The Little Creek Massacre

In a lush Delaware state park, a young Agency hunter comes face to face with a nightmare.

Henry put one foot in front of the other, plodding through the muddy woods. He cursed the wet, overcast Delaware weather as water flooded his partially torn sneakers.
I should have listened to Steve when he suggested I wear boots. This sucks.
He lifted his helmet off his head to run a gauntleted hand through his shaggy black hair, slicking it back out of his eyes.
He really liked his helmet. When the Agency issued him his gear, he specifically asked for a sallet design for his helmet. He was a big fan of the horizontal visor and thick forehead plating. Never know when you have to headbutt something, after all.
Especially in his line of work.
He walked along the worn hiking trail, looking for any sign of his prey. Although, prey wasn't quite the right word. It's not like he was going to eat whatever it was that had ripped those campers to ribbons. Thank God for DNA tracing, or they never would have figured out who the hell they were.
Henry and his associates didn't know what had killed them, but both they and the state knew specialists had to be sent to deal with it.
Henry abruptly stopped. Ahead of him, lying disemboweled just off the trail, was a black bear. The most obvious feature, though, was ironically the one it was missing. The bear's head had been severed.
Picking up his pace, Henry trotted over to the carcass, kneeling down by the hole that was its neck. Upon further inspection, Henry was able to conclude that the head hadn't been severed after all.
It had been torn off.
He reached up to his left shoulder, thumbing the walkie-talkie affixed on his pauldron. "Steve, Rich, you guys there? Over," By now, he was used to radio etiquette, even in situations that made his skin crawl.
A voice crackled over the walkie as Henry got a response. "Rich here, what is it rookie? Run into any trouble?"
Henry swallowed and began to speak. "I've got Sign. Black bear, minus its head and internals. Only bones, gristle, and skin. I'm also pretty sure the head was torn off as opposed to severed, if that's anything you might be interested in."
"You're damn right it is, that's a huge fucking problem. You've got your crucifix on you, the one made from an olive tree?"
Henry unclipped his backpack from his shoulders. His pauldrons made it a little awkward to put on and take off in the regular way, so he had sewn a few buckles into the straps so he could just unclip the bag.
"Hang on a sec," Henry said into his shoulder walkie as he began rooting through his bag. Oil vials, taser, a bag of pizzeria flavored Combos, water pistol filled with holy water, water pistol filled with salt water, a fountain pen filled with his own blood in a ziploc bag, a couple packages of store-bought honeycomb, an aerosol can of bugspray, a foot-long chain made from bronze...
"Found it!" Henry pulled the wooden crucifix out of his bag of supplies. "Ok, what do you think it is? Something demonic?"
"That's my theory," Rich began, but was cut off as another voice began speaking. "It's almost one hundred percent a witch's Fiend, meaning we have to find the witch too."
"Sure Steve, once we kill the fiend we can follow a trail to the witch. Roots will decay in a beeline from the Fiend to the witch once it dies."
"Wait a sec," Henry spoke. "You said you were almost one hundred percent sure. What else could it be?"
"Look kid," Steve began. "The other thing it might be hasn't been seen for fifty-three years. We're pretty sure they've gone extinct. Hell, Richie and I have never seen one in our twenty-nine years of this."
"Dude, just tell me the other option," Henry sighed.
"Okay, it also could be a Cannibal. If they aren't extinct."
"A what?"
Rich chimed in. "Creature that eats brains, human and animal. But the Agency put away the last one in '72. So it's a Fiend,"
"Which means," Steve began in a lecturing tone. "That once we find the witch, you can't enter its lair."
"That's bullshit man! I'm gonna help you with the Fiend or whatever the hell it is, why can't I ice the witch too?" Henry exclaimed, pissed.
"Because, Henry, they fuck with brains that aren't developed yet. Like yours. You're not even a legal adult yet man," Steve said, exasperated.
"I'm seventeen Steve, I'm basically there."
"Well you need to be twenty-five at the least. Any younger and they can make you hallucinate, make you suggestible to any tricks they pull on you. It's not up for debate," Steve spoke with finality.
"And that's the last word on it, rookie," said Rich over the radio. "Now where are you? We're coming to you, then we're going after the Fiend,"
"Dude I honestly have no clue. I haven't seen a sign in freaking forever," Henry said, turning in a circle as he observed his surroundings, looking for landmarks.
"How about you check that map we gave you, genius?" Steve said sarcastically over the radio.
