I’m Not for Dinner: A Not Deer Horror Story
Darren Hilderoy pulled into an empty parking spot at the Smoky Mountain National Park. Surprisingly, the lot wasn’t as full as he’d expected, considering it was the first day of deer season. Only a couple of pickup trucks, including his, dotted the large parking area. It was remarkable since he’d scoped out his spot months in advance and believed it was a diamond in the rough.
For most of Darren’s life, he’d gone deer hunting with his dad. At age 13, he’d killed a 6-point buck. He never forgot; his dad beamed at him for days. It was the best moment of his life… Now, Darren had retired from the Marines and just came back from active duty to find his father wasn’t in the best of shape. Hunting was simply out of the question for someone at his age.
It hurt Darren to go hunting without his dad, even though he’d been serving overseas off and on during his career; he had not had the opportunity to share this pastime with his father for a long time and would never again.
He sighed as he zipped up his coat. Almost Christmas time, he thought. Maybe he could find a nice buck to share with his dad. Though he wouldn’t be with him, Darren knew he would enjoy seeing a picture. He wasn’t sure about reception on his cell phone, but he could always show him at Christmas. He would definitely share a portion of the butchered deer with his mom and dad.
He started salivating over his mother’s venison stew. That really hit the spot in cold December. He pulled his rifle out of the back seat and strapped his bowie knife simply out of habit, the same as slipping on his dog tags every morning. He also made sure he brought his field dressing kit for the kill. Venison stew still danced in his head.
He would have to be extra careful; he hadn’t field-dressed anything in a long time. He sure didn’t want the intestines spilling feces all over the place. He took the path to his tree stand and once there, ascended. There was nothing like the cool mountain air high in a tree. He surveyed the area and sighed. Beautiful country. Even if nothing came into his sights, it was peaceful and quiet.
He took out his binoculars and scanned the area. Nothing yet. Hunting took a lot of patience. Something his father failed to teach him, but the Marines managed to beat into him. Every shot counted, and you didn’t want to shoot unless you were ready to kill.
Several hours later, Darren found what he was looking for: a 6-point buck had wandered into a clearing. He smiled and readied himself. The quiet was deafening as he scoped the beast, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger. The animal ran off. But he was sure he hit it! He’d seen the impact; it should have dropped right there.
Instead, it ran off like nothing hit it. He followed it with his sight. It was wounded; it limped a little as it bounded. It would fall soon. Though it wasn’t a clean shot, apparently, the deer would fall. He just had to follow it now.
He climbed out of the tree stand and followed the blood trail. The deer had taken a winding path deep in the woods, bleeding on the bushes and sides of trees. It’s erratic and staggering prints bewildered Darren. He knew he hit it. He was certain it was a fatal shot, but the trail pulled him further away from his stand than he felt comfortable.
In all his years, he’d never had to hike this far to find his kill. He didn’t know if it was his mind, narrowly focused on retrieving the deer, or if the forest itself silenced. He scarcely heard a cricket in the dusk, and the shadows of night flickered in his blind spots, darting behind trees, close by but never in direct eyesight, like something tracking him. He felt like he was prey.
The air was thick with some foreboding force, like a pack of wolves had surrounded him. The shadows carried a new paranoia with them; he couldn’t help but imagine voices behind every tree, shifting shapes darting between every tilt and turn of his head, and he was about to turn back.
The sinking feeling in his stomach was getting to him badly, but then he finally found it, lying against a tree, still and breathless. His confidence returned as he retrieved his field kit. He positioned the animal and prepared his tools, remembering that he had to be careful not to puncture the organs.
He couldn’t shake it now; he felt like the woods had passed judgment upon him. And something else felt off about this deer. He couldn’t put his finger on it. There was something wrong with its face. In the darkness, he couldn’t be sure, but as he was now up close to the creature. It looked remarkably dog-like and at the same time human. It also didn’t smell right.
There was the acrid wet dog smell that came off its fur like a musk. He jumped as he heard a series of grunts and barks. They sounded like deer, several deer all around him. He shone his flashlight, and out from the trees stepped deer, all on two legs, mouths open wide with lots of sharp teeth.
The one that he thought he’d killed also leapt from its place and attempted to pounce on him, its fore hooves resembling a mashup of dog and human digits—capable of grasping, but with long hoof-like nails.
Darren dodged and gripped his field dressing knives in a defensive stance as five of these monster deer approached and circled him. The six-point that he shot had joined the circle of barking, grunting, bleating monsters; none had gotten any closer, and then an eight-point broke the circle, snarling and drooling. It appeared to be the alpha, and they all looked very hungry.
They sized each other up. Darren couldn’t hesitate. He’d already let them get too close. He needed to find his exit.
He eyed each one. A doe behind him was smaller than the rest. That was his exit.
He bolted towards it, knives out, cutting as he pounced upon her. The others leapt after him as he’d knocked her down and sprinted past them.
They were hot on his trail, their barks loud and ferocious, cutting through his nerves, but he kept running. One reached him, the six-point, digging his hoof fingers into his large coat. Darren slashed at the beast while also discarding the downy warmth of his coat. His rifle fell with it, and the monster jumped upon it.
Darren just kept running.
He made it all the way back to his truck before he realized his keys were in his coat pocket.
He cursed as he looked over his shoulder to see them at the edge of the woods. If he had his rifle, things might have been different, but as he remembered, the six-point survived what should have been a fatal shot.
They sniffed the air and barked at each other; the eight-point took the lead. They did not seem to be able to see very well, mostly relying on smell. He checked his truck door one last time: locked. He wasn’t getting inside.
He scanned the area, always keeping one eye on the pack. Again, they did not seem to have a direct lock on his position, but they were getting closer; he could not lollygag any longer. He ducked behind his truck and started looking for a solution.
The lot was empty now, except one other vehicle. He crawled towards it, rattled by the monster’s barking. Once he got to the driver’s side, he tried to open the door. Locked! But as he peered into the back seat, he saw a gun case.
He broke the window with the butt of his bowie and reached inside. He pulled out the case and unfastened the latches. He was so lucky there wasn’t a lock on the case, nor the weapon… He had mixed feelings about that, but he had to find ammo. Inside the case for this AR-15, there were three fully loaded 30-round mags…
This person is truly irresponsible but thank God they left this here!
Darren pulled the bolt back, loaded the magazine, and brought the bolt forward. His Marine training kicked back in.
From behind the vehicle, Darren lined up his shot. If a center mass shot was not enough, he was aiming for the head. Maybe zombie rules were in place here… What was he thinking?
Regardless, he aimed for the closest one that stopped to sniff the air, and with his next exhale, squeezed the trigger, felling the beast. He hit the head this time. That was the trick.
The beast perked their ears and looked in his direction, but they still didn’t seem to have a good bead on where he was. He took aim at the next one, and it fell. Then the next. Then the eight-point was right in front of him, the vehicle was their only separation.
It jumped… high! Right over the vehicle and right behind him. Darren turned quickly enough, instinctively grabbed his bowie, and plunged it into the creature.
It shrieked, alerting the others, and then slashed at Darren’s stomach with its fingers. Darren dodged by a breath, pinning himself to the vehicle as the eight-point fell to its knees and clawed at the knife. Quickly, Darren raised the gun to the monster’s head and shot it dead.
The leftover, one doe, stood frozen. Darren saw it as he slowly turned around. It seemed to be very aware that its family was dead, but it also seemed to be at a loss as to what to do now. Darren raised the rifle and killed it.
