Snipe Hunting

Snipe Hunting

  by

  Gemma Drazin

  Copyright © 2013 Gemma Drazin

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  Cover Photo: © Rebecca Abell | Dreamstime Stock Photos

  Snipe Hunting

  George shivered from his worn out sneakers to his unruly red hair as the bitter air nipped his skin. The hunting trip his friends had drug him on was taking longer than expected and his stomach growled in protest. Perhaps if he had known them longer than a few hours he would have expected the delay. Hopefully Mother wasn't waiting up for his return.

  His hands rubbed his freckled arms trying to warm them. The gangly boy next to him didn't seem phased by the cold, his crimson hoodie protecting against the chill. Through the night air he heard his pals snickering behind him.

  “Look at George,” the voice came from the lanky, older boy, “he's so scared he's shaking.”

  The fat boy responded, “Mamma's boy for sure. John doesn't seem worried, though. Guess he doesn't know how scary snipes are.” He raised his voice. “Just wait until we get spy some snipes, then you'll both shivering from wetting your pants.”

  John turned toward George and rolled his eyes. The boy was clearly not startled, though George thought he ought to be. Threats were close by.

  The flashlights of the boys behind them swung back and forth between the heavy, dark green foliage, George and John's shadows waving in and out of sight. The undergrowth grew thick with bushes, vines, and rocks. The night air grew crisper. George didn't know how much longer he could deal with this.

  The wind grew more brisk as they went, filling the area with the scent of fall's coming. Soon it would be too cold for snipe hunting and campsite friends. At least he had them for now. Why had he waited so long to join them when he first saw them that afternoon? He should have gone over first thing and been friendly. It's what mother would have told him to do. Not just told him, but insisted upon it.

  Instead he'd sulked close by, not certain about joining in. Then John spotted him. He come over and the others had followed. It hadn't taken the boys long to convince George to play basket ball with them. But it hadn't been a good thing.

  George was awkward. All hands and feet that twisted together instead of moved smoothly like his new friends. It was a relief when they'd decided to switch playing basketball for a snipe hunt. At least at the time. Now it was taking too long. The walking was never going to end.

  Suddenly, the wind rushed past his face as he flew toward the ground. Pain jarred his hands, through his wrists, and up his arms. He cursed and rolled over only to find a pokey bush beneath him. He cursed again. The boys who insisted they needed to go on this hunt snickered.

  Heat swarmed George's face and neck. He was all awkward hands and feet again. John sighed but put a hand out to help him up. The offering was not what he wanted, but he placed his battered hand in the offering anyway. He tried not to wince as the boy yanked him up so hard he landed against John's shoulder. He quickly leaned back, fisting his hands despite the throbbing it caused.

  “Sorry,” John said.

  George pressed his lips together, not trusting the consequences of opening his mouth. At least not yet. He really hadn't been with these boys long. Only a few short hours ago had he met his new friends and fumbled the basketball incident. They were all camping half a mile from here with their respective families.

  “You two done kissing yet?” one of the older boys called out. The other chortled. Wishing he remembered their names, George focused a glare on them.

  The chortling stopped. The fat boy said, “Oh, all right, yah pansy. Take my flashlight.”

  As the older boy hurried over and thrust it at George's hands, he couldn't help but smirk. He took a hold of the flashlight, not caring it made his newly wounded hands ache. The pain was temporary. It would pass.

  “Let's getta a move on,” the other older boy said.

  That was fine with George. The sooner this was over, the better.

  John must have agreed since he had scampered away before the sentence was out. A surprising boy that one. He'd had more strength than George had suspected when he'd helped, and his speed matched it. He'd been a good choice for the older boys to bring on this hunt. It was likely he'd escape the monster they hunted. George couldn't say the same.

  The trees and bushes thickened as they pressed on. If it continued getting worse, they wouldn't be able to press on. Why couldn't they follow a trail? Even with the flashlight it was difficult to see where exactly was a safe to walk. George didn't want to fall again. He was bruised enough for one night. Both his body and his ego.

  The further they continued, the more violent George's shaking became. Maybe this was a bad idea.

  After about another fifteen minutes of trekking through the undergrowth, the skinny older boy said, “We should split. No way we'll find a snipe with the racket we're making together.”

  George clamped his teeth together and tightened his grip on the flashlight.

  “No way man,” John said, fear giving a faint tremor to his bravado. “I ain't going out there alone.”

  Hope relaxed George's tightened muscles. They needed to stay together. At least one of them was out spoken about it, even if he couldn't bring himself to be the one. He'd find a way to repay the bravery. If they lived through this.

  “Course you aren't going alone,” the skinny older boy said. “One of us will go with you.”

  Was that good or bad? A little of both.

  “You take John that way,” the fat one pointed one direction then moved his hand one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. “I'll take the mamma's boy this way. He's shaking so bad already, I want to be there when he finds his first snipe. Meet you guys back at camp in an hour.”

