Shades: Eight Tales of Terror by D Nathan Hilliard Page A

emanated from the monstrosity. Its great rack of antlers turned as it appeared to scan the area, hunting its prey.
    Standing only thirty feet away, Carl still couldn’t make out any features of the colossus.
    It remained a hole in the night—a thing so eye-achingly black every single inch of its silhouette stood out in sharp contrast to the mere natural darkness of the woods behind it. All the light from the lantern which should have illuminated it appeared to be simply absorbed. The massive phantasm seemed to be almost as much an absence as a presence…an insane, feral hunger given form.
    A loud snort thundered, followed by the sound of the unearthly creature sniffing the air.
    Alright, Pete. I sure hope you did what I told you, Carl took careful aim, because if you didn’t we’re both dead.
    He pulled the trigger.
    The Marlin, lever action 30.30 barked, spitting an uncomfortably conspicuous flash from its muzzle. A split second later the lantern leaped and shattered. The flame landed in the kerosene soaked area, and fire rose from the ground…not the instant flare up like one would get with gasoline, but the flames still spread at a good rate.
    The wendigo screamed and stumbled back.
    Don’t like fire, do you, Carl thanked the heavens his hunch had been right. Otherwise you would have destroyed entire villages way back then.
    The sheriff knew the flames would only last a few seconds, and wasted no time in taking advantage of the distraction. He fired two shots directly at the shape then fled from the clearing, careful to take a different direction than Pete used before him. His path took a sharper angle downhill. It meant a steeper and rougher run, but it also lead more directly to the water.
    He hoped it would be close enough. This time he didn’t have as much of a head start as before.
    A thun derous roar exploded behind him and Carl knew his little diversion had expired. He could hear branches smash as the thing charged like a bull into the trees after him. Its heavy footsteps shook the very ground. The sheriff hoped by sticking to the most heavily wooded of paths he would be able to gain ground as his pursuer fought its way through the tangle.
    It sounded like that hope was misplaced. The heavy footsteps and crashing actually grew closer as they both careened headlong through the woods.
    Carl slipped, staggered, and fought his way through the dark, dodging around tree trunks and pushing through brush and whipping branches. He bounced off one tree, rebounded forward, and twisted to try and dash through a bewildering thicket of branches. He didn’t make it. One thicker limb caught him across the eyes and knocked him to the dirt, causing him to scramble blindly forward on all fours.
    He struggled to regain his feet, then slipped and fell forward with a strangled cry.
    A mighty howl from directly behind told him this race had just reached its inevitable conclusion—the one he pretty much expected when he sent the deputy on his way. The laws in force tonight were old ones, and they respected neither badges nor men. They were primordial edicts, as immutable as time itself, and they were relentlessly unforgiving in their verdicts. In their eyes the old elk had wandered away from the herd and lost one too many steps. And the sentence for that crime never varied.
    Now the greatest of all wolves closed in for the kill.
    A powerful grip closed on Carl’s shoulder with crushing force.  The exhausted man cried out as the thing jerked him up and backwards out of the tangle. It hurt…bad. His one attempt to struggle only made matters worse. The titan’s grasp tightened, squeezing the bones in his shoulder to the snapping point as it hauled him off his feet.
    A second later he hung before the great antlered head, dangling like a ragdoll in the apparitions grasp. This close, the things stench was almost unbearable. Carl gagged and tried to focus on its face. But even at this distance it remained a silhouette of the deepest