((Scary short story entry. Written on 7/13/12. 1, 228 words.))

The feathered flight of my arrow brushes my cheek as I draw in breath. The forest around me is silent, save for the wind in the leaves. Perched on the limb of a great oak, I am just another silent inhabitant of the forest. Just as silent as any of the other predators prowling the woods.

I release my breath and my bowstring. Thunk. My arrow flies true, as I knew it would. I swing down from my bough to the forest floor. The thump of my boots releases the earthy scents underfoot – old leaves, loam, moist dirt. This is where I am home – not amongst the village huts. Among the plants and animals, in the trees. The forest is where I belong.

My kill is waiting for me at the base of a tree. There is a wooden board nailed to the trunk – a decree from the king, warning hunters away from these woods under pain of dismemberment or death. I chuckle at the irony – the fruits of my hunting lying beneath the warning. I am not worried of getting caught. I have been hunting here for four years. No one else ventures into these woods. Some speak of specters and demons that prowl the undergrowth. Superstitious fools. The only things that prowl this forest are the natural woodland creatures. And me.

I kneel to retrieve my arrow, pleased with my work. The quail is of a good size and will feed my family well. I am loading the bird into my bag when something makes me pause. A sort of cold breath on my neck, a chill down my spine. Something is watching me. I turn slowly, scanning the nearby brush and trees. There is nothing, just the birds singing far above. I turn back to the quail and stuff it fully into my canvas bag. Long hours among the trees play tricks with my mind. It’s happened before.

My footsteps are quiet, my breathing hushed as I head back toward the village. I listen closely to my surroundings. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. It usually takes a lot to spook me. Why am I so uneasy now?

Somewhere behind me, a twig snaps.

I freeze in my tracks. Blood surges through my veins with every heartbeat, loud in my ears. I turn again to scour the forest behind me. Still nothing. Nothing at all. I am overreacting, imagining things. I have been out here too long. Again I set out, my stride long and purposeful. Now is not the time to fall prey to whims of overtired imaginings.

Long minutes pass in peace. The tenseness in my shoulders relaxes, and I begin to enjoy my surroundings again. I pause at a trickling brook to refill my flask. When I straighten up again, I catch sight of something ahead. Large, dark, close to the ground. Moving slowly. Coming my way. I stay where I am. Bears are not common in these parts, but I’ve seen them before. I wait to catch a glimpse of the creature.

I am overwhelmed by the sudden smell of lilies. The sickly sweet scent hangs in the air like a veil, blurring my senses. The dark shape has stopped moving now. I realize that the forest has gone suddenly very silent. No birds. Not even a breeze.

Click. Click. Click. Sharp, almost metallic sounds. Unnatural. Unnerving. This is no bear.

I stand, retreating back into the trees. The shape tenses, gathering its limbs underneath itself. I tense, too. The urge to run is unbearable. But I don’t know what I’m facing. It could be faster than me. It most likely is.

Then the shape springs forward, and it’s coming my way. Lumbering, crashing through the underbrush.

I turn and run.

Branches scrape my face, underbrush tangles my steps. It’s as if the forest itself is trying to slow my progress. Behind me, I can hear the beast’s progress. By the sound of it, it’s flattening underbrush and small trees alike. I press myself faster, harder. I lose my breath sooner than I had anticipated. I gulp for air, each gasping breath tightening the grip of panic across my chest. I know that I’m not thinking straight, but there’s nothing I can do. Nothing but run and pray that the beast is slower than I.

Click. Click. Click.

It is gaining on me. I can sense it without looking back. It’s faster than me. It’ll run me until I’m ragged, until I can’t take another step. I need to climb. I’m safe in the trees. I launch myself upward, grasping the nearest bough. My instincts take over, and I’m moving upward, pulling myself up into the branches. Safe.

My senses explode as something takes hold of my foot. I barely have time to register the surprise when I am ripped from my hold and slammed to the ground. The beast is on top of me, claws digging between my ribs, weight pinning me to the ground, fangs dripping salvia and venom. The clicking is deafening loud, the smell of lilies gagging me.

I writhe and struggle in its grip, striking out. My fists hit hard scales, then soft flesh. The beast presses down on my chest, leaning in close, mouth open. My fingers scrabble across the ground and wrap themselves around a rock. I strike again at the hideous head looming over my own. The rock hits home in one eye. The beast’s scream is piercing as it tears away from me, spraying me with blood.

In a moment, I’ve launched myself forward like a sprinter. I’m dripping with the beast’s saliva and blood. My own blood is gushing from the wounds in my chest, but the pain is dull for now, throbbing with each step.

I burst out from the tree cover. Before me is the river’s ford, and beyond that, the village. The smell of lilies is still in my nose, but each new breath sends fresh air into my lungs. I stumble forward, splashing through the shallow ford. By the time I reach the other side, I am covered in water, too.

Suddenly, I realize that I am leading the beast straight back to the village. I pause, chancing a glance behind. The beast is nowhere to be seen. I turn fully, waiting for some sign of the beast in pursuit. Nothing. The birds are singing in the trees. The air is fresh. The sun is shining down brightly.

I look down at myself. My tunic is undamaged, my body whole. There is no blood on me. No puncture wounds gushing blood. No venom staining my clothing. My head is pounding, though. What is going on? Did that entire thing even happen? I pull out my bow and notch an arrow to the string. There is something afoot here, and I cannot return empty handed. I will slay this beast and return a hero.

When I step back into the forest, my confidence skyrockets. I’m at home in the forest. With my bow in hand, I am a hunter. I am the predator. I crouch low to the ground, creeping forward, senses alert. I don’t let myself relax this time. I have barely gone a dozen steps when a sickly sweet smell blasts into me.

A claw grips my throat from behind.

Click. Click. Click.