The Hunter Inside

by David McGowan

  The being that was affected most by the cold snap of weather was the huge figure that stood in the shadows forty feet from the front door of Paul Wayans’ house, hidden by the darkness and crouching beside a tree that stretched about twenty feet into the air. The tree was something that he needed, as he was over eight feet tall, and his reason for visiting was not a friendly one. And he was a he – as he developed he felt more and more male. Testosterone flowed through him, especially on nights like this one, and despite being only half complete, his body told him he was male

  The cold had slowed him down and made his actions difficult to accomplish, sapping vital strength from his body and diminishing his strength; threatening his objectives with every minute that passed, and making him hungry to succeed and achieve his goals while he still could.

  Everything had to be right. No mistakes could be made if he was to achieve his destiny.

  This was something that the shadow constantly considered as the day passed and preparations were made, and while anybody else would have thought that Paul Wayans had decided to stay away from home, he knew differently. He had known exactly where Paul Wayans was, and had not been surprised when he saw him for the first time, walking up the road to the drive of the house and pausing, before finding the paper that was nailed to the door. Neither was the shadow surprised to see Wayans enter the house after removing and inspecting the message that he had prepared earlier in the day at some distance from his current location.

  His dreams were not really dreams. Whether awake or resting, he saw these people going about their everyday lives. His head was a constant whirl of activity as he moved towards his goals.

  He knew their names, addresses, even their thoughts.

  He knew what their next move would be, but they didn’t know his.

  They only knew what he wanted them to know. He was in control and determined; more determined every day, that the cold was not going to beat him.

  Nobody would stop him.

  Not now.

  Paul Wayans was afraid. The shadow hiding behind the tree knew this and this was what he wanted. Wayans heart beat at twice the normal rate and this was a thing that brought strength to the figure, who remained in the same position, crouched at the base of the tree, waiting for Wayans to leave the house.

  He fed off the fear of his intended victims, waiting for the time when it was at a peak, before taking them and taking their strength, their knowledge, their lives.

  So far it had been easy. The people he needed to give up their lives had done so without too much of a fight. Now the time had come again, and now the urge was stronger. He was nearly complete, but fear was not enough to keep him strong for long. Tonight was definitely the night for him to feed again. He could not wait.

  Watching as Wayans left the house, the figure determined that he would follow him, feed off his fear and, when he was ready, take him unawares. He did not want him to hear his footsteps so he would not follow immediately; he didn’t need to. He would bide his time and toy with his victim. Then he would prevail and his wholeness would be nearer. He would be more himself.

  Wayans was out of view around the corner before the shadow put down the small bag that he held at his feet. He could get it later, when he needed it. For now, surveillance would be his method of watching his victim. Wayans was now a far enough distance away, and the figure stepped out from behind the base of the tree, making his way towards where Wayans had disappeared from view.

  Tonight must be the night, and nothing must interfere with his plans.

  Paul Wayans did not have far to travel, but as he walked his mind was tortured with fear and thoughts that he was being followed. He paid close attention to the things around him, but did not see anything suspicious or, in fact, anybody at all. The roads were empty and he traveled with only his thoughts and fears. The apparently empty street did little to make him feel any easier, and the further he walked, the more panicked he became.

  For the figure that followed Wayans this was energy. His strength soared as Wayans’ fear grew and he knew that nothing would stop him tonight. Wayans was already gone, already his.

  Paul Wayans carried a file of papers and was making his way to meet a friend in a bar. The journey was one of about ten or fifteen minutes on foot. Wayans was thinking about getting away from Stamford. He was thinking about running. This amused the figure in the shadows.

  They thought they could run and escape him. What Arnold and Carson didn’t know was that they were running to him. His plans were going well.

  Although Carson was not yet in Atlantic Beach he was quite certain that she would be there when he wanted her to be.

  Arnold was already there. He had watched his progress from the cemetery with interest, and had taken a small amount of strength from Arnold’s horror when he had discovered the note that he had planted there two days earlier.

  The irony of the meeting between the two condemned men, Wayans and Arnold, had amused him. The fact that they would not meet again seemed almost comical to him. Not in this life anyway. The next was something that he did not care about.

  Paul could not wait to get to Chee-Uz bar. With each step the tension became more and more unbearable, and he wondered if he was doing the right thing. While he would be relieved to see Todd Mayhew and unburden himself of the story of Shimasou, he feared not reaching Todd. Even if he did manage to reach him and tell of his fears he may only be putting himself at further risk. He may never see Todd Mayhew again after tonight.

  The conflict in his mind was a fierce one and the outcome of it was determined by the decency and fear of Paul Wayans who, while knowing that distance may be his only possible means of escape, also knew that distance did not matter if his stalker was the embodiment of Shimasou. He was prepared to put his life on the line if it made him the savior of the rest of the world. He was too afraid of a world in which Shimasou called the shots, whether he was a part of it or not. It was this rationale that allowed his feet to move, one in front of the other, towards a place that seemed a million miles away on the chilly streets of Stamford; the cold breeze making his teeth chatter as he went.

