FICTION — HORROR
Preydator
What happens when your prey hunts you back?
The night wraps around me like an old, comforting blanket. Each of my steps is quiet and confident, a mere shadow slipping through the darkness. This darkness isn’t just a cover; it feels like a friend guiding my steps as I prowl with the ease of a wild animal across the moonlit UNIZIK campus.
The campus itself is drenched in silver light, with the tall buildings casting sleeping shadows over the dew-sparkled grass near the Admin Building. The air is fresh, filled with the earthy smell of rain and the delicate scent of flowers that bloom in the dark, occasionally broken by the distant, lonely croak of a frog.
Moonlight dances on the gnarled patterns of old trees, their branches weaving a pattern of shadows that sway with the night breeze, adding a touch of mystery to the night. The soft, rain-moistened earth gives way under my feet, mingling its earthy aroma with the sharp freshness of the night.
Under the moonlight, the campus melds modern structures with wild greenery into a silent, haunting tableau. It’s as though the night itself is holding its breath, waiting for hidden dramas to erupt from the dark corners.
Tonight, the air crackles with a mysterious charge, shadows dancing as if alive, murmuring secrets of ancient nights and hidden gazes. My footsteps are part of this eerie ballet, quiet and deliberate, slicing through the crisp night. The moon watches silently, bathing everything in a ghostly light, transforming the ordinary into a playground for nocturnal escapades.
A deep, raw hunger stirs in me, my gut clenches, and my senses sharpen at the sight of her—alone, her figure slender and elegant in the embrace of the night, her braid a single stroke of silver in the moonlight. Her stance is calm; she is unaware of the surrounding dangers.
I move through the dim light, a mere shadow myself, gliding with the deadly grace of a predator. My mind is laser-focused, electrified by the excitement of the pursuit.
In this town, haunted stories circulate about spirits and shadows that roam these grounds with the fall of night, whispering of vengeance and secrets carried by the wind. Yet she dares to walk here, seemingly oblivious to the danger.
Her steps are soft and ghostlike, barely brushing the earth as if she’s a mere wisp in this dark world. A silver locket adorns her neck, shimmering in the moonlight, awakening in me a flicker of recognition, elusive like a forgotten dream.
The old, finely crafted locket pulses as if alive, its engravings speaking of mysteries and buried secrets. This detail scratches at the back of my mind, an elusive memory that won’t quite emerge. In the darkness of my thoughts, I see the scene unfold: the knife gliding across her throat, releasing a scarlet spray, and her screams a haunting melody in my ears.
This awakens a fleeting memory of a similar scream from another night—the first time my blade danced its deadly waltz. That memory ignites me—a reminder of my own beginning. Absorbed in this dark reverie, I briefly forget that she, like me, has a deep-rooted instinct to fight for her life.
My heart pounds against my ribcage like a trapped bird, eager to escape as I glide out of the shadows. Energy surges within me, honing my senses to a razor’s edge, banishing any doubt or second thoughts.
The night around me is tense, pregnant with anticipation. Even the usual whispers of darkness seem quiet, as though nature itself holds its breath. Only a lone owl calls out, its haunting hoot a solitary witness to the scene. My fingers tingle, ready for the kill.
As I spring, grabbing her arm with the quickness of a panther, I expect her to crumble in fear. Instead, she meets my gaze with unyielding eyes, a defiant spark burning in them that defies her frail appearance. What I see instead of fear cools the fire in my veins—a deep, sorrowful look that speaks of ancient pain.
In her eyes, a flicker of recognition ignites, timeless and wise, as if she’s lived through this scene in myriad past lives. “Not again,” she murmurs, her voice a faint echo, like a whisper from a long-lost dream.
Her words, heavy with endless weariness, betray the wisdom that belies her youth. They send a shiver up my spine, echoing the shadow-laden path I’ve wandered for so long. Inside, I’m caught in a storm of emotions—conflict, fear, and unwilling respect for her bravery—feelings I believed I had buried deep.
I feel my eyes narrow, and a brief moment of introspection surfaces before I smother it with indifference. She stands before me like a mirror, reflecting the hidden depths of my being—a ghost of the path I’ve walked.
“Do we have to go through this charade once more?” she asks.
A chill scuttles down my spine, interrupting my stride. It’s the girl’s eerie calm that throws me off, slicing through my self-assurance. She stands there, a curious mix of fragility and a kind of timeless power that sets my nerves on edge more than her strange words do.
My fingers clench around her arm, a feeble attempt to steady my shaken composure. “What are you talking about?” I blurt out, trying to sound forceful, but my voice betrays a hint of doubt.
Her gaze drills into me, delving into the shadowed crevices of my soul. The night air around us grows dense, buzzing with a strange, electric tension, as though the very night is holding its breath, watching our age-old drama unfold.
“How many times have we danced this dance, you and me? Every move is known, and every outcome is written in a story as ancient as the stars.”
Her words send a ripple of discomfort across my skin, igniting sparks of doubt in my clouded thoughts. I flash my knife in a silent threat. “You’ve lost your mind! Speak clearly or stay silent.”
A deep sadness floods her glowing eyes. “If my death is what you need for peace, then let it happen. I hope it frees you from the chains of hatred.”
Her words ignite a wildfire of anger inside me. My hands form tight fists, and my teeth grind together, struggling to hold back the storm of rage. With a feral yell, I swing my blade towards her ghostly, pale throat, eager to end her mad whispers.
But the moment my knife grazes her flesh, a searing pain shoots through me, tearing a stifled scream from deep within. Our eyes meet, and a cold shudder ripples through me—an ancient, wordless understanding that muddles the roles of hunter and hunted.
At that moment, the night itself seems to hold its breath, silently witnessing our bizarre face-off, with the moon showering us in a ghostly light that exposes the secrets in her age-old eyes. Pain seizes my muscles, freezing them in place.
A wave of hot, pressing horror washes over me as I realise I’m paralysed. She looks at me, her timeless eyes stripping away the defences of my worn soul. In those eyes, I see echoes of countless lives, each reflecting the pain and terror I’ve inflicted.
“Release your fear,” she declares, her voice ringing clear and commanding in my chaotic thoughts. “What follows is simply another chapter in a story already penned.”
I stand speechless and powerless, feeling a creeping frost from her touch spread through my body. Time stretches, each moment dragging on like a never-ending nightmare, while the icy grip from her fingers marks the end of my reign as the hunter.
An unbidden memory slices through the haze in my mind — her face, younger and unmarked, the first to fall by my blade. That face haunts me, flickering in and out of clarity as the cold void beckons.
Oddly, fear eludes me as an icy chill seeps into my heart. This frosty invasion brings an unexpected calm as if freezing the tumultuous emotions inside me and guiding me towards a peaceful acceptance of what’s to come.
Her words, soft and haunting, drift through the growing darkness. In this shadowy realm, something shifts dramatically: I, the hunter, am now the hunted, ensnared by a twist of fate I never saw coming.
Her words linger like ghostly whispers in the shadows, signalling a broken cycle and a diverted path at its very end. As the darkness thickens, her final words carry a hint of change, a faint glimmer of hope, even for the heart of a predator.
“The wheel turns. Perhaps next time, the predator will bear fangs.”
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