“Wanna learn how to set a snare trap?”

“Mhm.”

Callum and his father were deep in the woods, their tent and cold campfire set in a clearing they had frequented many times before. This was their annual father-son outing, a treasured time to escape and bond over the quiet peace of the forest. At least, it was supposed to be.

He was in his teens, that hectic time when hormones ran wild and mood swings were a commonality. He’d just gotten into a huge argument with his dad before the trip, something about taking independence and not taking him seriously.

Deep down, he regretted it. He wanted to apologize to his father but couldn’t find the courage to do so. He worried his father might hate him for the way he acted, and that he would leave Callum for being so disrespectful.

In truth, he was grateful to his father. He was both the breadwinner and homemaker of the family. Although it was only he and his dad living together for the past decade, his father, Eric, still worked all day just to give Callum a comfortable life.

He didn’t know if his father sensed his genuine effort in thinking of an apology, or his anxious mind that his father would hate him. However, he did know that his father was trying to lift his spirit.

With a gentle hand, his father patted his shoulder and walked inside the woods.

“C’mon. I’ll show you how to make it.”

Callum followed. A few minutes later, he was learning how to tie a knot on a bent stick. His dad had shown him how to do it, and it was his turn to try.

He worked quietly, his dad silent to give him the concentration he needed. Only the rustle of leaves and the occasional call of birds could be heard in the forest as he tried to focus on his task, yet his mind still lingered on their argument.

With a sigh, Callum finally found the confidence to say what had been on his mind for the whole trip.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“There’s no need to say sorry for not getting it right the first time.” His father replied with a soft chuckle, giving Callum a gentle pat on the back for what he thought was an apology for his ineptitude in tying knots.

It was a few seconds later that Callum said something again.

“It’s not that… I’m sorry for what I said before the trip.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” His father said quietly, getting closer to Callum and crouching with him to look at his sorry attempt at a snare.

Callum continued his work, still feeling guilty about what he said to his father. Although his father’s eyes were fixed on Callum’s hands laboring away, he could sense his attention on him. As if feeling his unease, his father spoke his mind.

“You don’t need to feel bad for what you said to me. I’m not gonna get mad at you forever. It’s part of being a family.” His father said as he tried to show Callum how to tie the rope for the snare.

“You know, I’ve said some shit to my parents too. And I felt bad for it. But feeling bad for what you did means you know what you did wrong. So there’s no need to apologize because I know that guilt you feel shows how much you care.”

As if a weight had lifted off his shoulders, Callum felt lighter, his earlier fears dissolving. He smiled softly as he watched his father’s hands deftly set the snare, his mind a calm pond compared to the storm it had been.

***

While Callum set the snare trap in the forest, memories of his father teaching him how to make it came flooding back. He could still vividly recall his father’s instructions and the feel of his hands guiding him through the steps for the first time.

His hands worked deftly as he fashioned the trap with the rope he’d salvaged from the wrecked village. The sun was just starting to set when Callum finished his last snare of the day, hoping to catch something at first light. He reasoned that making more traps would increase his chances of finding something to eat come morning, his stomach echoing his sentiment.

As he walked back to a small clearing he had found, Callum picked up some dry sticks. He had begun setting up a little campsite before making the traps, with a shallow ditch surrounded by stones already dug at the corner of the glade.

He laid the sticks in a neat pile and retrieved his flint and steel from his travel bag. A few minutes later, Callum was staring at an orange fire dancing in its home. He could feel the warmth it provided, easing the tension he didn’t know he had been carrying since he’d left the village.

Although he didn’t need the warmth, Callum still made the campfire to ground himself in his humanity. Deep down, he feared that embracing his undead qualities would lead him further away from who he once was. It was little moments like these that brought Callum comfort from his weary mind. A moment that he used to share with the one he looked up to the most.

As the sun disappeared, the chill of night descended. The cold wasn’t a bother to Callum in the slightest, his body already freezing to anyone else. Yet, he still scooched closer to the fire, enjoying the warmth it provided.

Minutes went by as Callum’s mind was occupied by memories he’d gone through a million times before. His hand fed the fire, tossing dry sticks in its flame. It popped, sending embers into the air which drifted along the wind until it disappeared.