"Oh. Right. Forgot about that," Henry said sheepishly. They all carried maps of the Little Creek area on them. A map they had on their phone was risky to use since some creatures they hunted disrupted electronics.
Henry dug his hands under his cuirass and reached into the front pocket of his hoodie, fishing out a map of the area.
"Alright," he said, opening his map. "I'm on the red trail, just south of Little River."
"Sounds good, we're on our way," Steve said, before the walkie went silent. Now Henry was alone with the rotting corpse of the bear.
Henry really hoped the state had done a good job of clearing the area of civilians. The last thing they needed was someone stumbling into their operation. Henry had no idea how he would explain to a nosy bystander what three armed men in plate armor were doing in an area the state government said was dangerous and under investigation.
The caution tape and threat of arrest would have to be enough. Though sometimes it wasn't for some people.
Henry heard a twig snap behind him and turned around, expecting to see something about to take his head off. Instead, he saw a man in armor, easily recognizable by his visored bascinet.
"Jesus, Rich, you scared the fuck out of me," Henry said, feeling his shoulders relaxing.
"Well maybe next time you shouldn't let yourself get snuck up on like that. What if I was a Dread? Your head'd be hanging by its hair from a tree by now," Rich said, lifting the visor of his signature helmet. Rich liked to wear flannel under his cuirass, presenting a smear of color amidst the dreary green and brown treescape.
"Damn, lucky that wasn't one of us, right?" Rich noted, gesturing toward the bear. "You're sure the head was torn off, not cut?" He walked toward the bear and knelt down by where the head should have been.
"Yeah, the flesh is too jagged at the seam where it was torn. I figure a blade wouldn't have done so much damage," Henry reasoned.
"Well look at this," Rich said. He pointed at a spot on the bear's upper chest, slightly below the neck. "You know what that is?"
Henry peered closer at what Rich was pointing at. He saw four small holes, three in a horizontal line and one in the center below the line.
"I don't know, could be wounds inflicted by whatever creature did this." Henry hadn't seen a wound like that before.
"It's the mark the creature left when it tore off the bear's head. It drove clawed fingers into the chest and pulled the bear apart. Four fingers, to be exact." Rich stood up and faced Henry. "Just one problem. Fiends have seven fingers on each hand. Not four."
The two men then heard something coming toward them from around the corner of the trail, obscured by trees and foliage. Rich hefted his long axe while Henry reached for the sword at his hip, both ready to face whatever came at them.
Another figure in armor rounded the corner, bayoneted crossbow in hand but pointed at the ground. This person's frog-mouth helm and leather jacket under the cuirass immediately identified him as Steve.
"Looks like the gang's all here," Steve joked. "So, you guys found anything?"
"Yeah man," Rich began. "We've got a wound here suggesting that whatever killed this bear had four fingers. Ever heard of a Fiend that didn't have seven?"
"What? Let me see." Steve walked over to them, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder, the bayonet pointing up like a car's antenna.
As Steve knelt down by Rich to inspect the wound, Henry watched the metal bayonet gleam in the dim sunlight. All of the weapons used by hunters working for the Agency were made from a special metal alloy incorporating iridium dust from the K-Pg Boundary. Iridium itself was unusable in making the weapons hunters need, so iridium dust was combined with metals to make specialized swords, axes, maces, crossbow bolts, glaives, tridents, and all kinds of other weapons. Not bullets though, most monsters could take several bullets and keep on coming.
Swords were more definite killers of monsters.
"Alright, we can't for sure claim that this isn't a Fiend, but it's a possibility. Right now, though, we stick to the plan and track this thing down. Once we find it, we'll figure it out," Steve said, rising from his crouch.
"Sure thing boss. Let's make tracks, Henry," Rich waved Henry forward, deeper into the forest. "Whatever this thing was, it left Sign."
The trio of men moved deeper into the dense woods, Steve at the front and Henry at the rear. They stopped every so often to examine a clawed tree, drop of blood, torn up bush, or a chunk of flesh.
"You know, Steve, it's not like a Fiend to rip out organs. That bear had nothing left in it. You know what that is typical of? A Cannibal," Rich stated.
"Fiends have to eat too, Richie. Besides, it's witch might want the organs for something. It's not unlikely."
"I'm just saying that if it is a Cannibal, we need to get out of here. We aren't prepared enough for one of them. It took five hunters to kill the last one and only one of them survived."
"Yeah, they killed the last one. There aren't any more on the planet. Now quit your bitching and keep your eyes peeled. We have to be getting close."