  Mamma's boy! So maybe George did like his mamma. No shame in that. She would be of great use right now. But she insisted George was old enough to do these things on his own. Of course if she knew how dismally he was doing, she'd probably change her mind. After she tanned his hide. She'd taught him better than to let others bully him around. And with how long this was taking, she was bound to not sleep through his absence. He was going to get an earful when he finally saw her.

  “See you later, man,” John said.

  George gave a curt nod. He hoped they would see each other later.

  As they headed off, George's stomach howled in anger, his shivering growing worse. Despite not remembering fat boy's name, he didn't mind being paired off with him. At least, as long as they could finish the hunt soon. Flashlight still sweeping the area in front of them with light, they tripped over rocks and branches continuing on until they were well out of earshot of the other boys.

  The long walk made his legs ache in a way he hadn't felt before. It was long since time for a break. At least in George's mind. But it was doubtful the fat boy would look kindly on one. If they were to rest, he would just have to wait for the fat boy to say so. Unless George could learn to act on his feelings better. Mother was sure to ask for a full account of this tale. By no means would she be happy with George's lack of backbone.

  The sound of footsteps behind him ceased. He halted and glanced back. The fat one was bent over, intent on the ground. Had he spotted something?

  The boy stood. “Thought I saw a trail left by a snipe, but it was only a wolf print.”

  A wolf print? Were wolves about as well? A chill rippled through him.

 
“If there's another predator about, we may have to walk a ways.”

  Did it even matter at this point? They'd been walking forever. Plus it was already late. George didn't want to be here. Something just had to be done. But what could he do at this point?

  At the boy's prompting, he plodded on. But not without keeping an extra focus for additional problems. He hadn't noticed wolves around here before, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. How did one handle a wolf? Hopefully they wouldn't need to know.

  After another half-an-hour of walking, they hadn't run into anything. If there were wolves about, they were leaving them be. George let the flashlight rest loosely in his hand. This was going to work out. Everything was going to be fine. Nothing bad was going to him.

  Though George hadn't said anything, the fat boy seemed to agreed. “Flip your flashlight off, maybe that's what's scaring them off.”

  Adrenaline hissed through George. If that's what the fat boy wanted, he'd comply. For now. George switched the flashlight off. The sudden change left everything black and hidden.

  The hunting trip was almost over. It would all be over soon. All of it. Maybe he could even get back to Mother soon enough to avoid a harsh punishment, just a stern lecture instead. And he'd learned to pick better friends from the campsite.

  They stopped in the middle of the clearing. With the few minutes passed, his sight adjusted to not having the extra light. The moon shone bright in the deep, midnight sky. The ground was better here. Hard packed dirt with only a few rocks. No vies or bushes. No wolves or other animals in sight. Without their moving about, it was as quiet as a day without friends.

  It would all be over soon. Then he could go home and discover if he was in trouble with mother or if she slept through his adventure. Fresh mountain air washed over them. It was a perfect night for snipe hunting. Or at least George thought it was.

  Suddenly there was a rustle of movement next to him. George instinctively jumped away from the sound. The pounding of his heart filled him with an anxious bout of fear. This was bad. He looked around frantically. But the clearing was empty. Empty of wolves. Empty of everything except his companion who's face glowed in the moon light. The pleased expression on his face morphed until it overcame his entire face.

  George had been duped. There was no one and nothing there. The clearing was empty as it had been when their first arrived. He was an idiot for falling for it. And his companion new it.

  A burst of laughter erupted from the fat one.

  “Oh man, you should have seen you jump.”

  The guffaws bounced off the trees in a way George never heard when he was alone. He grit his teeth together as his coercer continued. Several minutes later, he seemed to finally get enough air to speak, though the snickering didn't stop.

  “There's no such thing as a snipe, you dork I just threw a rock.” Laughter streamed out of the fat kid. “I'm surprised you didn't call out for your mamma.”

  Yes. Mother would be very disappointed to hear this tale. George didn't even want to tell her about it even though she'd likely demand to know. At least his shivering had stopped now.

  The laughing boy swiped the flashlight from George's limp fingers. “I should have brought my camera. Did you pee your pants like a little baby?”

  He switched on his flashlight and aimed it at George. The laughing stopped.

  The flashlight glowed on George's frightfully red skin. A deep crimson red. But the wrongness of it was nothing compared to the grotesque, blood-stained eyes now staring at the fat boy with hunger.

  George knew Mother would be disappointed with his bumbling up until this point, especially being separated from the others, but her eyes would grow just as red as he related what was about to happen to the fat boy.

  A maniacal chortle exposing sharp pointed teeth escaped George. “Oh snipes are real, and I'm famished.”

  Someone peed his pants, but it wasn't George.

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  About the Author

  Gemma Drazin is the author of short stories and fantastical adventures, sometimes mixing in a love story. She can often be found outside with a book and a treat. When she's not reading or writing she can be found enjoying time with her husband and children.