He had tried to come to terms with his father’s disappearance a long time ago, accepting that he might never be found. Yet, even in his absence, the memories they made together still lived on. Callum felt a bittersweet warmth, a small smile forming as he replayed every interaction with his dad.

The night was serene, the glade acting as a temporary sanctuary. The sound of crickets filled his ears, accompanied by the faint flowing water of the river just a few walks away from his haven. Then, the night wore on.

Callum only noticed he had been staring at his campfire for the whole evening when the first rays of sun met his eyes. His perception of time seemed to have been affected during his days of death.

It was only natural, Callum thought. The only thing that time served during his years as a corpse was the slow crawl toward eternity. If he hadn't risen from the dead, his mind would have broken itself, unable to keep the calm facade he had been maintaining for decades. Coupled with the fact that he can’t feel tired or drowsy, Callum would naturally forget to sleep the night away.

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“I guess it’s time to see if I caught anything this morning,” Callum muttered in a sigh.

With a stretch, Callum stood up. He took a handful of dirt in his hands and threw it at the campfire to put it out. Seeing that the flame has died, Callum sets off towards the forest once again.

His steps were hurried, his stomach grumbling louder as he neared his first trap. He was excited at the notion of eating again, wondering what flavors the world could offer now that there were mythical creatures around him. However, when he got to the trap he was disappointed to find the rope had been chewed through, leaving the snare empty and useless.

It was unlucky. Still, he had set up six traps yesterday, and he hoped at least one would have his quarry. With spirits high, Callum headed toward his second trap of the day, his mind already turning over ways to cook his first meal. However, he was disappointed again when the second trap failed to capture anything.

“Good thing I made six,” Callum chuckled, hoping the next trap would be more successful.

Yet, the next one didn’t hold much promise either, and the next, and the next. With each trap he found either broken or empty, Callum’s spirits fell. His steps slowed as he neared the last trap, his expectations low to keep himself from being discouraged.

Then he heard it—a small squeak and the rustle of leaves just ahead, where his last trap was set. Callum’s heart pounded as he hurried over, his thoughts pushed aside in anticipation. And there, struggling in his snare, was a jackalope, biting frantically at the rope.

Callum lets out a guffaw, proud of himself for catching something with the trap he made. Like a kid on Christmas day, Callum’s hand moved quickly, claiming the present that life had given him. He couldn’t keep the grin from forming on his face as his hands held the jackalope at bay.

The hare with antlers at its head struggled in his grasp, its antlers attempting to poke his palm as he tried to get his other hand firmly grasped on its head.

“Sorry, little one. I hope your soul rests knowing that you’ve provided something even after death,” Callum said to the jackalope, offering a solemn nod before twisting his hand and ending its struggle.

The jackalope lay still in his grasp as Callum offered a silent prayer before heading back to camp. His hunger grew as he made his way toward the glade, each step amplifying the rumble of his stomach and the growing urge to eat the prey in his hands.

He could feel his mouth watering, a bit of drool escaping as he reached his campsite. His mind fixated on one thing and one thing only: to eat and satisfy his hunger. He had his meal right in his hands, and he knew that a single bite would begin to fill the aching void in his stomach.

Before he knew it, his hand moved on its own, lifting the quarry to his face as his eyes dilated and traced every inch of the creature’s form with ravenous intent. His grip tightened, threatening to puncture its soft flesh as he brought it closer to his mouth.

Just one bite—that was all he needed, a bite that promised to finally ease the gnawing hunger inside him. Warm, tender flesh against his teeth, blood trickling down his jaw. He could smell it, the aroma of nirvana just moments away from his mouth.

A bite that would end his humanity.

Startled awake, Callum dropped his meal, instinctively jerking back as his sanity returned. He breathed heavily, his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. If he could still produce sweat, he would have his back drenched from the fear gripping his heart.

He was mortified. Callum was afraid of what he was turning into. His mind hadn’t even told him anything was wrong with taking a bite out of a fresh quarry, his hunger overpowering his reasoning.

Saliva still dripped from Callum’s face as he stared at the dead jackalope in horror, his pangs of hunger held at bay by his growing alarm of losing his senses. He knew he was an undead, that something like this could’ve been possible. However, making guesses and experiencing it himself were two different things. One was only speculation, while the other proved his fear.

