The Hunter

a short story by Jacob Ryckman

The helicopter flew low over the corn fields, the wind from the rotors bending the stalks down to the cold, hard earth. The sun hung low over the horizon, slowly descending the world into darkness. The captain’s breath fogged in front of him, the icy temperatures forcing him and all of the other men, despite their heavy equipment, to shiver. 

He looked out over to the corn fields. It was a small mission they had been tasked with – only four soldiers total, plus two pilots. They were headed to a castle, one of many in this part of the country: ages ago, the initial settlers had thought themselves kings, and built ridiculously large fortifications that had since fallen to ruin. The one of particular importance to them was known as Castle Black. A few years back some rich kids had bought it out, given it the new name, and turned it into a kind of year-round Renaissance festival.

A week ago, all contact with the castle was lost.

From what the report said, this wasn’t entirely uncommon – the residents might close the castle down for a few days, clean things up, get things ready for another big round of partying. But these sorts of things were announced, planned; they didn’t just happen in the middle of a tourist season. Initially, some officers had been dispatched to just do a wellness check. Make sure nobody had gotten themselves too drunk.

But then the officers went missing, too.

Suspicious ran wild. The locals of course thought the place had become haunted by the original inhabitants. There were rumors of hearing ghosts, of people witnessing a dragon flying overhead…all wild stories meant to frighten and bewilder.

The local authorities thought it might be an insurgent group – those had been cropping up lately. Right-wing nuts thinking that taking over a town meant they were kings. Well, taking over a castle would certainly give them that superiority complex they were always trying to fulfill. Since nothing could be verified via satellite imagery, the captain and his men were being sent in to investigate.

“Remember, our job is to go in there and rescue any of the civilians we encounter,” he shouted to the other soldiers. “This is a rescue mission, not a firefight! Is that understood!?!” 

“Sir, yes, sir!” came the monotonous shout. 

The helicopter landed a mile away from the castle. In the dying light, it looked almost ghostly, with ancient precipices and looming towers. A few flags flew above the walls, adorned with shapes and colors too far away to distinguish. The captain gripped his gun tight. There was something that seemed not right about this. 

They split up into two groups of two, trekking across the fields towards the colossal walls. On closer inspection, the castle looked almost ruined; holes ravaged the sides as if from old battles, and the large oak doors were loose and greeted them with a haunting wave. A cold wind howled through the gaps, and the captain understood the rumors of ghosts – it certainly sounded like the wailing of some lost, lonely spirit. Again he had the creeping sensation that something was very, very wrong.

The soldiers entered the castle cautiously, in case there were other men with guns waiting for them. Instead, only silence greeted them.

The front courtyard was completely empty, but it looked like it had been left in a hurry. Stalls selling novelty crap like plastic swords had been knocked over, their contents spilling out onto the ground. The captain noticed a beer stein shattered on the cobblestones, the contents long-since having soaked into the ground.

“Split up,” he ordered in a low whisper. “Cruz and Loeffler, take the west side. Jenkins, you’re with me. We’ll take the east side. Meet up at the north tower, and report anything you see.” The men nodded, and the two groups went their separate ways. 

The captain’s team slowly made their way through the entrance to the main hall, checking every nook, every cranny, for any sign of life. Like in the front courtyard, there were certainly signs that people had been here at one time – belongings dropped to the ground, stale food rotting away. It all looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry.

They arrived at the main dining hall without incident. The heavy doors were closed shut; when Jenkins tried to kick them down, he achieved nothing but falling down and stubbing his toe with an angry swear. Even when both men put all their force into the door, it refused to budge.

“There should be another way inside, sir,” Private Jenkins said. “I studied the layout during the briefing; there should be a service tunnel leading into it from that nearby tower.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

They trudged over towards the tower in the darkness. The bitter cold made them both shiver, despite the many layers they were wearing. Up above, he heard the sound of a hawk screeching into the night.

He looked up. A hawk? In the middle of the night? He shuddered again, only this time not from the cold. “Status report?” he spoke into his earpiece. “Cruz, Loeffler, how are things looking?”

“Nice and quiet, boss, sir,” Cruz said, his voice sounding slightly fragmented from the static. “Lot of abandoned stuff, but no sign of people living or dead. Anything on your end, boss?”

“Not yet. Jenkins and I have to find an alternate route to the dining hall – the doors are blocked. We’ll keep you posted. Stay sharp.”