The hunters stalked through the wilderness until they came upon a small bare area among the sea of trees. In the middle of the small clearing was a large hole, Henry figured about ten feet across, that led down into the earth like a burrow.
"What the...?" Steve quietly exclaimed, moving toward the hole.
"See? What did I tell you! Fiends don't fucking do that man!" Rich exclaimed, victorious.
Henry suddenly felt a shudder wrack his body. Every last hair on his body stood on end. For a second, he imagined he could feel the hairs get slightly longer.
Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. He coughed, trying to clear his lungs, but it felt like they were filling with something solid and wiry. He fell on his hands and knees, the metal kneepads of his greaves impacting the ground.
"Hey, Henry! You alright kid?" Rich had run up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"What's going on over there?" Steve yelled, taking his eyes off the hole and turning back to face Henry and Rich.
Henry's chest was burning. He was desperately attempting to force himself to breathe. He had no idea what was going on.
Shit shit shit!
He pounded his fist repeatedly against his chest, trying in vain to clear the blockage in his lungs. It felt like whatever was filling his lungs was poking through them, spreading its roots into the rest of his body.
Just as quickly as the feeling came, it disappeared. Henry gasped for air, dragging each cool mouthful past his lips.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, coughing. "Holy shit!"
"Hey man, I've got you. What the hell happened?" Rich asked, beginning to pull Henry to his feet.
Henry felt something was different. It was in the air, a scent not dissimilar to blood. Only, it was saltier, and the smell was getting stronger.
"Hey, do you smell that?" he asked Rich.
Rich looked confused. "Smell what?"
Henry looked over Rich's shoulder at Steve, who in turn was facing him. Steve was about two feet from the mouth of the hole, his crossbow in one hand, pointing down.
Henry watched in horror as an arm, red in flesh and covered in matted fur and skin, grabbed Steve by his shin with a four-fingered, skeletal hand and threw him twenty feet into a tree, Steve's back impacting the trunk with a crunch.
Steve barely had time to scream.
"Holy fucking shit!" Henry yanked his sword out of its scabbard, its usual weight strangely absent.
Rich was already raising his axe and charging at the creature. His axe sailed into the monster's shoulder, ripping a small strip of flesh out as Rich pulled it back out for his second strike.
Henry ran at the monster, sword drawn, and narrowly jumped over its leg as it tried to sweep him off his feet. Henry felt as though he was watching the monster in slow motion. He was vaguely aware of the fact that his body seemed to be on autopilot.
The creature's imposing height didn't scare Henry. He had faced down a Troll as his first ever monster, and that had been twenty feet tall. The thing that had crawled out of the ground was barely half that, but man did it make up for that fact with its visage.
It had a small mouth, which it was currently using to scream bloody murder at Henry and Rich, filled with large, sharp, needle-like teeth. Its four black eyes were situated in a horizontal line across its face where a human's eyes might be. Like its arm, the whole body was made up of red flesh, exposed bone, and disgusting patches of skin and fur taken from its victims.
Its arms, though long enough to reach down to its knees, were dwarfed in length by its whip tail, which it used to strike Henry dead center in his chest. Thankfully, his armor absorbed most of the relatively weak, cursory blow. It still hurt like hell, of course.
"It's a fucking Cannibal! Kill it!" Rich yelled as he buried his axe into the creature's foot, splitting it down the middle. The Cannibal screeched, swiping its long claws at Rich as he preemptively dodged the blow.
Henry sprinted up to it, getting past the Cannibal's guard, and drove his blade up to the hilt into its abdomen, the blade poking out the other side.
He quickly pulled the blade out, attempting a strike near where he imagined its heart must be, but was hit by a fisted backhand from the Cannibal. Henry went flying, rolling where he hit the ground ten feet away.
So far, Rich had managed to keep the creature's attention, but now its four eyes were on Henry, predatory rage burning behind its soulless, black eyes. As it charged straight for him, long arms extended, Henry raised his sword in front of his body, readying to strike its neck when it got close.
A crossbow bolt soared through the air, impacting the Cannibal right in the side of the head and flying out the other side, embedding itself in a nearby tree.
Steve struggled to reload another bolt from his leaning position against the tree. Before either Henry or Rich could make a move to attack the Cannibal, it had leaped onto Steve, impaling its thigh on his raised bayonet.
The monster didn't care about the wound though, as it rammed two fingers through the slot in the helmet where Steve's eyes were and ripped his head off, a jetstream of gore following the arc of the head as it sailed through the air.
