deer hunter, how i became a skinwalker in a world of animal people.

( old ) draft chapter 1 part 3

chapter 1 part 3 reflections

He inhaled deeply, the thick silence of the house wrapping around him, broken only by the relentless patter of rain outside. His breath came out in visible puffs, the cold air biting at his skin. His pulse hammered in his ears, each beat a reminder of just how close he'd come to dying in the last few minutes. It was hard to tell if the terror still lingered in his chest or if the damp chill of the night was more to blame. Either way, it was a stark contrast to the sharp adrenaline that had kept him moving.

He glanced over at the creature on the stairs. It was as good as dead. The shot he'd fired had pierced its neck, dropping it like a sack of potatoes. He had to admit that his first shots had been sloppy, born from panic and confusion. But his hands had steadied as the chaos unfolded, and now, he could feel the reality settling in. There was no room for error when you were hunting things that didn't belong in the world you knew. The other one, the one on the floor, was still. Its blood had pooled around it in dark splotches, the life drained from its body after he'd put a bullet through its spine. He could tell from the way its chest barely rose and fell that it wouldn't be getting back up. This was his best guess anyway, but with these creatures, he wasn't going to take any chances.

He thought about ammo. It wasn't unlimited. He was running low. One more shot, maybe two, depending on what he found. He couldn't afford to waste any more bullets.

The air in the house felt thick, like the kind of oppressive silence that hangs heavy before something awful happens. But now, with two of the creatures dead, he had to think about getting out of there. But not without finding some answers. His curiosity was gnawing at him like a rat in a trap. Where was he? Who—what—were these creatures? Why hadn't they simply died, disappeared like some ghost or nightmare? He had shot them, but they were very much real. That fact had cemented itself in his mind, dragging everything he'd once believed about the world into question. The disbelief was gone, replaced with something darker, something more primal. He had to get out of this house. But before he did, he needed to know how far he'd fallen into this strange new world.

He stood up from his crouch and slowly began to climb the stairs. He moved carefully past the creature on the ground, giving it a wide berth. There was something about its body that made his skin crawl, despite the fact it was now lifeless. It wasn't ugly, per se—no, there was something... disturbing, almost unnatural about it. It had a human body, but the features—those animalistic traits spread across its form—felt wrong in a way that made his gut twist. Its head, an exaggerated hybrid of human and animal features, wasn't simply a human face with an animal snout attached. No, this was something else—eyes that were too far apart, skin stretched too tight over bone, lips too thin. It looked like a person, but not like any person he'd ever seen. Its expression was almost familiar, like something he could read, but at the same time, so completely alien.

He couldn't look at it too long without a wave of revulsion crashing over him.

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. His feet made soft thuds as he ascended to the upper level, careful not to make too much noise. The house creaked under his weight, the old wood groaning in protest. The second floor hallway stretched before him, lined with closed doors that led to rooms he didn't want to know about. He moved toward an open doorway at the end of the hall. He looked inside.

A typical teenage girl's bedroom. Posters adorned the walls, some faded from age, others new. A dresser sat against one wall, a lamp casting a warm, soft glow over the room's contents. But on the desk—something caught his eye. It was a photograph. A picture of that same creature. The one he had shot. The one that had been on the stairs.

He stared at the photo for a moment, the pieces clicking into place. This is their home. His thoughts swirled around the room, his mind trying to make sense of everything. If these creatures lived here, did that mean they had a life outside of hunting and killing? Did they form families? Did they live as humans did, with homes and memories? He frowned, disturbed by the idea. How had he missed that? For all the grotesque horror these creatures represented, they had their own way of existing, their own kind of normal.

He stepped back, his gaze darting to the window. It was a good view from up here, offering a glimpse of the world outside. He moved toward it, his boots silent on the wooden floor. The rain pounded against the glass, a constant, insistent noise. He reached out, pushing open the window. The cold air hit him immediately. He stepped out onto the balcony, trying to maintain his balance as he navigated the slick surfaces. The ground below was slippery with rainwater, making everything just a little bit more dangerous. He reached for the roof, using his arms to pull himself up. It was a struggle, his muscles aching, but he managed.

The world spread out beneath him as he caught his breath. To the south—nothing but trees. To the west—some open fields, maybe a farm. His stomach turned at the thought of venturing out there. The fields seemed too... exposed. It didn't feel right. And then east—he'd already come from that direction. He couldn't go back; the car would be out of gas soon enough. The north—now that caught his attention. Through the trees, he saw a faint light, barely visible against the night. A few structures stood on the horizon. A town? A settlement? Something. His mind raced. It wasn't far, not by the looks of it. He could make it.

He climbed back down carefully, slipping a little but managing to regain his balance. Once he was back on solid ground, he took a moment to survey the area, his eyes lingering on the distant lights to the north. He needed to get out of here. The creatures were more dangerous than anything he'd faced before, but he had no intention of sticking around to find out how many there were. The place was starting to feel like a trap, the kind you couldn't escape once you were inside.

He headed back toward the bedroom, trying to retrace his steps. But in the dark, the rain, and the confusion of his escape, he miscalculated. Instead of heading back to the door he'd used to get outside, he ended up dropping down onto the wrong balcony. He cursed under his breath. The window was locked.

He broke the glass, a sharp crack filling the room, and reached in to unlock it. Once inside, he paused, his heart pounding in his chest. He had heard something. A movement. A rustling sound from the bed.

He froze.

The creature was sitting up.

It stared at him with those unsettling eyes, and a wave of revulsion swept through him. It wasn't the same as the one he'd shot, but it was the same type. He didn't hesitate. He raised the gun, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Click.

Nothing.

His stomach dropped as he realized what had happened.

Shit.

He had forgotten to load the damn gun.