Adam Slater - Hunted

It was a door!

Behind him, Callum heard the monster’s pursuing footsteps break into a run, as if it had sensed its prey was about to escape. Without hesitating, Callum raced forward himself, as the creature hurtled around the corner behind him.

Throwing his arms forward, Callum slammed his hands into the bar. With a metallic screech, the double doors flew open and Callum stumbled out into the bright sunlight – right into a group of startled year sevens.

Panting, he spun round. The monster had come to a halt just inside the door. For a moment it glared at Callum, its eyes glowing with fury. Then it turned on its heel and vanished back into the gloomy corridor.

*

Callum thought he saw the thing two or three times again throughout the afternoon – a fleeting glimpse of his own face on the stairs, in the hall, across the playing fields. Even though he made absolutely sure he was never left alone, by the time the last bell rang he had still been reduced to a jangle of nerves. His concentration in lessons was non-existent. He’d even thought about skiving off the end of the day and going home early – but what would be the point? He’d probably escape Ed, but Callum didn’t think he’d get away so easily from the creature. There was safety in numbers. Ed certainly wouldn’t dare try anything while they were in a crowd, and it seemed that the face-stealing monster was also publicity-shy. Besides, Melissa would be waiting for him when classes were over. He didn’t like to think that he might be dragging her into danger, but Callum had to admit he was looking forward to her company.

She was waiting at the gate, staring into the distance as though her mind were very far away, but she snapped right back to reality when she saw Callum.

‘Made it safe and sound?’ she asked.

‘So far,’ Callum answered.

‘That Ed’s a lout. Good thing he’s so dim, or he’d be frightening.’

Callum couldn’t bring himself to admit that Ed was the least of his worries. Instead, he nodded with a weak grin.

‘Yeah. Let’s get moving or he’ll catch up with us.’

Hordes of ghosts were clustering in shop doorways and on the footpaths of the town – even more than usual. Melissa couldn’t see them, of course. Callum wondered if he ought to describe them to her, and decided against it. No point in making her think he was any weirder than he’d already admitted to being.

‘I want to pop into the post office and get a new notebook,’ Melissa said. ‘Then we can make proper notes.’

‘Are you training to be a librarian?’

‘Ha ha,’ Melissa retorted sarcastically.

Because it was just outside school hours, there was a queue of kids lined up outside the post office – the shopkeeper was being as rigid as always about his ‘two schoolchildren at a time’ rule. Callum was uncomfortable about hanging about, but a few moments probably wouldn’t hurt. They were still in a public place after all. Even if Ed turned up, the shopkeeper wouldn’t let a fight take place on his stretch of pavement without calling the police. He’d done it before.

But still, it wasn’t easy to stand about in the street when you knew there was a shape-shifting monster tailing you. The tingling in his hands had faded since the nightmare chase through the school corridors, but it hadn’t gone away entirely. Callum felt sure that the creature was as hot on his trail as Ed. He looked around as he waited, searching the faces up and down the line of uniformed students. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, no face he didn’t recognise, all of them living and none of them his.

Callum wasn’t even aware he had heaved another sigh until Melissa patted him kindly on the shoulder.

‘Cheer up, it’s our turn next.’

The little shop seemed empty after the jostling crowd in the street. Callum slouched by the cold drinks cabinet where he could keep an eye on the kids passing by outside. There was still no sign of Ed, or Callum’s phantom double.

‘I’m finished,’ Melissa said, appearing at his shoulder. She held out a Mars bar. ‘Got you a chocolate bar.’

Callum forced a laugh. ‘Typical girl – you think chocolate cures everything!’

‘Can’t hurt. Come on, let’s get to the library before the enemy turns up.’

The shopkeeper-turned-bouncer stepped back to let Melissa and Callum past on their way out and beckoned to the next pair of lucky shoppers, growling the unnecessary warning: ‘Two. Two of you only.’

The bell above the door chimed as Callum opened it, and as if in answer, the Friday afternoon was shattered by a piercing scream of agony.

The Hunter walks among the living crowd, wearing the face of its chosen victim.

Rage burns though its inhuman veins. The Hunter had its prey within its grasp, only for the victim to slip through its fingers again. What is it about this boy? He is different from the others: more cunning, more elusive. And oh, so much more powerful. The Hunter yearns to feed on that power.

It is too hungry to wait any longer. There is another chime child whose nourishing spirit the Hunter can trace. It is not as strong as the boy whose face the Hunter wears. It is one of those weaker beings born close to dawn, hardly aware of their own abilities. It will not be a satisfying meal. But it will strengthen the Hunter for the longer chase to come.

Here, now, the other victim approaches – the feeble, fearless one, escorted by another boy. Its fury still boiling within it, the Hunter confronts the human, smiling its borrowed smile.

‘Look! It’s Scott, just waiting for you, Ed! And grinning like a dope. Hey Scott, been looking for us?’

‘I guess you got my message, Scott,’ says the one that will make a nourishing morsel, with a nasty smile of its own. ‘Thanks for waiting. You coming for a chat with us? We want to hear about your freaky girlfriend. And your gyppo gran.’

The angry words mean nothing to the Hunter. It can use human speech if such speech serves a purpose, but its purpose now is simply to feed. It savours the moment when its victim stands willingly within reach, so foolishly unafraid.

‘Answer me, Scott!’

A fist whips out. The Hunter brushes the flimsy hand aside.

‘Come on, Ed, don’t do it here. Let’s take him along to the engine shed and give him a kicking.’

The Hunter is too hungry to toy with its prey any longer. In an instant, faster than either of the mortals can react, it attacks. Its claws rake the boy’s throat, biting into the warm flesh. Red blood sprays like a fine mist, the salt taste seeking out the Hunter’s lips. The boy staggers back, his eyes wide now with terror.

It is almost an invitation.

The Hunter leaps forward. The boy collapses beneath the onslaught. Now the Hunter is on his chest, its talons seeking those glistening orbs, piercing the pupils and sinking into the jelly.

The boy screams once, in terror and agony, as the meal begins.

Callum and Melissa raced towards the cry.

Why am I running towards the screaming? thought Callum fleetingly.

Then he knew. Memory battered him from all sides – the sense of urgency, the terrible shriek of agony suddenly cut short, the knowledge that he had come too late, and -

And a boy lying slouched against the brick wall with dripping bloody holes where his eyes should be.

But not an unknown boy this time.

Ed Bolton.

He lay broken and disfigured, his face a river of bloody tears leaking from the empty sockets. Ed’s second-in-command, Baz, was backed against the wall beside the body. He was weeping his own tears of terror, and he had been sick all over the road. Now he looked up at Callum and started screaming.