The Monstrous Hunt

The Monstrous Hunt

  By Tara K. Young

  Copyright 2011 Tara Kristen Young

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. It made be shared freely with others for their personal enjoyment only. Any commercial use or adaptation of this work is strictly prohibited without the prior written consent of the author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  * * *

  Now that you’re finally calm, Oliver, please tell us exactly how it happened from the beginning.

  It was too hot a day to be dressed so heavily. There was little shade in the ruins of Hastings Castle and the ocean breeze was strangely absent.

  My top hat was sticking uncomfortably to my head and I had sweated through my velour overcoat. I was so uncomfortable that I had even planned to go home and give up on the entire endeavour. Only a handful of people had come to the fair and of those, the Renaissance purists were strangely absent. What was the fun in sweating to death if you couldn't even annoy uptight losers with deliberate anachronism?

  My friend Benji had given up on the fair itself and begun to climb the walls of the castle ruins. He had been a friend of convenience since I answered his ad for a flatmate six months before.

  People thought we were twins. We were both tall, thin and lacking in muscle. We both had flat brown hair and green eyes though his hair hadn’t been cut in a few weeks and was beginning to grow over his ears. The only significant difference was that he had a rounder face.

  Despite our physical similarities, Benji and I had little in common. He was obsessed with American Football and old books that I thought people read only under threat of failure in school. He had been willing to humour me in coming to the fair but I doubted we would be doing it again. He was too nice.

  In the corner of my eye, I could see that he was nearing the large arch when I heard him call back to me. When I looked, he pointed at the base of the wall.

  There were two guys pretending to have a sword fight. They were surprisingly good. I didn't know who they were because I couldn't see their faces. They were wearing helmets made of tinfoil covered cardboard. Usually that level of costume denotes people who barely try, but these guys fought like they were really in a battle hundreds of years ago. It was hard not to watch.

  Benji called again, yelling that the view from the walls was better. Knowing they were developing an audience, the two guys fought even harder. I could see from above them that one had the Arms of York on the front of his white tunic though the five gold lions on the crest were made of felt and were more a neon yellow.

  They began to get tired and Benji and I got bored. I felt a prick in my hand and looked down to see a mosquito. I tried to swat it but it was too fast and flew away. Benji nudged me and gestured to the exit, indicating we might as well go.

  We were just about to climb down the wall when I noticed a group of girls walking up to watch the exhausted ‘warriors.’

  The girls couldn't have been older than their early twenties and were definitely not Renaissance purists. Their dresses looked more like the gowns from fantasy books and fancy dress costumes than the pages of history.

  The guys saw them and tried to start up again but it got pretty sad. Some of the girls were laughing.

  In the midst of this group, there was one girl who seemed entirely uninterested in the fight. She was looking at the ruined walls. She was oblivious to her friends' laughter and completely content in her own world.

  Her pale skin glistened in the sunlight and contrasted deliciously against her auburn hair. Pastel chiffons covered the bodice of her dress, softening her appearance while accentuating everything enticing about her. In a world with this woman, the Venus was a hag.

  I watched her. I couldn't help it. When the two fighting had finally given up and walked off, Benji pressed me to leave. I refused so he left without me.

  I spent the day perched atop that wall, watching her walk through the grounds where a castle had once stood, watching her sit upon the lush grass to eat a picnic with her friends, watching her enjoy everything about the day.

  I seemed to have found the perfect spot, for no one showed any evidence that they saw me watching her. Unfortunately, there was little shade upon my perch, causing my physical discomfort to increase. I tried to ignore it.

  Late in the day, a breeze blew through the ruins. I got a second wind. I could have stayed there another day, just watching, but she and her friends chose to leave. As they made their way out of the ruins, they walked towards the wall on which I sat.

  I didn't want it to end there. It was too soon.

  The moment she passed, I scrambled down the walls, fully intending to introduce myself. Unfortunately, two things happened. First, as I was almost at the ground, I stumbled. I wasn't entirely sure she had seen me and didn't want that to be her first impression. Second, one of her friends, a short, chubby, Chinese girl, asked when their train left.

  I listened very carefully. I wanted to know where she was going, determined that it wouldn't end in those ruins.

  They were heading back to the train station that moment. They hoped to get back to York before midnight. She went to school there.

  In my moment of insanity, I knew I had to follow. I called Benji on my mobile and told him I might not be back at the flat for a few days. He didn't care. Then I made my way to the train station. The goddess and her friends took a longer route along the main roads so I was easily able to outrun them. I didn't want to seem weird.

  I made it in plenty of time to catch the London train. It was the only one so I knew they would be on it. On the ride, all I could do was wait and hope that I didn't lose them before York.

  Um, excuse me.

  Yes.

  Could you loosen my restraints? My chest is itchy.

  Is it?

  Very.

  I’m sorry, but we must leave them as they are. Please continue

  Given the late hour when I arrived in York, there weren't many faces on the platform and it was quickly and depressingly clear that I had lost them. I tried to figure out how that was possible. There had been only one train leaving London for Edinburgh and that was the only train that stopped in York at that late hour.

  I paced the grungy platform. I stopped and looked around with misguided hope that they may be on the bridge that crossed over the tracks. There was only one straggler left on the overpass: an old woman with the hairy helmet of a short perm and wearing a cardigan matched with a brown skirt down to her calf. As she trundled her luggage along, I made my own way over the bridge and towards the exit.

  I gave a quick peak at the coffee stand and kiosks but they were shut for the night. As I emerged from the station, I stopped next to the small queue of taxis. The driver of the taxi next up watched me and gave a scowl when I continued to walk down the pavement.

  Despite having no idea how to find the girl, I was not willing to give up. I turned the corner to cross over the Ouse and I headed towards the Minster. The pubs were closed and few people were still walking the streets near the massive building. As I approached, I found myself feeling oddly defiant as I looked upon the softly lit grotesques and statues that adorned its massive exterior.

  I had been to York several times before when I was younger. My mother had loved the annual Viking Festival and more than once had expressed displeasure that my school didn't force us to re-enact the sagas like York's did. Though I had never shared her enthusiasm, those day trips came in surprisingly handy as I worked my way through the tourist streets with little trouble.

  As I was passing Stonegate, I heard a strange noise. Stonegate is a street that looked dark even in the daytime and seemed little more than a darkened alley
at night. It smelled of damp cobbles and strong alcohol.

  I stopped abruptly and looked down the road. I couldn't see much in the darkness but the sound was still there.

  It had two levels of depth to it. There was a high pitched quality that was too loud to have been human and yet made me think of screaming, and a low pitched quality that I could barely perceive but made me want to hide like a kid under the covers. I would have teased a kid hiding like that, but at that moment, I did not feel much like teasing anyone.

  Two options came to me. I could run or I could investigate. A brief image of the bimbo in a horror movie came to mind. I moved my foot intending to walk back the way I had come, but then I reminded myself how stupid I was being. I walked down Stonegate, my head high and my shoulders back.

  I should have run.

  Halfway down the block, I noticed that there was something in the darkness of Stonegate. I saw movement on the far side of a rubbish bin. Stopping momentarily, I tried to see what it was. It looked like a person hunched over and struggling with something. I walked closer.

  I should have backed away. I began to see that he... it was naked.

  I called out.

  I should have shut up.

  What did you call out?

  I asked if they needed help. When it heard my voice, it stopped what it was doing and looked