The Hunters

Zezan Tam

Old Man Peterson wasn't seen much. Throughout my life, his old house was one of life's constants; grey, drab and seemingly abandoned. The only thing that kept demolishers at bay was the occasional image of Old Man Peterson, peeking out beyond his grey curtains. He was a man of mysteries, like how nobody on the street knew his first name; even the oldest residents of the street (Mr. and Mrs. Partridge, aged 46 and 45 respectively) called him Old Man Peterson. Another thing was that in all my fifteen years on this Earth, I had never seen Old Man Peterson leave the house, or have guests. I once joked that he must have an underground cellar stocked with space food, for I had never seen him at the shops. Basically, he was the street's mysterious, weird old man, so when he came out and asked my help with lifting something or other, I followed him in, more curious than anything.

Hah, curiosity killed the cat.

So there I was, standing inside Old Man Peterson's house. He didn't speak to me, just led the way up the stairs, in his old man pace. I got a good look at him, or his back anyway. Besides his face at the window, nobody really knew what he looked like, so I took a quick overview of the features: Long scraggly grey hair, faded grey bathrobe, old grey slippers, heck, he might as well have been The Grey Man.

He led me to the bedroom, where a stack of boxes was on the floor. The dust outline in the corner showed they had been recently moved.

"In the corner please". He had a very throaty voice.

The boxes weren't very heavy at all, and I doubt he could not have moved them back himself; I suspected the boxes were a ruse to get me in the house. Poor lonely old man, I thought, and I resolved to spend a bit of time with him. He turned to me:

"Well, thank you for that, boy. I suppose you'd be looking for a reward?" Old Man Peterson said in his growl.

"No sir, that's perfectly alright. Just glad I could help." I really didn't want anything, and it didn't look like he had much to give anyway; the house was quite empty.

"Nonsense. A good turn requires reward. Unfortunately I'm not one for material possessions, but I'll tell you what. In the old country, we used to trade in stories. A good story for a night's meal around the campfire, that's how it was. I don't suppose you'd be interested?"

"No sir. I mean, I would be interested. I'd love to hear a story." Spending time with Old Man Peterson; I deserved a Good Samaritan award or something.

"Good. Well, sit down then. I'll tell you a tale of the old country, about the Hunters of old and the trickster who doomed them. Now, the Hunters were not exactly people, although they bore startling resemblances. Where men were of dust and clay, the Hunters were of the Moon. 'Mother Selene' they called her. As they were of the moon, they looked as men did, but with a few differences; mainly they resembled the moon, as far as a human shape can resemble her. The Hunters were exactly as their name implied, master hunters. Their ability was unrivalled, and their skills were legendary: stalking a stag for days before silently taking the kill, or shooting a frantic rabbit zigzagging away on a single arrow. The Hunters could also shape change into wild animals, should they choose to hunt naturally. They understood these as gifts from the moon, so every full moon, for three days they would hunt and anything hunted was sacrificed to their mother, and such was their gift to her. It was noticed that they did not mate, nor noticeably age, nor eat; it seemed the monthly sacrifice was their life-force, and the ones who failed to hunt well did not last very long."

He paused to draw breath, so excited he was by the telling. You could tell he was really into it. I wondered where an old man would find inspiration to invent such stories. Still, it was an entertaining story. He continued:

"The Hunters and the people of the land generally did not interact very much, each species leaving the other to it's own devices. From the humans sprung a child the men named Loki, for he was trouble from a young age. Perhaps it really was Loki possessing the child; it was never known. Loki was fascinated by the Hunters, and observed their ways and customs. He also was a trickster by nature, and when he discovered their ritual of the monthly sacrificial hunt, he devised the evil plot that Hunters would remember forever.

"When the time approached for the moon to be full again, he disguised himself like a Hunter, and told another Hunter that Selene requested this hunt be done in the form of a bear. The Hunters were an honest people, and they did not understand the concept of deception, a human creation. So the unknowing Hunter hunted as a bear, just as the rest of the Hunters began the monthly hunt. Seeing a bear, rarest of the forest prey, the Hunters gathered together, for to take a bear unchanged was no mean feat. Together they drew bows as one, and released as one, and the bear was killed in front of the full moon, riddled with more arrows than could be counted at a glance. Only then did they realise their mistake, as the moon wept at the sight of her dead child. Loki, who was hiding behind a tree, could not contain his laughter, safe in the knowledge that Hunters swore to never kill humans. "Ha..I..haha..tricked you..ha...all!" But the Hunters were angry, and, unable to contain their anger, they grabbed young Loki, and they held him high to the moon, and they cut his throat."

I shivered at this part of the story. It was getting quite horrific, and again I wondered how Old Man Peterson, who never went out, could have thought of such a story. He noticed, and smiled, obviously pleased at my reaction. Sick old man, getting pleasure from scaring teenagers, I thought. I closed my eyes as he began to finish the story:

"The moon, she was so upset that this offering pleased her, and she commanded that she desired human blood for the sacrifice now. However, killing people did not sit well with the Hunters, and soon they began to notice that they changed as the moon approached; grew large and beastlike, with long claws and sharp yellow teeth. People began to call them "werewolves", but it was not like the werewolves you know, boy, they're much exaggerated. They did not completely change into animals, but rather the changes were subtle. From that day forward, at every full moon, for three days the Hunters hunted, and the people hid. So...how's that for a story, boy?"

I opened my eyes. I hadn't noticed, but he had gotten up near the end of the story. Time had passed quickly, and it was truly nighttime already. He had moved to the window, and for the first time that night I noticed things I hadn't noticed before. He looked, younger and...stronger now, if that could happen in the space of a few hours. He also wasn't The Grey Man anymore, the moonlight had bathed him in a silver glow, and I realised he was The Silver Man. Also, the front door was locked and bolted. A little unsettled, I replied: "It was a very imaginative story, sir. It would be cool if they really did exist, the Hunters I mean."

"Nobody said they didn't, boy." And then he smiled at me, and in the light of the full moon, I saw just how sharp and yellow his teeth were.

Hah, curiosity killed the cat.