The Tracker

by John Hunt

  “You’re wasting time with your stupid questions. It doesn’t matter how, it only matters that it is. That I am. Now pay attention. I do have your attention don’t I, Taylor?”

  Taylor said, “Yes.”

  “Good. Excellent.” The dark man rubbed his hands together and smiled his shark smile. Taylor suppressed a scream at the sight and swallowed salty blood.

  “We are going to play an elaborate game of hide and seek. You, of course, are going to hide. I…” he stopped and pointed one of those long fingers into his own chest, “will seek. I have been called the Tracker from time to time. And a devil. A vampire. A demon. The boogeyman. I prefer the Tracker. It is the most apt considering what I do. If I must have a name, the Tracker is the most accurate. But enough of that. Back to the game. Can you guess what you win, if after two days I don’t find you?”

  “No.”

  The Tracker chuckled his gravel laugh and said, “Sure you can. You know what you win. You just don’t want to say it because that makes it more real, doesn’t it? You don’t like real things, do you Taylor? Because real isn’t very nice at all is it? Your mom dying, that was real. And it wasn’t nice, was it?”

  Taylor shook his head. The tape restricted the movement but the Tracker saw it and nodded. He said, “Of course it wasn’t. But like your terrifically fat mom’s death, this too is real. So, do you know what you win if you can evade me for two days? Come now,” he patted Taylor on the leg, “it’s more fun if you guess.”

  “I don’t want to play this game.”

  “Now why would I give a fuck about what you want? You’re not much more than a worm, Taylor. And does the early bird give a fuck about what the worm wants? No. It doesn’t. But since you don’t want to guess, and I have to say, you’re being a sorry sport here, I’ll just tell you.”

  The Tracker leaned in real close, inches from Taylor’s face. When he opened his mouth to speak a string of drool landed on Taylor’s cheek. He smelt burning hair, rotten meat and the dead scent of the ocean on his breath, “You have two days to avoid me and if I catch you? Excuse me, when I catch you, I’m going to eat you. I’m going to start at the feet and work my way up to those man-titties! A big, wonderful, fat and juicy Taylor meal!”

  The Tracker clapped his hands and sat straight in the chair.

  “But of course there are rules you have to follow. There are always rules aren’t there? I suppose if there weren’t we would descend into chaos! Utter chaos! We can’t have that, can we? So, rule number one: you can’t leave the city. That wouldn’t be fair, having me follow you to another town or country to eat you. No, not at all. Can you imagine me on a plane? Crazy! Now, rule number two: You can’t tell anyone about me. Not one soul. Not that they would believe you. I mean, who would right? Only you can see me because I want you to see me. Now, the third and final rule: you can’t ask anyone for help. Not the police, not your friend Jill or anyone you work with. And can you guess what will happen if you don’t follow the rules? Oh I forgot, you don’t like guessing. Well, if you try to leave the city, I will show up at Jill’s house and I will eat her kids in front of her and I will tell her why. I will tell her that her good friend Taylor couldn’t follow one simple rule so little Rachel and Sadie have to go down my gullet. And then I’ll eat her. After that, I’ll go to everyone’s house you ever worked with and I’ll do the same to them and their families. And believe me Taylor, you don’t want to test that rule.” He leaned in close to Taylor, poked him in the chest with on long finger and whispered, “You really fucking don’t.” He straightened and said, “The other rule breaking consequences are simple. Tell anyone about me, I kill them. Ask anyone for help, I kill them and then when I catch you, I make you pay. And if you think me eating you from the feet up is the worst that can happen to you, believe me Taylor, it isn’t. Not by a long shot. Do you believe me Taylor?”

  Taylor nodded.

  “No. I need to hear you say it. Do you believe that I would eat Jill’s children in front of her?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “And do you believe I can make your last moments the most painful a person has ever experienced on this planet?”

  His voice a whisper, he said, “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Now of course, all of that only matters if I catch you within the two days. Except for the leaving the city rule.” He pointed a long finger at Taylor, “Don’t you fucking do it!”

  “Okay.”

  “Before we get started, I have to give you a little something. Now, you’re not going to like this, but it has to be done.”

  “What?”

  “Always with the stupid questions.” He clasped Taylor’s head in his hands and using his thumbs and index fingers, pried open Taylor’s mouth. Taylor could feel the long thumbs squishing his tongue. They tasted of ash and he dry heaved as his thumbs moved deeper into his mouth. The Tracker leaned over Taylor and said, “Hold still fella.”

  The Tracker cleared his throat, coughed something into his own mouth, more like hacked something from deep inside to sit in his mouth and leaned over Taylor’s open mouth. A long dark worm of shadowy substance slid out between the tracker’s lips. It curled up on itself, sniffed the air, rubbed its body where the Tracker’s nose would be and then dropped into Taylor’s mouth.

  “Gah! Ack!” Taylor said as he bucked under the shadow made real.

  “Swallow it, Taylor.”

  With his long-fingered hands the Tracker shook Taylor’s head from side to side. The tape pulled at his skin but the sensation couldn’t compete with the thing in his mouth. He felt the viscous lump slide down his throat. Taylor felt his gorge rise and the Tracker clamped Taylor’s mouth shut and pinched his nostrils closed.

