The following is a little horror short story of mine.
At dusk a trapper headed back to his hut in the forest after a long day in the wild. On
the way, his dog began to act strangely, growling for no apparent reason. He refused
to accompany his master and suddenly ran off in fright.
The trapper chased after his dog, trying to catch up, but alas, the thicket of the forest
slowed him down too much. Suddenly, he tripped and rolled down a steep slope.
He woke up surrounded by darkness. Pure darkness, at that.
“I must have lost consciousness,” was his first thought. His head was aching, and his
right foot was bruised. He lit his trusty lantern, which still dangled from his backpack.
He had to find his dog, but it was pitch black and he had lost his sense of direction.
Although his head was still spinning, he crawled out of the ditch and soon realized he
was back on a main path.
Yet he failed to notice that no stars were twinkling, no clouds drifted across the sky,
no moonlight shone on this Corn Moon night. No wind was blowing. Not even insects
or forest creatures made a sound.
The injured man, relieved to have found the path again, stumbled forward. He
searched desperately for a landmark, a tree or bush he knew o so well. What else
could he do but continue on this unfamiliar path, hoping it would lead him to his hut?
It was a dead-straight trail flanked by towering trees. No eyes lurked at him, just
darkness pressing in around his little lantern.
Lo and behold — a glimmering light far, far ahead on the path.
This worried our trapper. He lived as a hermit deep in the wilderness, and his hut
was the only speck of civilization in this part of the world. Who could possibly be out
here?
He drew his Tomahawk, just to be safe, and gripped it firmly. Extinguishing his
lantern and fastening it silently to avoid any noise, he crept toward the distant light
like a moth to a flame.
As he came closer, he saw a man — some kind of pilgrim — kneeling by a lantern.
Beside him lay the trapper’s beloved hound, drenched in blood.
Overcome by emotion, the trapper didn’t hesitate. He struck the axe deep into the
stranger’s back. The moment the blade hit soft flesh, the pilgrim’s lantern tipped over
and darkness engulfed them.
He was surrounded by pure blackness once again.
Fumbling for a few moments, the trapper relit his own lantern to see what had
become of his foe. But to his shock — there was no one there.
Only his dog lay slaughtered in the middle of the road.
Had he fallen into a frenzy and killed his own trail mate?
Devastated, the trapper knelt down and placed his lantern beside the lifeless body of
his beloved hound. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
After his sorrow subsided, he tried to stand and gather his things — but to his horror,
his body no longer obeyed his will. Only his mind remained lucid. He could do
nothing but stare at his dog’s face, which now seemed to grin wickedly at him.
Frozen in place, he became aware of what was to come.
He heard the soft, muted footsteps of a trapper’s gait approaching from behind.
And he knew only one person who could walk with such a smooth, gliding fox-step
as that.
END