Illustration © Kevin James Hurtack 2006
The Night Stalker
by Clyde Andrews © 2006
I am a creature of the night; an abomination, a parasite, a curse on humanity. My goal, to feed on the innocent, the young, and the beautiful.
I emerge from the swirling mists of the swamp like a foul stench. I am a wraith, a dark magician, a beast that has no morals, and I am on the hunt.
My cold dark eyes dart about, searching for my next kill. My cruel mouth smiles, but not with the beautiful smile of hope. My smile is like a scar; thin, cruel, and ugly -a disfigurement of my soul. I am indefatigable in my purpose. I must feed, for I am weak.
A kill has been a long time coming and I must eat soon. I feast on the flesh of the living: drink the blood and chew on the bones. I enjoy my existence, my cruel ways. Inflicting pain and suffering on others the fuel that fires my evil mind. I play with my victims, like a cat would a mouse. Teasing them, letting them go, and then hunting them down again.
Tonight I have no time for games. I must feed. I have not done so for what seems an eternity. The villagers, however, are weary to my presence. But bow and axe and sword are no threat to me. I am not concerned by such trivial things. The affairs of humans rarely concern me. For they are only my cattle. To butcher at my discretion.
I leave the obscurity of the swamp and approach the village. The quagmire no longer squelching at my feet. The water-logged soil transformed into the lush fertile wheat fields of the village farms. This is now my protection, and I crouch low as I head towards my goal.
I search for my next victim. It does not matter tonight what it will be; a man, a woman, or a child. I am emaciated. Tonight must be the night. I can wait no longer.
With thin fingers I pry my way through the wheat field. My mind wild with the thought of the kill. In the distance I see movement.
As I inch closer I become more cautious. One false move now and a nights work could be wasted. Closer and closer I go. Now on all fours. I can hear voices. This pleases me, for more than one target increases my chances. I want to create a confusion, so I can pick off what I want as they run about in the hysteria.
Then I see her, a small child, a girl, wandering haplessly from the safety of the crowd. I smile. My eyes are now fixed on my goal.
On the edge of the wheat field I wait. Patience is now paramount, even though I am starving. Poor judgment could mean the matter of life or death. This is what I enjoy; the silent stalking, the cold calculation of a kill, and the rush of adrenaline as the kill was brought down. My victim wanders farther away from her safety net; oblivious to the danger that awaits her in the wheat. I don't even blink now. Every second is vital and a lapse in concentration could rob me of my prize. My mouth salivates, and with a black tongue I lick my lips.
The villagers are up to something, I sense it in the wind. They are milling about, anxious, nervous even. But the girl wanders farther away. She is my objective, no other triviality is important. She is nearly within reach. Any second now and I will be gorging on the young sweet supple flesh of youth. I have been patient and my reward for my endurance will be that small child.
In the back of my mind, almost at a subconscious level, I notice something amiss. I break my concentration, taking my eyes off my quarry for a split second. But that is more than enough. In the lapse I notice the villagers are gone. I curse myself, as this distraction has taken my mind off the only thing that matters, that girl. Then relief quickly washes over me as I find the girl again.
But in my blind persistence I fail to notice the trap being set for me. The villagers are anxious for a reason. In my arrogance I dismissed the warning signs. My hunger for a kill blinded me. The girl has been placed there as a lure. A risky venture on their part. But it worked.
I was seduced by the easy kill. Around me, I now hear noises. Faint footsteps in the wheat field. The villagers are surrounding me. My only hope is that they have not seen me.
I lay in wait. Perspiration beading on my brow. But I dare not move. A bolt for freedom would be fruitless in close quarters.
An arrow, lead tipped, and shot with such force it rips through the air striking my side. I spring to my feet in excruciating pain. Screaming with all my breath. Blood is pouring from the wound as I remove the point of it from my flesh.
I am now exposed, my stealth, my cunning, my patience, all amounting to nothing.
Frantically I try to find a way out. Hoping they have been hasty in their plans. It is not to be. They have created a cordon around me. I no longer have the strength or energy to change into another form. My escape impossible. Arrows, like the first, fly towards me; one, two, three, all found their mark. I fall to the ground. Overcome by pain and loss of blood. Writhing in agony on the field floor. They are all around me now.
The little girl, my quarry, approaches. She would have tasted delicious. She would have been perfect. I splutter and choke on my own blood. I am now at their mercy. And all because of one innocent little girl.
Creature of the Night Illustration by Paul Campbell © 2006
THE END
