Hudsonville: Tales of the Hunted

Chapter 1: Welcome to Hudsonville

The sun had started to set over the mountains, the trees softly swaying, songbirds growing silent as the evening threatened its arrival. Somewhere beneath the forest canopy, a foreign presence made itself known.

Shuffle shuffle, shuffle shuffle—Andy's steps came in clumsily as he dashed through the thick of the wood. Rattled breaths echoed from tree to tree, branches snapping in rhythm, the boy doing his best to outrun his pursuers. A few odd tears streaked down his face, and with every sob he covered his mouth, fearful of being overheard.

His soft head of ginger hair was matted from days on the run, the beating of his bangs against his eyes a constant reminder of the passing days without rest. Bags beneath amber-hued irises made the boy appear aged and weathered, and though he yearned, he could not tire yet—not when he had a cult hot on his trail.

Like a hunted animal, he spent his time looking over his shoulder, scanning behind him for the distant shouting zealots. Andy wondered what he had done to provoke such ire—though perhaps he already knew the answer, deep down—he was a monster, or at the very least, was in the process of becoming one.

For three long weeks a gradual change had overtaken the boy, his deep wounds healing, his eyes growing discolored. His hands had grown calloused, his fingers having sharpened into insidious claws. Soon enough, he figured, he would be sauntering about the woods, not as himself, but as some mindless beast, a cruel reflection of the thing which attacked him.

As he trudged along, the forest canopy above Andy began to divide the sky, obscuring the stars that had once been his intermittent companions. The earthy scent of pine and damp soil was rich. His vision had never been the greatest, though as of late, it did not matter what lens the child viewed the world in—it was all obscured, dizzying, seeming to grow dull and mute. Andy's senses, though sharp, were all but drowned out by the buzz of the woods, let alone his own labored breathing. Every little sound was overstimulating, overwhelming.

Crr-SNIK!

The sharp crackle of underbrush sent Andy wheeling around, his ears twitching as they honed in on the sound.

BOUF!

Before he could comprehend the rushing blur, he was forced to the ground, the damp earth pressing against his cheek. The offending figure loomed, not one of the zealots—her lack of armor would attest to that—rather, a girl with tough, marred skin and coiled purple hair had pressed her knee against his spine. Her emerald eyes demanded submission.

The tip of the girl's silver knife burned like a hot skillet, drawing blood from the back of Andy's neck—he responded with little more than short gasps and yelps, his will to fight rapidly ebbing away. No words, no protests, only a quiet concession of defeat as his arms went limp. The girl needn't words to convey her intent—her iron grip on his wrists and the snug vines she'd tied him with both spoke loud and clear.

With a firm hand, she hoisted Andy back onto his knees, onto his feet, and with one shove after the other, the two proceeded to march further into the unknown of the woods. Uncertain thoughts plagued the boy's mind. Had he done something to upset the local? Had he been trespassing? Who even was this girl?

"I'm s-sorry, I was only tryin' to pass through," Andy sputtered, "I'll be out of your hair if you just let me go, I promise!" Of course, his continued objection only led the girl to tighten her arm bar. Pointing to a nearby clearing with her knife, Andy following the upturned edge, the two could spot a small treehouse just ahead. The structure was semi-organic in appearance, bits of the house jutting directly out from various points of the oak, as if the building had been created from the trunk itself. Twisting vines accompanied pink blossoms on the walls, creating rungs with their intersecting patterns of growth.