The Warren

It was getting dark, a time when the crepuscular creatures of the natural world rise up, start moving about and hold sway over their environment. A time when old men - dozing on their back porch - arouse and fold up their summer chairs and retreat into their homes. It was the most ancient of instincts basic in all sensible creatures. To either explore - or retreat - or move on when the sun's last rays turned the sky into a gray-blue background and everything was shrouded in shadows. The shadow itself, being mysterious and otherworldly, though still a natural thing bringing a supernatural feel to this world.

Most sensible men having retreated into the safety of their homes this coming night, the lone hunter was still on the prowl. Not having found any suitable quarry earlier in the day, for some reason, he chose to stay on the hunt until he found his prey. But prey never comes to the hunter, the hunter must find the prey. Sometimes the hunter stumbles on something else. This time it was something like prey, but not quite. Something like rabbits, but with no rabbits around.

Strangely, the hunter sensed that he had finally found their territory. At least, it felt like their territory. Territory that some prey animal - in this case, the rabbit - might be occupying.

The dusk was getting quite dark now. The last bit of daylight dissolving into the greyness of the evening. There were hardly any clouds, nor weather, to speak of. But this dusk seemed a little bit darker than normal, the lone hunter thought. He scanned the darkness a bit and perceived he had found a great open clearing that he did not recall in his previous hunts.

The clearing seemed to be new to him, but not all that recent. Grass, woodvines, and other weeds were covering the ground. But they seemed young, almost fresh. Like they had recently been mowed down and allowed to grow for a couple of weeks, or some period of time like that. He could perceive no tracks nor trails in the great, fresh clearing. There was what seemed like a familar sight of trees in the background. And, if he strained his ears, the very distant sounds of the outskirts of his town, some miles away.

The hunter realized it was now getting very dark and he still had no kills to bring home with him. His creel was empty. He realized that the getting home now would be difficult. He hadn't spotted any holes nor tripping hazards on the ground, but what if he came across something in the clearing. What if he tripped over some exposed roots in the woods ahead of him? Damn, he thought, what am I still doing out here? Did I pack my lamps? He took off his pack and looked through it in the now encumbering dark. He couldn't find his lamps. Had he packed them? Damn. Something like fear began to creep up on him. Damn again, feeling a little foolish he tucked his growing fear in his emotional backpack and found some fortitude and began heading, trophyless, back to the edge of the wood and in the distance, home.

It was cooling, too. He thought the air was a little too chilly for the season. Then he thought of that ancient curse, about the thrice-damned. He giggled and tried to laugh it off while heading home in the darkness. There was a gibbous moon in the sky, but like the gibbous moon, it reflected just barely enough light.

He continued his course in the growing darkness. He realized that what he had thought was a familiar stand of trees, now, simply wasn't. What the hell was it, it looked like a stand of trees, in the distance, now it wasn't he thought. It was big. It was looming. And feeling still a little foolish, monstrous. It wasn't a stand nor a grove, but a mound. He had never seen this out here before.

The thing appeared to be solidly made of grass and dirt. It was packed, almost hard, like it had been there for some time - but not in an age of years. He put his hand out - yes, it was solid. He looked around. It had a length and breadth of several yards. It was big. Why hadn't he seen this mound - or was it a hillock - before? He looked around for signs of humanity and digging equipment for clues. Nothing. It looked as though noone had been here before him. In the collapsing dusk, the mound-thing seemed strangely quiet. Like it was some sleeping animal, just about to stir. What a queer feeling, he thought. I need to shake this off and get moving.

Then, he thought he heard in the long, long distance a male deer make a single baying call in the night. It was a long ways off. I really must be quite alone he thought. He though again, and began to examine the mound more closely in the spreading darkness.

He thought he heard baying again. But, it wasn't it was...a deep rumbling sound. And then he heard ... scratching? What the hell was it?

He looked aroung the bottom edge of the mound, where it seemed to meet the flat, fresh plain. He found a hole. It was very wide, but not very high. In the dark, he could not tell how deep it was. It's just a hole, I guess, he thought.

Then, in the hole, he thought he saw a reflection of the gibbous moon, and then again, and then again. It must be some water, he thought. But where did the water come from? It hadn't rained nor stormed in this area - it was relatively dry.

Then, the glinting reflections seemed to inch forward. He kept looking and did not move an inch. Yet the reflections kept coming and moving forward, and forward, and forward... And suddenly, the large furry mass was upon him. And it smelled, it smelled awful, like some ancient dead, wet animal carcass. And it had claws, and teeth. By the hundreds, and the swirling mass of darkness and fur pulled him inside. And further, and further, until the hunter could be seen no more.