Spirals

a final hunt

It was alive, its solid head swiveled in my direction, the bullet sunken partially into its obscure form as if it were pressed into clay. The being reached slowly for the bullet and pulled it out, examining it like a shiny stone, holding it between its thumb and forefinger as its head reformed. I held the gun steady even though I knew another shot would be utterly useless, and the air in the room became thick with moisture, and the being chuckled and let the bullet slip from its fingers.

You have come to hunt me.

Correct?

Let us hunt, then.

The being flicked its hands, and its hands became long claws, and suddenly it was not in front of me anymore. I shoved the gun back in my pocket, aware of its final bullet yet unsure of its usefulness, and settled into a fighting stance, turning and watching for any movement in the shadows, any flickering in the moonlight that washed across the floor. I had been completely focused before I shot at the being, waiting for the right time to strike with little room to worry, determined to finish the task ahead. But for the first time in a while, I felt helpless in the face of danger, and a fresh fear settled over me.

I stepped around the room to stop myself from being petrified, and I heard a soft tap on the floor behind me. Before I could fully turn around, I was pushed in the back and, as I stumbled, hit hard on the top of my head. When I went to swing at the being, there was nothing there, and I heard a snicker from somewhere across the room. I followed the sound and found myself near the crates and pallets against the wall, eyes wide, scanning the darkness, hearing the breaths in my throat, hearing the silence that rang in my ears.

I saw a hint of movement in my peripheral and swung without thinking, and my fist grazed something fluid, something shockingly cold. The being flickered past my arm and struck me blindingly fast, twice in the chest, and when I swung at it again, it snapped its head away, slashed at my wounded arm, and vanished before the rush of pain could even register.

I sucked air through my teeth and glanced briefly at my arm, spotting the fresh, gaping marks upon it, the new, foreign matter that resided within them and stood out brighter and more reflective than the other, older cavities. As I twisted it back into a fighting position, it occured to me just how disadvantaged I was, and I wondered with dread just how much skin the being was willing to scrape from me. Killing it was no longer the priority. I just needed to survive, even if I did not make it out in one piece.

Behind me, I heard what sounded like a faint footstep, and instead of swinging I leapt away and felt something frigid that brushed against my cheek. The being swiped its claw for my neck before I could fully turn to face it, and, to my surprise, I caught it by its formless wrist, gripping something that did not feel fully solid, as if what I saw was merely a refraction of a refraction of what I held. I took its wrist and immediately struck its head as hard as I could, and the being let out a short, gurgled noise before striking my throat with a force that took my breath and nearly knocked me off my feet. I swung at it blindly, gasping, hitting nothing, and when I steadied myself I saw the being standing a distance away from me, blending in well with the shadows, its figure hunched and motionless as if it were stalking prey, its claws spread wide, twitching ever so slightly. Its hunger was strong; I could feel it around me, sickeningly thick in the air, and then, a similar hunger fluttered in the pit of my stomach, wanting out.

I needed to survive. For the first time, I didn't care if the hunger took me over. I felt anger at the odds against me. I needed to survive. But I didn't mind if I left the being lifeless here either. I didn't mind if I could make it suffer for what it did to me before I left.

The hunger crept into my throat and I let it.