The tower door, luckily, was open, swinging in the wind. The two soldiers stepped cautiously forward – to the captain, it smelled of a trap. He waved Jenkins forward first – the younger man dove forward into the structure, spinning in a hurry to meet any potential threat. “Clear, sir!” he whispered, just loud enough for the captain to hear him.

The inside of the tower was narrow, with a spiral staircase dominating most of the space. Unlike the outside, there were no signs of life at all here – it looked as if the tower had been swept clean. The captain was honestly relieved to find nothing, though a creeping sensation of concern still echoed in the back of his mind. It was like a mosquito bite: hardly consequential, but ever-present, and ever-annoying.

They made their way down the steps, having to take it one at a time. Even so, the captain’s rifle kept banging against the wall, the sound echoing loudly in the cramped area. The silence was unnerving.

The bottom of the stairs led to a tunnel leading in two directions. “Which way, Private?” the captain asked.

“Erm, I…I think this way, sir.” He looked nervous, obviously not entirely sure of himself.

They began following the way the private pointed.

“Don’t stress, Jenkins.” The captain patted his comrade’s shoulder comfortingly and began to talk with him, partly to break the young man’s tension and partly to ease his own. “You’re the youngest on the squad, yeah?”

“I’m only twenty, sir, yes.”

The captain whistled quietly. “Impressive. This your first assignment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah, don’t be nervous, kid. I’ve been on plenty of assignments. You’re doing just fine.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What do you reckon happened here?”

The young man pondered a moment. “Maybe they abandoned the place. It was a Renaissance fair type of business, right? Maybe holding the castle got to be too expensive for them, so they jumped ship and bailed before anyone could come and collect the debt.”

“Not a bad thought, Jenkins.” Actually, it was a terrible thought, but the captain was trying to help him feel better. This much tension on a mission was never a good thing. “What about all the stuff out in the courtyard, though? You telling me they abandoned ship in the middle of nightly festivities?”

“Possibly, sir. Maybe they tried to make it look like a situation, so as not to arouse suspicious into their follies?”

“Awful lot of big words, Private, and I’m just a- shit!” He held out a hand and stopped Jenkins.

A body sat against the wall some feet in front of them.

In the edge of their lamplight, it was clear that something had happened – the pants were torn in many places, the shirt was in rags, and the person’s body seemed almost shriveled down to the bone. The captain stepped forward, holding his breath. So much for nothing, he thought to himself.

The body moved, and the captain nearly screamed aloud.

The body, as it turned out, was not yet a corpse, but a very sallow, very sickly-looking man. His hair was almost entirely gone, and as he turned to face the two soldiers they saw that his eyes were not but dull orbs in wide sockets. He blinked in their lamplight, shielding his face with skeletal fingers.

As the private rushed forward to provide aid, the captain attempted to radio the others. “We found someone,” he said. “I repeat, we found someone below the castle. Cruz, Loeffler, do you copy?”

Silence.

“D-d” The shriveled man attempted to speak.

“Here, have some water.” Jenkins pulled a flask from his waist and gave it to the man. He consumed it with vigor, draining the entire container.

“All dead,” he croaked out, when he had found his voice.

“All dead?” Jenkins inquired. “What do you mean.”

“They’re all…all dead. The creature…it took them.”

The captain pulled Jenkins away. “We can’t necessarily take this man’s word for granted,” he whispered. “He’s half-starved, half-dead…there’s no telling what sort of mental state he’s in. Let’s just get him to the surface and get out of here.” He turned to the man and spoke more loudly. “Sir, we’re going to get you some help. Can you stand?”

The man shook his head, and together both Jenkins and the captain lifted the man, taking an arm each around their shoulders. “What happened here, sir?”

“D-dead,” the man repeated.

The captain tried to radio the other soldiers again. “Cruz, Loeffler, can you hear me?”

Again, he was met only with silence.

“T-too loud,” the man gasped. “W-we were t-too loud. We f-found the room. T-the trapdoor. T-thought it would b-be f-fun to…t-to…” He fell silent, exhausted from the effort.

“Do you hear that, sir?” Jenkins asked nervously.

The captain shuddered, but said nothing. He heard it, all right. There was something – someone – coming from behind them, and quickly. It almost sounded like the rushing of water, but surely that couldn’t be-

A great force grabbed the man and yanked him backwards into the darkness, sending the captain and Jenkins to the ground. “No!” Jenkins cried out. From the darkness, the sound of rushing water and movement continued.