Henry momentarily froze, horrified at what he had just seen. The only thing preventing him from throwing up in fear and disgust was the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Shouting in rage, Rich closed the distance between him and the creature, driving his axe down into the spine of the Cannibal.
It shrieked, a high pitched, brain rattling sound, and threw punch after punch, swipe after swipe at the retreating Rich.
Henry unclipped his bag and rummaged through it in a panic. Pulling out a vial of oil, he poured the whole thing over his sword, thoroughly coating it.
Removing a light from his pants pocket, Henry lit his sword on fire, the flames flickering angrily, mirroring Henry's new hatred for the creature.
He ran toward the creature, looking up to see Rich locked in a stalemate with the thing, desperately battling for his life. The visor of his helmet had been ripped off, leaving his face bare against the snarling monstrosity.
"Get the fuck off him!" Henry yelled, leaping onto the Cannibal's back, holding his flaming sword against its throat, pulling the white hot blade along its flesh.
The blade bit deeper than Henry had thought, and when the creature shook him free he could see that its head was hanging on by a thread, resting on its left shoulder.
But the Cannibal kept coming.
It surged toward Henry, but he stepped out of the way, crossing one foot over the other as he twirled out of the way, sword spinning to cut its arm down to the bone.
The Cannibal wheeled around to throw a powerful left hook right into Henry's gut, crumpling his cuirass. Henry went flying, hitting the ground and rolling over the lip of the hole in the ground the Cannibal rose out of. He just barely managed to catch himself with one hand as he went over the side.
He threw his still flaming sword up and out of the hole, allowing for the use of both of his hands to pull himself back up. He was acutely aware of the weight of his armor dragging him down into the abyss, but his raging adrenaline gave him the boost to pull himself partially out. As he dragged himself further out, he saw Rich once again fighting the Cannibal on his own.
Henry pulled himself to his feet, picking his sword off the ground. He ran to help Rich with his fight, pressuring the Cannibal's right side while Rich swung his axe toward its face.
The Cannibal lashed out in a lightning fast strike, gripping Henry's helmeted head in its right hand. It lifted him up so they were eye to eye, all the while Henry struggled to unfasten his helmet one-handed.
Rich's axe sailed through the air, cleaving the Cannibal's hand neatly off at the wrist. The monster shrieked in pain as Henry dropped to the ground, and it began viciously assaulting Rich. The forty-seven year old hunter had just about run out his endurance, and was unable to fight back as the Cannibal drove its foot clear through his gut, its mangled foot punching through the armor on his back. Rich had a stunned look on his face, still alive as he sank to his knees.
Still alive as the Cannibal earned its name and tore Rich's face off with its teeth.
"No!" Enraged, Henry swung his sword in desperate swooping strikes, grazing the creature a few times. The Cannibal slid to the side, making distance between it and Henry.
The two hunters circled each other, Henry with his sword raised and aflame, the Cannibal with its gory teeth bared.
Henry could feel his rage turning from emotion into a tangible, physical feeling. He could feel his blood boiling, pumping faster and faster through his system as his breathing became more difficult. He could smell the blood and flesh clinging to the Cannibal, could smell its contempt for life. It was an evil that Henry had to cut down.
And cut it down he would.
With a brutal shriek, the Cannibal blitzed straight for Henry, any notion of defense gone as it made its stand. Henry charged forward, moving faster in an instant than he ever had before. He was barely aware of his hair growing perceptably longer, his finger bones hardening, his nails elongating and thickening, and his teeth sharpening.
As the two met on their overcast battlefield, Henry ducked under the Cannibal's outstretched arm and spun to finally slice the monster's head from its shoulders. As the creature paused, confused, Henry spun again, putting all his force and torque into swinging his sword. The blade itself seemed to bend with the speed as it rammed into the creature's waist, the white hot metal cutting through flesh like butter.
Henry let go of his blade, leaving it embedded in the Cannibal's side as it screamed in pain. Henry reached up through the open wound of its waist, delving up into the creature's chest like a puppet. He felt his hardened, claw-like fingers wrap around a pulsating mass, the Cannibal's heart.
He yanked it out, dragging a trail of arteries and tubes and flesh with it. He glared at the disgusting creature that had killed his friends, his eyes and heart burning with rage.
He sunk his teeth into the creature's heart, ripping chunk after chunk out of the still-beating organ until there was nothing left but a wet, bloody mess.
As the adrenaline left his body, Henry collapsed to the ground, completely exhausted. Lying prone on the ground, he reached a hand toward Rich's twitching body as darkness encroached on his vision.
Henry slipped into the heavy darkness of unconsciousness.