  “Swallow, Taylor. Quit fucking around. Let’s get this over with.”

  Taylor tried to move his head back and forth but his head was in the vice of the Tracker’s hands. He didn’t want to swallow the hot, chunky lump in his mouth, but he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t spit it out and it slid down his throat, squiggling and wriggling as it moved.

  “Good boy! That was a good job you did there!” He patted Taylor on the head, ruffled his hair and returned to his seat.

  “You should be feeling something soon. You feel anything?”

  Taylor glared at him with tears shining in his eyes.

  “Wait for it.”

  Taylor shivered and then there, he felt something in his stomach branching out into his limbs, moving along his veins and pulsing through his body.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  “Oh yeah, I can see you feel it now.”

  The pulse intensified. Taylor could feel his flesh jump with each boom. His teeth clacked together and fear stuttered his heart.

  “Yeah, it can get pretty intense. What your feeling is me. It is only this strong because I am so near. The further you get, the less intense. I can feel you too. It is how I track you and it is how you avoid me. If you feel it this strong, I am real close and you should probably start running. From now on Taylor, we are a part of each other. For the next two days at least. Unless I catch you sooner. I hope I don’t catch you too soon. The thrill, you know, the thrill is in the hunt. I like to work for my meal.”

  Boom-boom-boom.

  “You’re going to get a head start of two hours. It’s standard practice for me. I’m going to cut you loose now and then I’m going wait two hours. After that, I’m coming for you.”

  With a clawed finger he cut through Taylor’s bindings with ease.

  He stood and said, “Remember, you have two hours before I come for you.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  The Tracker chuckled, “Does it really matter?
I will be coming. You have two hours Taylor. I’d make good use of them.”

  He turned and walked out of the room. Taylor didn’t hear the front door open or close but he was alone. He knew it because he couldn’t feel the Tracker pulsing within him.

  -11-

  Taylor packs light…

  In high school, Taylor had toyed with the idea of eating right and exercising. He read up on calorie counting and effective beginner work-outs for a person his size. Long walks or hikes were the most recommended exercise for exceptionally heavy people so he bought a hiking backpack with all the bells and whistles incorporated into the durable design. That’s what the salesman said when he sold it to him. When he brought home the backpack and made his intentions known, his mom grew sullen and stopped speaking to him. She said it was fine and agreed he should take care of himself and be healthy but her eyes didn’t match her words. Her eyes told him he was betraying her. He was going back on their non-verbal agreement to be unhealthy overeaters together. He looked for reasons to quit after that. After a week the backpack ended up in his closet.

  He found the walks boring. Nature was boring. Never mind being so sore after the first day he thought he would pass out having to climb the stairs going to second period class in school. With a combination of mother’s guilt and an aversion to nature and pain, he stopped hiking. After a week, the backpack ended up in his closet. He thought one day in the distant future he might give exercise another try. It was a lie and he knew it was a lie but the delusion allowed him to feel better about quitting. That had been a long time ago.

  He pulled the backpack out of the closet from underneath books and old boardgames. It was stiff still, the brand-new stiffness of an unused item. It had multiple pockets inside and out. A pouch to hold freezer packs for cold consumables and a bladder for water with a straw attached to the strap for an easy sip ’n drink. You could take a sip while walking with it on your back. The perfect backpack to carry while running for your life. He put on track pants and a hooded sweater with a fall coat over it. He stuffed a wool hat and mittens in his pack, just in case. It was summer and it was hot out, but who knew what situation he might get into. He finished stuffing his bag with underwear, socks, a toothbrush, toothpaste and a couple of T-shirts. He didn’t want to think of where to go. He wanted to concentrate only on one thing at a time. With those items in the dry portion of the pack, he walked towards the kitchen turning lights on as he went and stopped at the basement door. All four locks were broken and on the floor. The brackets were bent and surrounded by bits of wood from the frame. The door tilted on a slight angle and the top hinge was separated from the wood of the frame, like the door had burst open. How had he not heard it in the night? He swiped sweat from his forehead and continued into the kitchen swallowing a cry that threatened to weaken him.

  He filled his bag with granola bars, apples and took a box of Double Stuffed Oreo cookies. He filled the bladder with water and after quick reflection dropped in water bottles. He threw in a few cans of Coca-Cola, his favourite soda, and hefted the bag. The pack felt satisfactorily heavy in his hand.

  He furrowed his brow wondering if he missed anything. Remembering the Tracker and his teeth, Taylor opened the drawer and grabbed a knife, examined it and put it back. Too small. He picked up a butcher knife, one that would make Michael Myers of Halloween proud and placed it in his pack. He placed his wallet and cell phone in the pocket of his coat and with his keys in hand he walked out the front door. He paused at the front with his key in the lock. Did he have to lock it? Would he be coming back? He wanted to believe he would be. He wanted to believe it so much only the Tracker didn’t seem like someone, or a thing, who lost. And if he happened to survive the next two days, would he let Taylor go with a good natured handshake and a pat on the back? Could he be trusted? Taylor might never know. He locked the door hoping for the best. In this situation, it was the only thing he had control over. A few steps away from his house he thought, where in the hell am I going to go?

