension. This infestation of a once empty planet. So they retreated to the shadows, what remoteness remained provided shelter, but the instinct remained. The urge to hunt and to kill. They could not bend to it, they could not adapt. So those smart enough, cunning enough, forged a life as best they could, picking on the old and frail. The weak and alone. Somewhere deep inside the shame of this burned, but those flames had long since been dimmed. Survival had prevailed and any semblance of fairness swept aside. As the creature watched the man now, struggling to balance logs in his arms, his body quivering in the cold, it felt momentary disgust with all that had lead to this point. But the rage was entering its eyes now, it was ready to throw caution aside. Why worry about one little old man, a legacy of pain and death and triumphant destruction pared down to this? Its last victim, an old lady it had found walking the long road back to town one night was a distant memory now. At the time the taste of her had been as sweet as any it remembered, but the thrill never lasted these days. With no challenge, no righteous competition it was a hollow victory. It was a slave to its impulses. To its past.

The man turned away now, this was the chance. The creature made his way up behind, its feet expertly navigating the icy patches that remained, the snow that had settled muffling the sound. It raised its hands, that familiar rush coursed through its very being, its claws outstretched it leapt. The old man had no chance, he hadn't even moved.

Except.

Except... blinding pain rattled the creatures skull knocking it backwards. Light shimmered and the sky encircled. It lay on the freezing ground as the figure of the old man swam into view. In his hands was held a large axe, the logs lay fallen to the side. The axe handle came down again, the stricken creature was now the helpless one, unable to move, it gasped as new waves of pain drowned its meagre consciousness.

“Disappointing.” The old man grunted as he grabbed the unconscious creature by the legs and began dragging it along, “I was hoping for a bit more of a fight.”

*

When the creature woke it was strapped down to a wooden table, the room was dark, but the nearby embers of a fire provided illumination enough for it to take in its surroundings. Sparsely decorated, the kitchen was rustic but modern. It tried to move, fruitlessly and awaited the end.

The man entered soon, except now he was different. There was a spring in his step, his ambling gait had been replaced, his withered tiredness replaced by an oddly youthful excitement.

“I wanted you awake for this” the man spoke calmly as he approached, the axe still in his hands. “We do best to abide by the old customs, and at least for that you deserve a death of some honour.” The creature understood him, but could not respond. It regarded him with a look as icy as the old man's tone.

“You do what you were raised, same as me I reckon. Heard rumours of one of you in the village last couple weeks, wasn't hard to clock when you turned up here. Your kind never can resist this place, especially with such easy prey lurking within.”

The man leant on the axe now, surveying the creature with contempt, but little joy. “Have to admit you were more cautious than the others. Tricky one I've got here, I thought. But still predictable. I'll not prolong it, just so you know. But wanted a chance to see you. To remember. It's bigger than us, my dad used to say, this war. I don't know much about that but I do my part. Mostly though I wanted you to hear this. To hear that we will end you, your entire parasitic race. To let you know that you lost. To see that look in your face.”

The creature's eyed narrowed, its release was coming. This world wasn't theirs any more. It refused to close its eyes as the axe swung down.

*

The man mounted the head above the fireplace, as he always did. The creature joined its brothers, their lifeless eyes staring forever ahead.

Stepping back down from his handiwork the old man grabbed another log from the basket and threw it on the softly glowing embers of the fire, before sitting back down in his armchair, his feet resting up on the nearby table. In front of him the fire sparked back to life.