“Run, private! Make for the tower!”

The captain looked back just in time to see the private break rank, grabbing his rifle and pointing into the darkness. He saw something and began shooting at it, shouting angrily. A moment later, the captain watched as what appeared to be a giant shadowy hand snatch Jenkins and drag him into the shadows.

The captain turned and ran with all his might, terrified. In his many years of service, he had never seen anything like that. It defied explanation.

The sound of something rushing toward him grew louder. Panicked, he tore a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and dropped it behind him. A few moments later there was a loud popping sound as the grenade went off, and the captain inwardly let out a sigh of relief as the rushing sound ceased. He reached the spiral staircase that marked the tower and propelled himself up the steps.

In the open air at last, he tried once more to radio his fellow soldiers. “Cruz, Loeffler, Jenkins! Does anyone copy!?”

Again, there was only silence.

The sound of rushing water shocked him to his senses, and he spun around, gun drawn. A freakish sort of giant hand smashed its way out of the doorway, clawing at him. For a moment the captain thought the hand was made of water – only when his bullets passed harmlessly through it did he realize it was made of shadows.

Shouting, he turned and made for the main hall. The door was open – what had opened it, he did not know, and frankly at this point he did not care. He bolted inside, grabbed the brass handle, and slammed the door shut. For a moment the shadowy hand pressed against the giant oak door, and the captain was forced to put his full weight against it. Then the pressure stopped, and the captain let out a sigh of relief.

Not too much relief, granted. He understood his situation was dire. His men had seemingly been taken, and he was the sole survivor. He took stock of his surroundings.

The dining hall was long, extending nearly half the length of a football field. Multiple large tables ran the length of this room. It looked like it had been swept clean – there was not a plate or cup to be seen. Yet the captain could not shake the feeling that something was off.

He felt something drip onto his shoulder from above. Dread filling his gut, he looked up.

Hanging from metal hooks, like some sort of twisted chandelier, were dozens of human skeletons. Their bony forms were still clothed, though many of their clothes looked ripped or torn in some way. Though initially he hoped that maybe it had just been some sort of weird decoration from the Renaissance fairs, the captain noticed with grim acceptance that several of the skeletons wore the uniforms of local police officers. 

The flutter of wings in the darkness startled him, and he drew out a knife. “Come out, you freak!” he shouted. “Come out and fight me like a man!” 

He had not expected the creature to have a voice, its speech deep and ancient as the rumbling of a volcano. “But I am no man. Why should I have to fight you?” it said, its voice echoing throughout the chamber. “When there are so many others who can fight you for me?” 

The sound of creaking bones pierced the silence, and in horror the captain watched as the skeletons began to move, unhooking themselves from the chains and dropping down to the floor. Red orbs glowed in the sockets of their eyes, glaring menacingly through the shadows. Though they all turned to stare at him, they did not move from their spots. They merely stood there, silently, waiting. 

From the other side of the room an orb of light shattered the darkness and revealed the form of the creature. It was dragon-like in appearance, as if someone had placed the wings of a hawk on the shoulders of an ancient dinosaur. Its body was covered in a fine brown fur, and its tail, cat-like and flexible, swayed in the air. There was darkness in its eyes, a darkness the captain had never seen before. “What are you!?!” he shouted, holding his knife in front of him. “Some kind of dragon? A demon? What!?!” 

“I am no demon,” the beast said, slowly stepping towards him. “Nor am I a dragon, nor a ghost, nor any other creature you could possibly think of.” It paused, and the orb of light vanished without a trace. “I am a hunter.” The captain’s last vision was that of fire, and of the skeletons swarming around him as he burned. 

Nobody from the nearby towns was watching the castle that night. A few had heard the gunfire, but none could imagine the scene that lay before them when they awoke. A military helicopter lay in ruins just outside the castle walls. Men in uniform, vanished. The castle itself looked as if it had been lain siege to, with the walls blown apart, towers collapsed, and fires blazing within the halls. The local townspeople joked that the castle had been attacked by a dragon, but inwardly they were all terrified by what had happened. Collectively they agreed to tear the castle down, and soon the matter was all forgotten.

A few months later, many miles away at a neighboring castle, the police were called to investigate a strange situation. The entire family that had been living there had suddenly gone missing…