The Drowned Hunt

The Drowned Hunt

This was a brilliant way to start your holiday, she thought, as she picked up her rod and walked toward the jetty. She’d started off the day well; woken up refreshed, had a filling breakfast and headed off early. Halfway through her morning routine, she’d had a sudden urge to go fishing, and now she was almost there. She stepped onto the jetty, sat down on the planks, took out her rod, baited it and cast the line into the river. She lay back and relaxed, drifting off into a gentle, calm sleep.

Slowly, gently, stealthily, the darkness slipped into her mind, polluting her peaceful dreams with thoughts of fear, despair...horror...she was hunted...a thing in the water...fear...despair ...a raven’s call...the drowned hunt...

The girl woke with a start, terrified to the bone. The images were still vivid in her waking eyes; the creature, the darkness, the hunt. The thoughts still whirled about in her head, a never-ending nightmare. She screamed, thrashing the air with her hands. Then they were gone, the horrors receding to the back of her mind. She halted mid-yell, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. After all, it had been just a dream, hadn’t it? She pondered as she walked along the riverside. It was getting dark; she should head back to the hotel soon. Nearby, a raven cawed. She stopped.  What was that? Could it be...no, it couldn’t. That was impossible, wasn’t it?

Unbeknownst to her, in the shadow of the jetty, something stirred. It heaved itself up out of the mud, and oozed onto the bank. Its prey was still unaware of its presence. It staggered up the embankment, rotting flesh squelching, tattered clothes swaying in the light breeze as it closed in on her.

The girl had made up her mind. She’d head back to the hotel, check out and leave as soon as possible. She hated this place, and never wanted to return. She took a step forward and halted. Something was behind her, she could hear it approaching. Heavy footsteps, panting breath, no, it couldn’t be! She tried to run. Tried to turn her head, but couldn’t. Her dread was weighing her down, stopping her movement, stopping her dead. Alarms were going off in her head; help, run, help! Her mind screamed, but still she could not move. Behind her, the footsteps stopped, as did the panting. What had happened? Was it gone? No. It wasn’t. A heavy wet thing landed on her shoulder with a splat. She made herself look at it, at what it was, and what she saw horrified her. It was a hand, white and bloated, glistening wet in what little light was left in the world. That broke the spell. She turned her head. Screamed. It was there! It was real! The thing in the darkness. The thing that haunts your nightmares! The thing at the bottom of the murky pool that lies in wait to drag you down and make you join the hunt. It was huge and bloated, white and soaked, and with a chill, she knew what it was. A corpse. A man drowned, his body never found. Maggots writhed in its skin, an eel peered at her from an eye socket. Its mouth gaped wide, water gushing from it like an endless waterfall. Teeth gone. Tongue gone.  Just a black hole which widened, stretching at the sides. A horrible gurgle echoed in its throat. It was laughing. Laughing at her! Laughing at her pain, laughing at her horror. It dragged her to the water’s edge and threw her in. The freezing cold hit like a concrete wall, and she knew no more...

...darkness...

...cold...

That was all it knew...all it had known...it saw itself...not yet bloated...not yet ruined...but that would come as the years went by...another thing moved nearby...huge...bloated...a hunter...that left it be...after all...that one had saved it...had introduced it to the joy of the drowned hunt.

The Last Rider 2009