Dark Camp

The Haunting Night of Callahan

by J.R. Winton

The moon rose above the trees, full and bright, turning everything bluish silver wherever its light touched. The breeze brought a chill and stirred the shadows of the trees into surreal driftings. The gentle hiss of the leaves was almost soothing.

Callahan quietly slid into a sitting position against a lightning-scarred pine. He made himself part of the shadows and scanned the trees around him. Absently, he fought to control his breathing as he pulled a round of .44 Winchester from his belt and topped off his rifle’s magazine.

It was still out there. He knew it. He could feel it. There were even moments when he sensed its eyes on him, trying to figure out how to get close. But it was wary. Uncertain. He’d proven a greater challenge than it had expected.

The cool shifting air got under the brim of his hat and through his scarf above his coat. Gooseflesh erupted across his skin.

The First Encounter

He’d first spotted whatever it was while preparing to make camp for the night. He had cut wood from a deadfall tree and was getting the fire going to heat a quick meal of beans when he saw the silver eyes glittering at him in the gathering darkness.

At first, Callahan wasn’t overly concerned. Spend enough time camping under the stars, and you’ll see wildlife all around you. He could spot the difference between the eyes of deer, elk, even bears and coyotes. But the more he looked at what lurked beyond the firelight, the more a chill settled into his bones.

Those eyes were too big and glowed with too much menace. A deer looked at you like you were a predator. A bear, depending on its mood, might see you as food. But the intensity of those eyes felt personal, burning with hunger and viciousness. Callahan’s first instinct was wolf… but no.

The Attack

When it came the first time, it reveled in the moment. It squatted back on its heels, savoring its anticipated meal. In retrospect, he figured it assumed he’d be paralyzed in fear, frozen and unable to react. It had been wrong. Its momentary hesitation was enough. By the time it lunged, he had raised his rifle and fired.

The sound it made was the first moment he felt truly unmanned. This was no bear or wolf, but something else. Its howl was pure guttural hate as it jolted from the impact. Heaven help him, it sounded almost human in its rage and frustration.

Instinct kicked in. He worked the lever on the Winchester in the blink of an eye, extracting the fired case and chambering a fresh round. He got off a second shot within a heartbeat of the first. But the creature had vanished back into the dark before the second shot could pass through where it had been standing.

Gasping in the aftermath, he was left with an afterimage of something big, with blood-red eyes and impossible teeth, a hint of fur blacker than a raven’s wing.

He picked himself up and moved to where his horse stood frozen in place. The animal’s eyes were wide and dilated, its ears forward, shivering in obvious terror.

“Easy…” he said softly, comfortingly putting a hand on his mount’s nose. He tried to look in every direction at once.

Where in the Hell had it gone?

The speed with which it had appeared, attacked, and disappeared was heart-stopping. He moved to where he was pretty sure it had been when he fired, holding a piece of a burning log from the fire high to see. He found a patch of dark liquid in the dead, dry grass that he was pretty sure was blood. Though he wasn’t completely sure, and he didn’t trust himself to touch it to confirm.

He turned and returned to his horse, which stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, its ears now turning in each direction.

“Yeah… didn’t much care for the bastard neither,” he said softly. He debated with himself for several seconds before grunting and slipping his rifle into the scabbard on his saddle. He drew his Remington, figuring he could swing it more quickly than the rifle. He’d always had fast hands, and the sixgun had saved him in bad situations before. Since they fired the same ammunition, the sixgun’s impact would still be heavy.

Heavy enough? a traitorous part of his brain whispered. He shivered a little as he thought about how big and fast that thing was.

Where in the name of tarnation is it?

He gathered up the reins and led his horse towards the deadfall tree. It had fallen in a way that created a little redoubt between two still-living pines. He gently herded the horse into the small, sheltered space, positioning himself to protect the animal. If whatever was out there came again, it would have to come straight at him from a direction he could control.

The Second Encounter

As if it had sensed his intent, it came again—a dark blur he barely saw among the shadows. No sound but the hiss of its fur as it passed through the brush. Close. Oh, God, it’s so close…!

The stab of flame from the Remington stunned his eyes. He slammed his left hand down on the hammer, fanning the gun. Multiple shots discharged in a single hard smash of sound.

The impact as it crashed into him was immense, driving the air from his lungs and throwing him backward into one of the pines. The Remington spun away as he lost his grip on it. He felt a flare of agony as the jaws of the predator clamped down on his shoulder.

Running on sheer instinct, his hand went to his belt. He felt the hilt of his knife and immediately drove the blade forward with a roar of his own. Every bit of animalistic terror and drive for survival guided his hand. He added his roar to the howl of his attacker as the knife plunged home.

They hit the ground, and the creature shuddered. Callahan planted his booted foot into its belly and shoved it away, staggering to his feet. He swung around, wild-eyed, and spotted his Remington lying in the grass. He scooped the gun up, thumbing the hammer back as he raised it, hoping against hope there was at least one last cartridge in the cylinder.

Reality swam. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes as his brain struggled to process what he was seeing.

The Revelation

The body lying there in the moonlight wasn’t an animal at all but a man. A big, naked man with broad shoulders and a wild mane of hair. He breathed raggedly, fighting for every gasp of air. His chest was covered in blood as it heaved.

Even as Callahan stared, the man’s eyes opened, rolling absently in their sockets until they focused on him. An incomprehensible mix of pain, agony… and gratitude?

“Sorry…” the man gasped. “So sorry…” His words spat out amidst the ghastly gurgling as his lungs filled with blood. “Didn’t want to… but I… couldn’t help it. The hunger… it’s like a fever… burns you up inside…”

“You’re dyin’, you sonofabitch,” Callahan snarled, holding his wounded arm tight to his side. He glared over the top of his Remington at the man. “Nothing I can do for you.”

The man shook his head. “You… did what… I needed,” he gurgled. “You set… me free. Finally… finally free…”

“Free?” Callahan shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘free’?”

The man looked at him again. Callahan was driven back a step by the pity that came into the man’s eyes. “Free… of what you gotta… carry now. Forgive me… Oh, God Almighty… forgive…” His last breath rattled from his mouth, and the man went limp, his eyes going glassy and far away.

Callahan stood there for a moment, staring at the man, trying to get his heart under control. It hammered so hard in his chest.

Absently, he put his head back against the tree and looked up at the sky. He wondered at his realization that he’d never noticed how beautiful the moon could be.

Good Lord, but he was hungry all of a sudden…

Jrwinton.net

This is a short story written by J.R. Winton. Links and images were added to add flair and entertainment. You can find books written by J.R. Winton on Amazon and jrwinton.net.