Chapter 6 #2
My father’s shotgun hung mounted on the wall. I loaded it with trembling hands, beads of sweat and tears dripping off my face as I clutched it tightly, stifling my breathing, determined to be quiet.
I peered out of the shed and saw something in the distance. His skin was pale, illuminated by the moonlight, and his incisors were fully extended. He looked at me, and even in the dim light, I could see my mother’s blood covering his jaw and clothing.
A Blood Hunter.
I fired the shotgun without a second thought. My hands were shaking, but the slug still met my target. The anticipated thud of his dead body hitting the ground never came. Instead, to my surprise, his tortured screams filled the air.
“Damn bitch, you shot out my eye!” he howled, clutching his eye as dark blood oozed between his fingers.
I felt momentarily stunned; I’d never shot a person before. But then again, that was no human. I took a deep breath and pulled the trigger again. This time, aiming for his chest.
I missed.
Our gazes locked as he charged toward me. I struggled to reload, fumbling as he quickly closed the distance between us.
Just as he was about to reach me, a blood-curdling scream split from the trees, causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end.
The Blood Hunter stopped, his gaze fixed on me, before inexplicably turning and running toward the source of the sound.
My eyes stayed on him, and I remained still until I was certain that he was gone.
I let out the breath I was holding and retreated toward the house.
I couldn’t bring myself to cross the threshold just yet, so I sank into the rocking chair on the porch, my eyes locked on the darkness ahead.
The shotgun remained secure in my hands, poised and ready.
I wasn’t letting my guard down … not yet.
As the early morning rays of the sun began to creep between the trees, I knew I was safe for the time being.
A fly buzzed past me into the house, its incessant buzzing filling my ears.
A terrible rush of nausea surged through me as I remembered my mother lying dead in the pool of blood behind me.
I got up and stumbled into the garden, my stomach heaving, and I vomited.
I wiped off my chin and looked at my father’s grave.
I wasn’t ready to go back into the house and face my new, grim reality.
I removed my blood-stained coat and grabbed a shovel from the garden.
I limped toward the massive oak tree and plunged the shovel into the earth.
The rhythmic motion of the shovel helped to numb my spiraling thoughts and the throbbing in my knee.
By the time I finished, the sun was high in the sky. Sweat dripped down my brow and back, dirt caked beneath my nails. The hem of my dress was brown with mud, almost concealing the blood staining it.
I pulled a sheet down from the laundry line and took a deep breath before entering the house.
I stood there for a moment, looking down at the crisp, clean sheet in my hands before mustering up the courage to look at my mother.
I didn’t recognize her anymore. This wasn’t the woman who used to sing to me as a child on stormy nights, or who would wake up before the birds to pull weeds from the garden.
What remained was just a shell, a hollow collection of flesh that had once carried the spirit of my mother. This was a body, a body I had failed.
I washed the blood off her skin with a damp cloth, then draped and rolled her body in the sheet, cocooning her.
I pulled the makeshift shroud to her final resting place beside my father.
It brought me a small measure of comfort to think she would soon be reunited with him.
I knelt by the graves, overcome by grief as tears streamed down my face.
I heard the caw of a raven in the sky above. It was as if the world itself acknowledged the solemnity of the moment. I couldn’t say for sure how long I remained on the ground, but when I finally gathered the remnants of my strength, I began the slow, laborious process of refilling the hole.
I found a piece of wood and wrote Mama on it before placing it on the mound of dirt. Reluctantly, I left the gravesite, knowing time was a luxury I could not afford, especially as the sun was already sinking low in the sky.
Once inside, I forced myself to eat the stale bread and cold soup that sat on the stove.
I went to the well and filled a bucket with water over and over again, scrubbing the stains on the wood floor, determined to erase any trace of the events that had unfolded.
Each motion of the brush felt like an attempt to cleanse not only the floor but also the lingering memories haunting the space around me as the water turned red.
I added logs to the fireplace and kindled a fire, hoping it might bring some warmth to the house.
Stripping down, I peeled the layers of soiled clothes from my body, balled them up, and threw them into the flames.
As I sat watching them burn, my fingers clutched the teardrop necklace around my neck.
It was a constant reminder of my father—and now my mother. It brought me a small ounce of relief.
I put on clean clothes before heading out to the shed.
The sky was turning a soft purple from the approaching dusk.
Hurrying, I grabbed a new box of ammunition and pulled back a loose floorboard.
It revealed a cache of Slayer’s weapons: a crossbow, wooden stakes with sharpened tips, vials, daggers, syringes, and my father’s leather-bound notebook.
I took the notebook, tucking it into the pocket of my skirt, and placed a dagger in each of my boots.
As I put back the floorboard, a sense of shame washed over me, remembering my inability to protect my mother.
Tomorrow, I would head into town and inform the Slayers of what had transpired.
I would make sure everyone knew, and we would hold a feast in honour of my mother’s memory.
Returning to the house, I dragged the rocking chair from the porch and brought it inside, bracing myself for the Blood Hunter’s return.
I wouldn’t flee. I had to face and destroy the monster who had stolen my mother’s life.