At this moment, life was giving him a test, and failing it meant the death of his being.

However, even with the risk of losing himself to his instincts, Callum steadied himself. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, slowing his heart and calming his mind. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with determination.

If life were to give him a challenge, then he would take it head-on. He had survived years of torment and boredom for almost a century, a little hunger won’t break him now. And it never will.

With slow, deliberate steps, Callum walked over to his dropped meal. His mind wavered between the urge to eat it as it was and the sense to cook it first. His hunger grew fiercer, his stomach gnawing at itself as he brandished his knife in front of him. But he wouldn’t let his instincts overtake his sanity again.

In quick slices, Callum skinned his quarry. His body moved through muscle memory, having prepared dozens of rabbits in his time camping with his father. His mouth was like a waterfall, drool excessively falling from his lips as he lit his campfire.

Callum’s soul desired to satisfy itself, his appetite at war with his reason. He’d stopped himself from licking the blood from his fingers multiple times, a single drop of it in his mouth spelling doom to his sense of self.

He worked quickly, his hands moving with speed to cook his meal as soon as possible. He skewered the hare in a stick, not bothering to season it with anything lest his hunger consume him. Callum felt his mind deteriorate from his ravenous desire to eat, a thin sliver of sanity holding him at bay from stuffing the whole thing into his gullet. He lowered the prepared meat into a spit, then the wait began.

Every minute felt like an eternity, the smell of roasting flesh threatening to push him over the edge of insanity. His collar was soaked in his own spit, his teeth clenched tightly as a form of control over his urges. However, he doesn’t know how long he could keep himself in charge of his own senses.

The undead in him clawed its way through his mind, its instinct to eat anything containing life sending waves of agony in his psyche. It was only held back by his hope that his heart still stayed as that of a human. Yet, with each passing second, his human side started to lose ground.

His nails dug deep into his sides, hugging his stomach close as if it would jump out of his abdomen to devour the still-cooking jackalope. He focused his eyes anywhere but his meal, afraid that a mere look would unleash the beast he had been wrestling within himself for the past hour. However, there’s only so much his patience could take.

He took one look at the still-cooking jackalope, its meat starting to turn into a golden color. However, it didn’t get a chance to finish cooking as Callum took hold of it with his bare hands.

The heat of his meal was a mere thought in Callum’s mind, his hunger taking full control over his mind and body. He didn’t even bother to pull strips of meat, opting to take a huge bite out of its somewhat pinkish flesh still on its stick.

The moment flesh met teeth, Callum lost all sense of control. He devoured his meal, barely caring if streaks of fat and grease smeared his face or clothes. He chewed hungrily, bones crunching under his powerful jaw, swallowing with hardly a pause—each bite only fueling his need for more. With each mouthful, his hunger receded bit by bit, though the urgency of his appetite didn’t slow. His breaths came in quick gasps as he devoured every last piece, the desire to eat finally abating, though leaving him feeling both sated and unsettled.

His clothes were stained with both grease and blood. He smelled like someone who’d just crawled out of a kitchen in some fast food chain, oil smeared all over his face. Not even the bones were safe from his hunger, leaving only its pelt, head, and antlers the sole survivor from his undead episode.

“At least now I know I could still taste things as before,” Callum sighed, taking off his top and throwing them onto the fire.

The sun was still crawling toward noon, yet Callum already felt mentally exhausted. The metaphorical battle between instinct and reason took a lot out of him, and his brain drained from holding his hunger at bay.

Callum would be lying if he said it didn't bother him. This proved there’s a possibility of his undead nature to take over if he wasn’t careful. However, he didn’t let it get his spirits down. There’s still a lot of this world that Callum hadn’t explored, and he was staunch in his craving for adventure.

Standing up and dusting off his pants, Callum donned his travel bag. He took one last look at the still burning top on the campfire, a reminder of what happened here and what could happen in the future. Yet, just like the fire burning away its threads, Callum’s heart was lit aflame, and he was determined to take everything life throws at him even if it meant straying off the path of the undead.

With his mind ready, Callum walked towards the sound of the river, planning to take a quick bath to get the stench of grease and blood off of him. No one would want to meet someone who smelled of rabbit oil after all, and he was hoping to find civilization as soon as possible.