Hunting Season

By Ryan Bush

Back in my day, we didn’t have so many blasted cryptids running around in the woods. When I worked for Game and Fish, I took my job as cryptid hunter seriously, and I kept nasty beasts to a manageable level. But things changed after I retired, and hunters started using a “holistic cryptid management approach.” Whatever that means. I think people just invent these newfangled terms as an excuse to avoid doing their jobs. Either way, it’s not working; today’s forests are full of monsters.

Still, I was surprised when my landline rang early one September morning, and more surprised to hear Game Warden Richards on the other end.

“Mornin’, Earl. Been a while. How you been?”

I grunted. “Whatcha need, Richards?”

He coughed. “Listen, our hunter got injured trying to take out some cuslohoth by Willow Springs. I know you’ve been retired for years, but…”

“I’ll be at the trailhead in an hour.”

I hung up, groaning inwardly. Cuslohoth were nasty little creatures with vicious teeth, and they looked like a cross between a dog and a pig. They were almost invisible in deep shadows, and they secreted a pheromone that could make you think you were somewhere else entirely, leading you right into danger without even knowing you’d left the trail.

I gathered my old hunting gear and drove to the Willow Springs trailhead as fast as I could. The sun highlighted the colorful fall leaves, but I scarcely noticed as I kept watch for cuslohoth or the distinctive smell of peaches that marked their pheromones.

An hour along the trail, I heard a faint cry, and I whipped around, hand on my pistol. Nothing seemed amiss, but the voice cried out again, and I caught a flash of pink high in the trees. Pink? That made no blasted sense. Maybe that idiot hunter hadn’t even been chasing cuslohoth. Maybe it was something else.

My mind filtered through other possible cryptids as I scrambled off the trail and through the brush toward the cries. A moment later, I found myself looking up at a little girl in a pink shirt, clinging to a tree branch high above me.

“Golblastit!” I exploded. “What are you doing here, kid? It’s dangerous!”

She sniffled and nodded. “I know. Monsters almost got me last night, so I climbed up here.”

“Well, at least you had the sense to climb a tree,” I grumbled. “What’s your name? How did you get here?”

“My name’s Mary. I woke up an’ thought I was back home with Daddy. I started walking down the hall to see him, an’ I just kept walking and walking and walking.” She sniffled. “I know Daddy isn’t alive anymore, but I-I thought he was waiting for me. An’ then monsters were chasin’ me an’ I climbed this tree.”

Well. These cuslohoth were certainly getting nastier. In my day, they’d never dared to lure children from their beds. I gestured to a nearby meadow.

“C’mon down, these monsters like dark shadows, so we’ll stick to the open.” I walked away, knowing she’d obey eventually. I unslung my pack and knelt in the whispering grass to find some food for the kid, grumbling to myself. I’d have to take her clear to town before hiking all the way back here.

I heard the crackle of snapping sticks, and looked to see Mary standing there, her face completely drained of blood.

“Didn’t you say–don’t we need to stay in the sun?”

“Yep.” I turned back to my pack.

“But you’re in the darkest part of the trees!”

Her words froze me to the spot, and I felt a chill on my neck just as my brain finally registered the scent of peaches.

The pistol was almost in my hands when the cuslohoth hit me in the chest. Light meadows and dark trees flashed across my eyes, and I yelled as I went sprawling. My gun flew into the shadows, and I desperately yanked my knife from its sheath. I lashed out, nicking the monster, but was only rewarded with a slight yelp.

Blinking, I tried to clear the false images from my mind, but the pheromones were wreaking havoc on my senses. Blinding light and crushing darkness whirled around me, and I could scarcely tell down from up. I closed my eyes and listened.

Mary was panting heavily, but I also heard the stealthy breaths of the cuslohoth behind me.

Footsteps crunched softly through the leaves. Mary began hyperventilating.

“Look out!” she screamed, but I was already turning. The cuslohoth leaped, and I plowed my blade into its furred throat, then tossed its corpse aside triumphantly.

That was when the second cuslohoth sank its teeth into my shoulder. It yanked me around, slamming me into a root, and everything went numb. I tried pushing myself upright, but it gripped me harder and shook. I screamed as my flesh tore and paralyzing pain exploded through me.

Thunder crashed once, then twice more, and the weight on my back disappeared. Panting with pain and exhaustion, I slowly looked around, expecting another cuslohoth to leap at my throat. But the second monster lay gasping on the ground, bleeding from three bullet wounds in its side.

I looked over at Mary, who held my gun in surprisingly steady hands. She locked eyes with me, and I asked the question that sprang to mind.

“Who taught you how to shoot?”

Mary lowered the pistol and gave me a timid smile.

“My daddy taught me. ‘Fore he died. He said every girl needs to know how to shoot.”

I let out a painful, shaky breath and stood up.

“He was right.” I gently took the weapon from her. “Come on then, I think it’s time we get our newest cryptid hunter back home.” She slipped her little hand into mine, and we headed back to the trail. Slowly, I felt a smile grow across my face.

Maybe the next generation still held promise, after all.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ryan Bush has dabbled in a variety of trades and mastered none of them, so now he writes fantasy stories. His beautiful wife once said she enjoyed a short story he wrote, and he’s been chasing that high ever since. His works range from epic fantasy novels to humorous short stories, and he tries to blend his Christian faith with entertaining, uplifting tales.

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