The Hunt
It is a moonless, starless night when the beasts hunt. Half man, half demon, they are monsters found only in the deepest, darkest memories of history. They live in gutters, sewers, parks, hiding scattered among us in our city, feeding on trash, roadkill, stray animals. They are scavengers but only because need dictates it be so. By their true nature they are hunters, ruthless killers even, yet they could never survive were their existence out in the open; they are unable to adapt to this era so far removed from their own time of thriving. The people of this city don't know what lurks in the shadows, they don't see the glowing eyes that glare at them from dark alleys, don't hear the low hissing sounds. Those few who are aware do their best to keep it from becoming public and, even though they know they are in no danger, always look over their shoulders. Those in the know carry a heavy weight. There is something they don't see, though; something only I can tell you, because I am the only one to have witnessed it.
On the night of the new moon they hunt. They gather in the woods surrounding the city on three sides, speaking to each other in a language that is surprisingly beautiful, no trace of the guttural grunts one would expect; they dance, they mate, they talk, and then they split to pairs and, no other word for it, transform. I have stared in awe as their stance, their aura changes and they become what they truly are. Predators. They disappear in the blink of an eye and when they return, each of them carries a corpse. Usually, it is a human, mauled almost beyond recognition in a way that makes even my stomach turn. Then, they feast.
Who the victims are I never know. The city is fairly large and has its share of homeless and desolate people, faces no one would miss unless it was about an unpaid debt; then again, there are a great many smaller residential areas, even some farms, near the woods. As it is, it hardly matters. When a human dies, there is no bringing them back, and knowing the identity of the prey makes no difference.
Tonight is the same. I have once again followed them; for all the futility and danger of it, I find myself fascinated by the creatures, and have been studying them for months. Sometimes I think the alpha male, who I've monitored the most closely, knows of my presence, but I cannot be sure for he has never acknowledged me. To tell the truth, I am beginning to wonder whether they are too intelligent for any other race to understand, or if perhaps it is merely my own shortcoming. Whichever the reality, I crave to know these beings like I was one of them. I hope, one day, I am able to communicate with them.
The journey into the woods always gives me shivers, an involuntary grimace marring my features at the sight of the high tower illuminated by streetlamps. Why they insist on travelling through the part of the graveyard closest to the church I cannot fathom. All thoughts of distaste are soon abandoned, however, as they begin the rituals of their gathering. Entranced, I watch, feeling a wave of excitement ripple through me, grip me with a steady hand as they prepare for the hunt. How I enjoy this play, watching from the shadows each time. They are ready, and I am more alert than ever before. Smirking, the alpha male turns until he is looking straight at me.
It takes a moment to realise; I am now the prey, and I have been given a warning. It's a game they like to play, I remember the observation absently. Showing themselves and then letting the victim run. A laugh rises in my throat; I'm exhilarated, somehow. They will not find me the easiest catch. I let my senses free, the real me out, taking off in a run.
It is a moonless, starless night when the beasts hunt, and tonight they have changed the rules of the game, pursuing another beast as one. The chase is on.
Blessings of the muse
Stumble!