The weight of despair and sorrow that had consumed me all day now morphed into a fierce, seething rage.
I was ready.
As night fell, I remained on high alert, scanning every sound outside. I heard a crunch of stones on the path in the woods, and soon, as predicted, the same Blood Hunter emerged. His previously injured eye appeared miraculously restored, unmarred by our encounter from the previous day.
My temper boiled as I aimed the shotgun and fired, but he was too far away.
A sinister smile stretched across his face as he taunted me. “Come now, darling. I want to play. You owe me for what you did to my eye last night.”
I stepped out of the house, keeping my back pressed against the exterior.
I couldn’t afford to be trapped inside with no way out.
My boots crunched over the fallen leaves, each step echoing in my ears as my heart hammered in my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands, and fired again.
I missed. My hands fumbled to reload the shotgun, but the Blood Hunter acted upon my hesitation, charging toward me with terrifying speed.
I turned and bolted, darting toward the woods on my right, desperate to find cover and buy myself the time I needed to reload.
I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, pushing through the underbrush, my knee throbbing with every painful step.
Blood Hunters were known for their speed, but I knew these woods better than anyone.
I ran until I reached the spot I was looking for, a hollow tree, its gaping mouth the perfect refuge.
I ducked inside and quickly reloaded my shotgun.
I paused for a moment, my breath coming in loud, ragged gasps.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle any sound, but my heart pounded so fiercely it drowned out everything else.
Silence stretched, and I strained to hear anything, any sign that he was still close.
When nothing moved, I sprinted again, pushing myself harder until the sound of the river reached my ears.
Growling noises were close behind me, and I sensed the Blood Hunter drawing near. I stopped when I reached the edge of the river, the water rushing fast, and I turned to see the Blood Hunter. I was trapped, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
“Hello, doll,” he sneered, his long blond hair still matted with blood. My stomach turned as unsettling images of last night flashed through my mind.
Before he could speak again, I aimed the shotgun at his face. “Are you quite certain you know how to wield that?” he taunted me, as I tightened my grip. “Or was last night a lucky shot—”
I pulled the trigger, and the impact ripped apart his shoulder, “Ouch,” he mocked, touching the blood trailing down his arm and licking his fingers clean. “You are making me angry.”
I backed up as he stepped toward me. My foot brushed against the river’s edge.
My heart thundered in my chest, drowning out my thoughts.
I knew, with chilling certainty, that I was moments away from death.
The Blood Hunter lunged at me, and without hesitation, I hurled myself backward, plunging into the rushing waters.
I hit the icy water, choking and sputtering as I tried to stay afloat.
I was quickly dragged under, unable to see anything as I was tossed about in the current.
The frigid water pushed me down into its depths, and as I flailed, the shotgun slipped from my grasp.
Desperately, I kicked and paddled, fighting against the relentless pull of the river’s current.
With a gasp, I broke the surface, gulping in air before being dragged back under again.
My waterlogged dress weighed me down, entangling my limbs as I struggled to kick.
My hands freezing, grew numb, and I felt weak, fighting not to drown.
When I finally surfaced, I shouted for help into the night, a desperate plea lost in the darkness.
“Help me!”
Gasping for breath, I clawed my way toward the river’s edge, trying frantically to reach safety. Just as the river threatened to pull me under again, I felt someone grab my arm, yanking me from the water in a single, fluid motion.
Coughing and sputtering, I collapsed onto the ground, my body wracked with shivers and my chest heaving.
The icy chill of the water was bone-deep.
As I rolled over, my head throbbed, and my heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest. I struggled to regain my composure and lifted my gaze to find a man looking over me.
“Are you all right?” His smooth, pale skin glimmered in the moonlight, contrasting sharply with his raven-black hair, which billowed around him in the gentle breeze.
He looked at me with concern, and his pale blue eyes crinkled.
As our eyes met, I felt as though the universe turned into stardust, erasing my surroundings and my identity, leaving only the intoxicating pull of him in my consciousness.
“My heart,” I gasped, snapping out of the trance, my gaze fixed on him. “It feels as though it is on the verge of bursting.” I clutched at my chest, the tightness of my clothing constricting me. Frantically, I started clawing at the fabric, desperate to free myself from its suffocating embrace.
He gently took my hands in his, halting my frantic movements.
“Well, feeling your heart is far better than the void of feeling nothing at all,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
I sensed he was trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond.
He reached out and brushed the hair away from my face.
“Are you all right?” he asked again with genuine concern, his eyes searching mine.
I shook my head as haunting images of my mother’s body and the Blood Hunter flooded my mind.
I squinted hard, trying to forget, and a shiver coursed through me.
The stranger took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.
He took my hand and helped me stand up. My knee buckled, and I fell into him, feeling his solid body against mine, keeping us balanced.
“I am so cold,” I said in trembling breaths.
“I will take you home. Where do you live?”
His eyes locked onto mine, causing my heart to beat harder in my chest. “I cannot return,” I whispered.
“Very well, then. Let us get you out of this chill.”
With surprising strength, he scooped me into his arms and walked into the night. I was too tired to protest, and I didn’t even remember falling asleep.