“Never go outside at night,” the mad mother always said. “The Dark Woods hide secrets and secret-keepers that you’ll never see coming. Those that thrive on wickedness show their true selves, unable to hide from their evil. And eventually, if you’re not careful, you’ll become one of them, too.”
The late summer evening was hot. A watery crescent moon watched from above, its distorted beams cast eerie reflections through the forest canopy and illuminated the dense underbrush far below like a silvery, crystal-faceted filter. The colorless flora and fauna were still in the muggy air. Waiting. Sounds and activity, little though they were at this hour, fell silent as a cloaked figure drifted deeper into the foliage in pursuit of the second predator in the wood.
That second, larger hunter was on the run. Its body was of a large, hulking frame, with menacingly curved horns protruding from its hairy head. Claws the size of carving knives and just as sharp tore dirt out of the forest floor, leaving a muddy, blood-soaked trail. Fear drove the beast forward, heaved its muscled body across creeks and over logs, desperate to escape its fate: the cloaked character following quietly along behind.
At last the trees opened, and the beast burst into a grassy clearing, clutching the wound in its abdomen. It did not bother running further, for it knew the act was futile. All the same, the primitive, bone-deep instinct to survive screamed within to fight, fight until the last breath wheezes out of your lungs. Fear fought with determination, wrought with unending pain. Flashes of a life unlived flew through its animalistic mind, so akin to that of a human’s. Now, in the end, basic proclivity sang its final song. And so the beast rose on dirty paws and bared its teeth at the figure across the clearing.
The figure had stopped, watching the beast’s slow death. The sticky air was rich with the smell of the monster’s heavy, troubled breaths, and laced with the sharp tang of putrid flesh. Its fur-covered skin was rapidly turning a vibrant shade of caterpillar-green. Infection from the enchanted poison coursed through its veins, slowing its nervous system. The poison was breaking the monster down from the inside out. The heart would be an easy target now.
After a few moments, the beast’s ugly expression wavered, and the creature fell to its knees, not entirely of its own volition. A whimper of agony, then it was paralyzed — bones dissolving in seconds. Moving forward, the figure held their breath and reached into the cloak folds. In one last attempt to defend itself, the beast lurched over. The movement snapped its weakened spine as easily as a doe stepped on a twig, and in a roar of pain, the beast collapsed.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The figure was there now, timing the kill, shoving the beast on its back to kneel closer.
“Who are you?” the beast questioned with faint breath.
The last look on its face was one of surprise as the hood lowered and a female’s somber face emerged.
“I’m the Beast Hunter,” she answered, and plunged a dagger into the beast’s heart.
The blade shoved in, in, in until all that was left was the embossed leather hilt, on the end a delicately carved ruby-red rose. All remaining light faded from the monster’s midnight eyes, and before long he was dead. The woman extracted her blade and shed the stifling wool cloak before getting to work. There were predators in these woods, no matter how silent it seemed or how alone one felt.
Covering her nose against the stench, Rose began hacking through rotten innards. Action warded away emotions, and the apathetic facade she was barely holding onto called for distraction. Distraction in the form of field dressing an enormous beast was adequate enough. Removing a heart was harder than it sounded — slicing through rubbery tissue and vein systems, not to mention the fur. The weakened, crumbling ribcage posed no challenge, though the smell certainly did. Poison was no clean weapon.
At last there was a clear path to the dormant organ. With one clean cut, Rose sliced it free. More acrid air wafted out, and she stifled a gag. Without preamble, she lifted the lukewarm heart and plopped it onto the cloak. It was the only reason she had worn the awful thing. Now that it had served its purpose as cover, the more important job was now to conceal the heart. She’d made the mistake with the second beast; revealing that she was, in fact, a woman. Eight-foot-tall monsters tended to ridicule females who claimed to have come to kill them. All in all, it was a risky business, and each hunt proposed another easier way to make the mission go smoother. Like wearing a lighter cloak.
That reminded her. Rose felt around the garment, came upon the pocket and withdrew a slightly crumpled rose. She laid it carefully on the beast’s chest cavity, as empty as she imagined her own.
Only the heartless steal hearts, and she lost hers long ago.
Rose sighed through her mouth and hoisted the wrapped heart over her shoulder. Looked up at the ever-present moon.
Three down, four to go.