The Deer Cam

Last night, I woke to the sounds of tiny footsteps in my room. My inner voice spoke to me.

"Don't worry, it's only Little Girl Death running to and from those who must depart this world.

But if you ever hear the footsteps stop, you may just see that your time has come, and she'll be standing by your bed."

I woke once more believing it to be a dream...

Until I heard the footsteps again, and then they stopped.

- Darkness Prevails

***

Deer season was approaching its eve, and, being the avid hunter I once was, I readied my algorithm of scents, calls, and supplies. The first day of deer season I was sure to be out there. Hunting was a passion of mine. I enjoyed it, but not as a game – I respected my kill. I was quite thankful for the meat and game provided by my prey. Perhaps it was in my blood.

I happened to live in the perfect place for it: the deep Midwest, dense with evergreens of every variety. There were rolling hills and creeks around every bend. The deer here were plentiful, and, when I couldn't hunt, I enjoyed watching them as they came upon my land to graze, a temporary haven until their destined time. This region had never known wolves, mountain lions, or even coyotes for as long as I could remember.

If it weren't for me, the deer would have lived in paradise here.

Needless to say, the nearest city center was several miles away, and so was my nearest neighbor. I enjoyed the serenity that I was constantly immersed in. I avoided horror films and ghost stories – Living out here with such things on your mind would soon drive you mad. Here, it was dark at night. Truly dark. Light was so absent some nights that, had I been placed randomly in the woods near my home, I'd be lost until sunrise.

This particular deer season was promising. The bucks that I had been seeing were majestic and their points numerous. I was so anxious for the season to approach that I found it hard to sleep. Luckily, I had a means through which to tide myself over until the dawn of this year's hunt. I had an old deer cam my father gave to me many birthdays ago. I used it every year, but I always waited until the last week before deer season so I could see all of the populous fauna of the forests.

One morning, before the early hues of purple fled the sky, I waded through dew laden grass and weeds until I found my usual spot. It was an exemplary angle: The view was downhill, overlooking a babbling brook that beckoned the wildlife like moths to a flame. Few were the trees and obstacles that obstructed this view. A professional photographer would die for such scenery, yet I was the lucky participant.

Strapping the gadget to the tree was simple and quick. It was almost odd being done so quickly after such a long, refreshing walk to this spot. For a moment, I just took in the surroundings, breathing untainted air and sensing a time when man was not.

Peace.

I walked home quickly, as if the faster I made it back, the sooner the week would pass and I would be able to enjoy the hunt. That week drudged by ever slowly. It was filled with monotonous chores and television that I was unable to focus on.

But finally my day did come.

I was up again when the morning mimicked twilight and the foliage attempted to soak through to your toes. This was what I lived for, the countenance of life in every inhale. I made my way past where I laid the deer cam. The mechanism sensed me and made a 'click' sound so subtle that a pin's fall would drown it out. I suppressed a laugh and continued on about 70 yards.