Fowl Blood
By SW Carter
Edited by EnvyMachinery
William Stuckson loaded the double barreled shotgun he held in the crook of his elbow. With a well-trained eye, he aimed his weapon as he dropped to one knee, edging himself closer to the distracted duck just fifteen feet in front of him. It was one of those days where all the stars seemed to align. The beautiful day, the well-done breakfast, the fantastic mood, and now the kill topped off a well-spent weekend. Pulling the trigger, feathers fell from his target and the duck sank to the ground. Tonight he would feast on his favorite kind of kill.
You see, William hunted ducks ever since boyhood. Most of his greatest memories were created in the hobby. His mind danced with images of his father, meeting his wife, getting drunk in the open fields, sitting by a warm campfire, and hunting his bill-faced foe. Although, the experience was slightly spoiled when a memory flooded back to his mind, one he spent much time constantly suppressing. He wildly shook his head like a wet dog, picked up his kill, then made his way back to camp.
After a few beers, some rest, and turning on his favorite bluegrass band—William hung his duck up and began the process of gutting and de-feathering the small creature. He had placed a bucket underneath the fowl to catch all the blood, as he needed it for later. It wasn’t a lengthy job, and he quite enjoyed the peace obtained from the task. There was nothing in his mind, just him and the bird. At least, that is what he wanted. Unfortunately, memories kept flooding back. Nails, razor-sharp teeth, and intense ringing noises coursed through his head. Cursing, he shook his head again and opened up another can of beer. He admired his handiwork and turned the music up on his small boombox.
After William finished his current container, he realized something stronger was necessary on a day like today. He reached into his pack by his tent and pulled out a small flask of whiskey, taking a long chug. Letting out a deep sigh, he looked up into the clear, blue skies. If only he could get the enjoyment he used to out of these things.
After gathering up his courage, William finished packing up everything necessary from his campsite and began the long walk home. The quiet enveloped him like a large winter blanket, but the memories filled the silence. At this point, William didn’t even try to fight them. Realizing one can’t ignore a haunting, he simply let them flow as his surroundings faded into the background.
As William reached his house, he took a long pause at his doorstep before opening the passage to reality. He pulled his flask from his jacket and took another swig, then stepped inside to a loud growling from a dark corner of the room. His spine ran with chills as he observed the furry shadows and scratches in his once flawless wooden floor.
William turned on the light, disturbing the chained creature which would have been more comfortable in the dark. He felt safer knowing he could see it...The distorted visage of his wife, twisted and contorted into an asymmetrical shape. Tentacles grew from her neck, flapping about wildly as she flashed her spear-like teeth at him. Her feet, now resembling that of a large bird, dug into the floor with curled talons. Her hands, now only three fingers and an extremely long thumb exuded a disgusting green gas from holes in the nails. The last of her blonde hair had fallen to the ground and been replaced by a thick, black fur.
William grabbed a chair, placing it in front of the creature, as it tugged wildly at its metal collar and clawed for him. “Don’t worry, I have what you need.” William sat the bucket of duck blood in front of him and carefully shoved the bucket up to the creature. It lashed out for his gun, but William pulled back quickly, now acutely aware of her tricks. The defeated creature opened its mouth a foot wide, its jaw disconnecting as a large tube poured from its throat and fell into the bucket with a flop. A sickening suckling noise then proceeded to almost cause William to lose his lunch.
William covered his mouth and looked away to the ceiling. He wasn’t sure he wanted to cook that duck tonight anymore. Letting out a deep sigh and choking back the contents of his stomach, he forced out the words “Don’t worry,” after mouthing them several times. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on joyous times. He thought back to the first time he slipped the engagement ring on her finger. “I will keep you alive, even after what you did to the neighbors. You are still my wife, right?” He was met with a low growling. “Still talking back after all these years.” At least he didn’t have to worry about the cops. She drained the town dry.