  From Chee-Uz he would run. There was nothing in the world that would keep him in Stamford one second longer than necessary. Whoever his stalker, he was there in Stamford; the mailman did not tend to nail the mail to the door, and this was enough to tell Paul Wayans that he had to leave tonight. The best thing to do would be to leave the country. Getting away from Stamford did not seem enough, getting away from America seemed his one chance. He would do anything to be safe.

  But if it is Shimasou, he thought.

  In the shadows the large figure pursued Paul Wayans, soaking up his thoughts and fear in perfect knowledge of the fact that his quarry would not be going anywhere tonight. He would not be going anywhere, ever. He would make sure of this. While he would allow Wayans one last drink before he died, he would not allow him to run. This was the night and the time was never more right.

  Wayans would die tonight.

  He needed to feed; he needed the strength of Wayans to propel him back to Atlantic Beach where the others would be waiting patiently for their turn. Then it would be plain sailing for him. He could even pick them off together if the time was right. He looked forward to the day when he would take them, and be only one step away from his completion. It had taken him a long time – ten years – but now it was almost time for him to show himself to the world.

  It was almost time for the world to cower in fear.

  Paul Wayans could see the bar as he made his way the final one hundred and fifty yards of his journey. Watching from the shadows the tall figure paused, listening to his thoughts as he went. He was feeling relieved that he had reached the bar. He had achieved his first objective, and was grateful to have lived long enough to reach a bottle of whiskey and a chair.

  He was exhausted.

  From thirty feet away the shadow watched as Wayans approached the brightly lit area around the neon Chee-Uz si
gn and entered the bar, after casting a glance over the surroundings that concealed his stalker so well.

  Now, he was inside the bar and the figure in the shadows waited patiently for him to finish his last drink. He would be there for an hour and ten minutes waiting for Wayans and the cold would affect him somewhat. But that didn’t matter, because the strength that he had taken from Wayans’ fear amounted to enough to see him through to what would eventually be a feast before the end of the night, when he took his life, strength and knowledge.

  The clock ticked on and up for the shadow while for Wayans it ticked on and down, but only one person knew this for sure, and only one person held the aces that would win the highest possible stake tonight.

  He would need to get back to his hideaway quickly after killing Wayans; he would need to absorb what he had taken from him and prepare for the next time.

  Wayans would be returning home when he left Chee-Uz and that was where he would carry out the most important part of his task. He would do it where it was quiet and there was not much chance of being discovered before he wanted to be. Then he would go back to his hideaway in Atlantic Beach.

  Paul Wayans would not be running. As he sat with Todd Mayhew in Chee-Uz he thought he had a chance of escaping.

  He was wrong.

  For Paul Wayans it was too late; his time was up.

  He was only lucky that he could give the file he had taken to Todd. Then it might not be too late for the others. Todd was at the bar asking Gloria for drinks. When he came back, Paul would tell him everything he knew and give him the file.

  Outside it was cold. The temperature was beginning to really drop. That did not bother the figure who waited for Paul Wayans to leave Chee-Uz, as he knew that pretty soon his strength would be soaring. He was only half-concealed by the thick tangle around him but he was sure that he would not be seen by anyone until it was what he wanted.

  He was right.

  14

  Inside the bar it was warm. The color returned to Paul Wayans’ chilled hands as he waited for Todd to return with drinks, and he was more thankful than ever before to be in the dilapidated old bar. Todd Mayhew stood at the bar and talked in hushed tones to Gloria. It was obvious from Gloria’s glance, which kept returning to Paul’s face, that his cuts and bruises were the topic of conversation. This annoyed him somewhat, and although he realized that coming into the bar with his face messed up was going to cause speculation, his anxiousness to tell his story and his desire to get away from Stamford made him fidget in his seat, uncomfortable in the extreme.

  He was sure that Gloria would be unable to offer any accurate opinion on what had happened. He had never thought of her as particularly bright. When he looked into her eyes what he saw made him certain that her head was in fact empty; they were always glassy, and her air was always detached. The only word that he thought came close to describing her was ‘dizzy’. This seemed pretty accurate.

  Todd turned and carried a small tray from the bar towards the table where Paul sat. On the tray were two beers and two large whiskeys. He reached the table in seven steps, and put the tray down upon wood that looked nearly as old as Todd himself. As he did the table wobbled back and forth, one leg shorter than the others.

  A moment passed. Paul looked at Todd and Todd looked at Paul.

  Without breaking the silence, Wayans reached out and took one of the glasses of whiskey from the tray, glancing around at the four or five people that were in the bar before knocking it back in one sharp movement, wishing he had not just a dram, but the whole bottle to help him through the night.

  Looking at Paul, Todd could see his day had been a stressful one and he remained silent, allowing his friend to look around, relax and take a drink before beginning to question him on what kind of trouble he was obviously in.

  ‘So, what happened to your face Paul?’ Todd asked after a moment had passed. He struggled to keep a nonchalant tone, despite being worried as hell.

  He watched as Paul sat for a moment without answering; he looked as though he was thinking about the question.

