The Hunter | Short Story

The road got more and more slippery as the snow melted in the wake of spring. Cold mud stained her shoes and numbed her toes, but she was so close to the small cabin that she could even smell the dinner its occupant had cooked a few hours before. His face was still fresh in her memory. She could picture him feeling safe next to the fire, in the great silence of the woods, where the sins of summers past could not come back to haunt him. Or so he thought.

She reached the few steps that led to the porch and tiptoed to the front door. Only a dim light broke the darkness inside the cabin, which gave away that he was already in bed. All the memories of her nights with him were tinted with the pale white nightlight he always left on to chase away the ghosts. Did his pillow still smell of blood? Was he still confident he was untouchable? Did he think he could threaten her with betrayal and escape unscathed?

The letter in her pocket felt as heavy as a loaded gun when she slid it under his door, careful not to make a sound. The words didn’t matter. What mattered was the poison in the paper. He’d open it during breakfast, as he always did, and it’d be so easy for the poison to contaminate his coffee, the soggy scrambled eggs he liked so much, or the near-burnt toast on his plate.

Her secrets, her life, were once again protected by the silence of the dead in the sanctuary of the forest. It feels good to be the hunter, she smiled to herself as she vanished into the night.

Hi, and thanks for reading. It’s a short one this week, but I hope you enjoyed it. The last three months of the year are the busiest for me work-wise, so things may get a bit inconsistent around here until January. But please rest assured that I won’t let too much time pass between updates.

I’d love to hear any story ideas you may have. If there’s anything you’d like to read from me or a story you’ve read recently that captivated you, please give me a shout by replying to this email or in the comments.