  -12-

  The red light motel…

  Taylor thought, if I were a supernatural being searching for a fat virgin, where would I look? He had to know Taylor had limited funds, no friends to go to even if he could and no real place to hide. He probably thought Taylor was a pansy, which in Taylor’s estimation was accurate, and wouldn’t think Taylor would head to the shadier side of town. Going to a stretch of hotels frequented by ladies of the night, their pimps, drug users and dealers along the main highway into town would serve two purposes. The hotel would be a cheap place to stay and the Tracker wouldn’t think to look for him there first. How much range did the worm, tracker thing inside him have with the boom-boom-boom unfair closeness beacon? Didn’t matter. Taylor wouldn’t know unless he could test it and he couldn’t think of a way to do that without letting the Tracker get closer to him, so, scrap that idea. Taylor checked his watch: 1:47am. When did the Tracker leave his house? 12:30? 12:20? Either way time was passing and time wasn’t something you could get back once lost. The faster he created distance the better. He phoned a taxi to take him to a bank machine and then drop him off at the Starlight Motel. The type of place that charged by the hour and at all hours of the night, darkness clingers and shady people could be seen knocking on doors, meeting cars in the lot for brief seconds or hanging out by the soda machine smoking cigarettes that didn’t smell like cigarettes. They smelled like the cigarettes the kids were smoking at the party he went to in high school long ago. The only party he ever went to.

  He paid for a room, cash of course, until eight in the morning. The man behind the counter was smoking under a no smoking sign and couldn’t be bothered to look at Taylor while he paid because he would have to take his eyes away from the TV.

  Taylor believed he’d be fine until at least eight in the morning. Well, hoped he would be. He couldn’t feel the Tracker and thought this was the last place he would search for a timid, chubby guy. And if the Tracker was being logical, he would search the Denny’s and McDonald’s of the city first because that’s where hungry people like Taylor went and there were plenty of those.

  He left the office and glanced towards the parking lot. A police cruiser was running and he could see the shadow of an officer in the car, front lit by the light of the in-car computer terminal. The people who had been milling about earlier were now gone. They were absorbed by the shadows and dark spaces or hid in nearby rooms. Criminals were as averse to police as vampires were to sunlight. The officer didn’t even notice Taylor walking along the line of doors and windows with the shades drawn and the lights off and that was good. Taylor didn’t want to be noticed. He didn’t know what he would say if the officer confronted him. He didn’t want to break the rules and he thought he might ask for help if the officer was even remotely kind.

  Taylor frowned and stopped walking. He looked at the room number. Yup. He had passed his room. He turned back, jingling the key fob and with a quick peek over his shoulder, opened the door, flicked on the light, closed and locked the door behind him. The room smelled of body odour and a liberal dousing of Pine-Sol. He wrinkled his nose and considered sleeping on the floor. Who knew when or if they cleaned the sheets and bedspread. Worse could be on the floor though. He chided himself for not stuffing a sleeping bag in his fancy backpack. He could have slept in that on the bed.

  He slid his backpack on the floor and removed the box of Double-Stuffed Oreo’s. When his weight settled into a vinyl padded chair a puff of air exploded. The scent of old farts crowded his nostrils. He stood, not wanting to eat surrounded by the foul air and drew a curtain aside to peer out the window. The police car had left and the night people littered the lot like drifting refuse. A woman wearing tight shorts and a loose shirt noticed him in the window. She winked, waved with her pinky and sauntered towards him. Her breasts swayed from side to side in such a way he knew she wasn’t wearin
g a bra. His heart stuttered in his chest and a patina of sweat lay on his brow. He twitched the curtain closed.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  He jumped back from the window and put a hand over his heart. He could feel it beating under his hand. So soon? How could it be possible? Hell, how could any of this be possible?

  The presence was faint. Had it gone away? Taylor reached for the curtain, his hand hesitating over the gap and then…

  Boom-boom-boom.

  “Jesus!”

  Closer. The Tracker was closer. Taylor checked his watch. Two hours had passed. The chase had started. Backing away from the window, Taylor ran a hand through his hair. Sweat covered his hand and he ran it down the front of his shirt to dry it. What to do? Where could he go now? Would the Tracker be right outside the door, grinning his shark smile if Taylor opened it? Why was this happening to him? A fat lonely kid who just lost his mom? He was already pathetic. His life didn’t resemble anything worth envying. Why the fuck was this thing picking on him? But he knew, didn’t he? It’s because he was pathetic. No friends, no one to give a fuck about him if he got lost for a couple of days or forever, really. The worthless type of person who could die and not even leave a ripple in the waters of humanity. It wouldn’t matter if the Tracker got him. It wouldn’t matter at all.

  You’re scared, that’s all, that’s why you’re thinking like this. It’s easier to quit than it is to fight. If you quit, you won’t feel so scared anymore. If you quit, you won’t feel anything at all. Except for the pain of being eaten alive. Oh yeah, you’ll feel that alright.

  “Fuck that,” Taylor whispered.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  Taylor snatched his backpack off the floor, slung it over his shoulder and opened the door.