  Paul had drunk the whiskey, and now he took a beer and poured quarter of it down his throat before putting the glass down, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and allowing a small quantity of gas to escape through his clenched teeth.

  But where to start his crazy tale? How was Todd going to take it? The beginning was the only option. He decided that Todd Mayhew was quite probably going to think he was mad.

  ‘Believe me, Todd. The state of my face is the least of my worries at this moment in time,’ he eventually replied as his hand went up to his face. He felt congealed blood that had once circulated through his broken nose.

  ‘So what’s up then Paul? What’s going on? Normally the beer comes before the chaser, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink like that in almost five years of knowing you.’ Todd was concerned. It was true that he had not seen Paul drink heavily since they had known one another and his quip made Paul give a laugh that was a little forced. Both of Todd Mayhew’s drinks remained on the tray, untouched.

  ‘It’s a long and very strange story Todd, and what I’m going to tell you is something that you must take seriously because it may not only be me that’s in danger.’

  As he spoke he gathered speed, and the mask of calmness and control slipped to reveal a man with very frayed nerves and a story to tell.

  ‘What do you mean Paul?’ Todd asked. ‘Why are you in danger?’

  The swiftness with which Paul had gone from laughter to a look of wild fear made Todd Mayhew very uneasy. While he considered Paul to be a friend, he was also an old man. He could do without getting himself into any danger or trouble. He could tell by the look on Paul’s face that there was a storm brewing, and while he was intrigued to know what was going on, he didn’t want to be dragged into a dangerous situation.

  The eyes of Paul Wayans took on a glassy look not dissimilar to Gloria’s, who now stood behind the bar, rigorously polishing glasses and straining to hear the conversation of the two men who sat just out of ear’s reach from her.

  ‘It started when I was a child, Todd. Before my grandmother died.’

  ‘How? What are we talking about here?’

  Todd wondered if Paul had already drunk some large quantity of alcohol before getting to Chee-Uz. He did not imagine that the school bully had hunted him down and given him a beating and he looked at Paul expectantly, sure that he would drop the penny at any moment.

  ‘Okay, here goes,’ Paul muttered, before beginning what he knew seemed like a very tall story.

  ‘My grandmother was Chinese. She came to America a long time ago with no money and not many possessions. When I was a child of about five years old I would stay at my grandmother’s house. Every weekend I would stay and every weekend she would tell me the same story. I was terrified of what she told me. I had nightmares about it for a long time.’ He trailed off and Todd was left to wonder if he was talking to the same Paul Wayans that he had spoken to one week previously. He hadn’t yet told him anything that would indicate why he was in such a state, and Todd eased him out of his daze by saying, ‘What was it Paul? What was the story?’

  ‘It was an old legend. Shimasou she called it. She told me things about it that seemed like a horror story.’ Paul saw himself sitting as a child on his grandmother’s lap, shaking with fear and too scared to move. The urge to get down and run away was always outweighed by the terror that gripped his senses, and he would always sit motionless with his eyes closed, waiting for his grandmother to finish her horror stories.

  ‘But what has that got to do with you, or now, Paul?’ Todd asked. He was having trouble making a connection between past and present. Whatever Paul was trying to tell him may have seemed like a horror story to him as a small boy, but it was obviously very real to him now as he sat clutching an empty beer glass.

  ‘My grandmother did not know about the legend before she came to America from China. When she emigrated, she did
it to escape to the land of hopes and dreams. She had no money, she didn’t have anything much. Times were hard for her and she had to sell off her possessions in order to raise money for food. My grandmother had a statue. It was a small figure that held a jewel between its hands, and it was the last thing my grandmother sold. It was given to her by her grandmother and had been passed through many generations; the legend being that it made you a stronger person.’

  ‘How?’ Todd was conscious of the fact that he only asked questions but, despite Paul’s story, he still couldn’t make a connection.

  ‘Well, the legend went that it was a charm. The jewel channeled strength from the surroundings to its owner; Shimasou, which in turn channeled the strength to its owner; my grandmother.’

  ‘But how could you be in danger from a statue that’s supposed to give you strength? Come to think of it, how can you be in danger from a statue that your grandmother sold when you were a child?’

  ‘The legend my grandmother had been told was wrong. It didn’t channel strength to its owner. It channeled strength from its owner, and it got more powerful as a result. After my grandmother sold the statue she realized this. She felt haunted by it. It ravaged her mind and turned her inside out. In the end she was so tormented that she took her own life, and in the note that she left she blamed it all on Shimasou. She said it had spoken to her inside her mind and told her that it would make itself a complete being. It would take the strength from those around it and one day rise up complete; to rule the world.’

  Todd Mayhew sat, his jaw wide open, looking at Paul Wayans. He had stopped talking and continued to look straight through him, in a place of terror that was a long way away from Chee-Uz bar.

  Could he really think something like this could be real? It sounded so far out, and Todd’s first thought was that Paul’s grandmother had been driven mad by the life of poverty in which she was trapped and struggling to survive.