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Expand Up @@ -52,6 +52,17 @@ <h1>Fiction</h1>
height="500px"
/>The Wood Cutter</a
>

<a
href="./stories/the-deer-hunter/the-deer-hunter.html"
class="cover-image-container"
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class="story-cover-image"
src="../../assets/the-deer-hunter-cover.jpg"
alt="Story Cover"
height="500px"
/>The Deer Hunter</a
>
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<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8" />
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0" />
<title>The Deer Hunter</title>
<link rel="stylesheet" href="../../../../style.css" />
</head>
<body>
<main class="fiction-article-container">
<div class="header-container">
<header>
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<ul class="navigation">
<li class="nav-to-home">
<a href="../../../../index.html">Frustrated Cat</a>
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<a href="../../fiction.html">Fiction</a>
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<li class="li-gap">
<a href="../../../articles/articles.html">Articles</a>
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<li class="li-gap">
<a href="../../../photography/photography.html">Photography</a>
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<li class="li-gap">
<a href="../../../reading-list/reading-list.html"
>Reading List</a
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<h1>The Deer Hunter</h1>
<h2>By Jared Brown</h2>
<a
class="download-file"
href="./The Deer Hunter - Jared Brown.epub"
download
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>
<p class="fiction-article-description">
The distant hills were calling to him before the sunrise as he stepped
out onto the wet grass. Lighting a match, he watched the flame flicker
in the coarse breeze that buffeted his being. The flame danced and
struggled against the breeze, a ballet on the precipice of hell, and
before it shed its last light and succumbed to the soft touch of death,
he lit his lantern. Dropping the dead match to the ground beside his
boots wet with dew, he set off on the long march to the deep forest in
the hills beyond. Hidden within the hills was a mossy ravine rich with
life. It was there that he would go, seeking out that life so that he
and his family may survive through the winter months that the wind was
bringing. He had not been home from the war long even though it had
ended months prior as word didn't travel with much pace, and with an
army spread thin all about the ruinous land, word sometimes seemed as if
it didn't move at all. The sun came slowly upon the horizon to little
effect as the clouds were a thick ceiling separating the heather from
the heavens. All about him was gray and dead, the barren countryside
once ripe with an ephemeral glow now lay hunched and aged years beyond
his reckoning. The day brought little in the way of life, so the many
continued on with his slow march. When he reached a village he believed
was called Clover just outside of the forest he looked forward to seeing
some of his old acquaintances that he had hunted with from time to time
over the years, but within its premises he found no one. He stalked
about and found the village deserted. Where had everyone gone, he
thought, and then he saw the blood on the walls. His heart fell as he
figured the war had come through and emptied the village as had happened
with so many others, but it must have been a while ago as he found that
the corn had been planted and stand unharvested and dead in the field. A
strange feeling crept over him as he stood among the dead stalks with a
menagerie of scarecrows staring at him. Not at him of course, but it
seemed so. He stepped close to the nearest one and inspected its odd
man-like build and raggedy old clothes covered in grit and grime and
blood. They must've used old clothes from the hog harvest, he thought as
he looked at the bloodstained sack about the scarecrow's head. A deep
chill reached deep into his being and he stepped back from the creation.
Leaving the cornfield and moving to the edge of the forest he looked
back to find the scarecrows facing toward him. He paused for only a
moment and said to himself, “wind must've shifted 'em,” even though the
wind hadn't changed directions. He put them in the back of his mind and
carried on into the forest, for the daylight would soon wane and he had
no desire to be lost within the trees on a cold night. It was dark in
the forest, the ravine would be even more so, and the wind whipped at
the tree limbs above and about him as the trees creaked and croaked in
agony at the coming weather. He moved cautiously through the trees and
across the mossy earth as he approached the ravine. The wind was a bit
calmer this far below the canopy and he moved silently as he listened
for the movement of deer. Time would pass slowly here, and so he sat
upon the moss against a large oak, its thick bark showing its ancient
age well. After a while he heard the rustling of footsteps off from the
direction he had come, but they didn't sound like that of deer or any
other creature lurking the ravine, but of a man. Odd as it seemed since
he didn't find anyone in the village, he assumed he just missed someone
and they had come along behind him to join the hunt. That was good, he
thought, he could use the company, and two rifles were better than one.
The slow steps echoed throughout the ravine as they moved closer, then
they stopped. The fellow probably just stopped to take in the scenery
and get his bearings, and so he stood up to go back towards his new
companion. As he began to move he heard a rustling in the leaves and
knew it to be that of a deer, so he stayed still, readying his rifle.
Closer the animal crept, closer and closer until he could see it faintly
through the trees, and so he watched it move toward him, unaware of his
presence, unaware of its death. The man considered for a moment how
death sits and waits on you to come to it ever so slowly. He saw it time
and again during the war. Death would sit still and a fool in his terror
would spring out into the open and hot lead would pierce every inch of
his being until he was prostrate upon the battlefield, though not him,
only his corpse, for a dead man is no longer part of his physical being,
he leaves it behind for death to dismantle as it saw fit, and then he
would go on into whatever eternity had for him, if anything. Raising his
rifle he waited for the deer to come just out from behind a tree that
hid its shoulder from his eyes. Taking in the sight of the deer as it
stepped from behind the tree, he saw that it was a small buck, probably
four points from the looks of it, but he'd have to wait and see. For
now, he was content with the size of the young buck and decided to take
it, and with the crack of his rifle the buck sprang up, convulsed, and
sprinted off into the trees. He stayed still for a moment, reloading his
rifle in case he would need to take a second shot. Walking over to where
the buck had stood when he fired, he found the blood trail to be good
and so he waited a moment to listen for it to crash to the ground, and
as he heard it echo throughout the ravine his thoughts drifted back to
death waiting for the living to come to it, just as the soldier, just as
the deer. Fortunate for him, the deer had run toward the edge of the
wood, making the journey back home slightly shorter as he would not have
to travel deeper into the forest. As he followed the blood trail he
began to hear the footsteps from earlier again. Sure that it must be
another hunter he called out to him, “come, friend, help me with this
buck and I'll share it with you,” but no response came. This made him
feel uneasy, but perhaps his new companion could not hear him, or he
could not hear the response. Either way, he made no qualms about it and
carried on with his business. When he found it, the buck lay dead there
on the mossy earth, a stream of blood running down its fur onto the
ground. He wanted to be quick with it as daylight would not last much
longer and he did not want to be trying to find his way out of the
forest in the night. Taking some rope from his pack and a strong, green
branch about three feet in length, he tied the buck's hind legs at each
end of the branch. Tossing the remainder of the rope over a large
branch, he hoisted the buck up off the ground and began gutting and
skinning it. The work was quick as he was able, experienced, and had a
sharp knife, but daylight began to quickly fade and so he lit his
lantern once again and worked up his hunt by its light. When he had
finished packing the meat in his pack and rolling up the hide, he untied
the rope and let the remainder of the carcass fall into a pile by his
feet. Death was patient, he said to himself as he looked down at the
pile of guts and bones swimming in blood, death is slow. As he began to
move towards the forest edge, he realized he hadn't heard the footsteps
in a while. Odd as it seemed, he paid it little mind as perhaps the
other hunter simply went off a different direction. He walked slow,
taking careful steps by the lamp light, for the moon would be of no aid
this night. He had not walked a dozen steps when a silhouette appeared
before him in the trees. The shadowed figure stood there, not hidden,
not hiding, it just stood there unmoving in the open as if waiting. “Hi
there, friend, lost your way in the trees?” he said to no response.
“Friend?” he said again as he approached slowly. Cautiously, cautiously
he moved towards the man until his light was upon it, and as the light
moved up its being he stepped back in horror at the sight of the
scarecrow. His heart raced as he stepped back back back until he tripped
and fell to the mossy floor. Gathering himself quickly he looked up to
see the fiend running at him, and with a scream he grabbed his rifle and
fired. The shot struck true and the demon fell back just out of the
lantern's grasp. He lay still on the moss for a moment as the terror had
overtaken him entirely, then he reloaded his rifle once again. Taking up
the lantern he moved toward the scarecrow where it lay dead on the
ground, but there was no blood. Pulling the sack off of its head he
found it to be the head of no man, for it had no face at all. “What is
this!” he gasped as he dropped the sack to the ground and stepped back.
He stood unmoving, unable to will his body to take a single step. He
just stood there as the breeze coming through the trees caressed him,
held him loosely, gave dance to his light. Soft footsteps sounded behind
him, he turned not to look, he just ran, but ran in vain he did, for
death waits for the living.
</p>
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