I've heard that hatred weakens the heart, ironic how it feels like it's the only thing keeping mine pumping. I hate that creature, hate it for taking his life. But I hate myself even more, I should have told James no that night, we shouldn't have been walking around at night intoxicated in the first place. I hate myself for running away, for doing nothing for so long.

I sat in my car, arms folded over the steering wheel, head resting on top. A light rain began to tap on the roof of my car. I didn't leave the parking lot until about an hour had passed, like the rain, I let all the memories wash over me. Then I made my way back to the apartment.

I opened the door, dripping water all over the carpet, but it was the least of my concerns. It didn't keep the cat away though, he jumped from his cat tower and made his way towards me, rubbing up against my soaked pant legs, he always knew when I was upset. I bent down to pet him on the neck, his eyes closing in a moment of bliss.

I had it set in my mind and soul that I would go back there and end that thing, or it end me. I needed to prepare though, I didn't have any experience killing ancient shapeshifting beings, but I knew just going out there with a knife was a brainless idea. Odds are I was going to die either way, but I didn't want to go down without giving a good fight.

I recalled the gift my parents had given me for my sixteenth birthday, it was an older model, a Browning 12-gauge shotgun from the 1960's. Originally owned by my grandfather, was given to my mother, and then passed on to me. In the past I had shot it multiple times, only at non-living and non-moving targets though. It was a semi-automatic shotgun, so no pumping needed. You would load the shells in from the bottom, pull back the slide, and it was ready to fire, and as fast as you could pull the trigger.

I had kept it under my bed for years with the intent of it being a self-defense weapon, but completely forgot about it. I knelt beside the bed and bending down, I reached under and grabbed a hold of the case handle. A nice layer of dust had accumulated on the top, unlatching the locks I lifted the lid up, and behold, there it lay.

I don't really care for vintage things, but I had to admit there was an undeniable attraction to this weapon. The stock was made of a fine grain mahogany, and the steel was black with a blue sheen. Despite the years it hadn't sustained much damage, save for a few scrapes on the metal and scratches in the wood. I reached in and picked it up, mindful to grab it by the wooden parts, a habit deeply rooted inside my brain thanks to my old man. I brought the stock up to my shoulder, widening my stance I raised the barrel up and took aim, this would do fine.

I kept it unloaded because a loaded gun in the house just made me nervous, but I pulled the slide back to check, and with a metallic ka-chink sound, it was empty. As for ammunition I only had a box of 12-gauge slugs, but there was no way I could open the shells and pour the ash in. I ended up buying an entire shell manufacturing kit, which would come in early Friday.

I spent Saturday watching countless tutorials on how to build shotgun shells, how to mix the powder correctly and practiced making the ammunition. Sunday I even visited a friend who had a large plot of land and allowed me to assess my ammo, I didn't add any ash, I just wanted to make sure I could make a round that wouldn't blow up on me. Once I verified I could indeed fashion 12-gauge buckshot, I returned home to make the ash-laced slugs.

The gun can hold eight slugs max, so I made the first eight and loaded them in, then an additional sixteen with the supplies I had left. I had bought a utility belt and a couple of satchels as well to hold my ammunition, and a bag of the ash mixture for the knife. I had a sheathe for the knife on the back of the belt, satchel of ammunition on my left, and ash on my right.

I hoped I didn't have to get close enough to use the knife.

I decided Monday that I would head out during the night, even though I would have much preferred going during the day. The issue was being *seen* armed to the teeth, and people don't take kindly to that sort of behavior nowadays. I had left a note for my mom in the apartment, surely after not returning her calls for a few days she'd be over to see if I were okay. It was a farewell note, I told her everything regarding how I felt, and that I planned to take my life. I didn't mention the creature, she wouldn't believe that part anyway.

I left the entire bag of cat food open for the cat so he could gorge himself over the next few days, which would be more than enough time until mom would start to panic. Around 11:00pm I started my journey to the clearing. I bypassed the drainage ditch, having no interest in going down there anymore and proceeded towards the trail. The trees loomed above me disconcertedly, the moon shone above but in an unwelcoming way.

Now that the fall season had come most of the trees had shed their leaves, but there were still a few tinged with red and yellow. An icy chill blew against me, but what made me shiver was that I heard nothing, no signs of life, just the swaying of trees and rusting of bushes from the wind. I had an overwhelming sense of being watched, I held the gun tighter to me, finger right above the trigger.

I had to convince myself several times on the walk to not turn back, but finally the clearing came into view. What once brought me so much joy and peace, now brought contrition and despair. I walked upon the desecrated grounds until I reached the center of the clearing. As I reached the center, something caught my eye, the light casted by the moonlight was glinting off a small reflective surface.

I bent down to investigate and discovered it was a phone, James' phone to be exact. It was face down, riddle with cracks, I picked it up and turned it to it's front side. The front had sustained even more damage, but it was undoubtedly his, a blue Samsung S21. As I examined the phone even further, attempting to turn it on, I had completely missed the thunderous pounding of hooves against earth and looked up to see the beast was charging me on all fours, gaining ground fast.

I stood there, petrified, as it continued to close the gap between us. Right as it was a few feet in front of me, fear gave way to rage, and I lifted the shotgun up and took aim. Five shots rang out, ears ringing, and the overwhelming smell of gunpowder in my nostrils. I tried to regain my composure from the recoil as the creature slammed into me. The force of the beast had launched me several feet away where I landed on my back, the wind knocked out of me.

I inhaled deeply, pushing myself up into a sitting position, and then as I began to shift onto my knees, I looked up to see the creature again, it was moving towards me once more. Now it appeared as if it were bleeding, thick viscous blood leaking out of unseen wounds. It stood on its hind legs and turned to face me, opening its maw, and letting out a voracious growl.

Then it started to run at me.

In a panic I grasped for my gun, but it was about a foot away. I only had a few seconds before it would reach me, my body already starting to ache and stiffen from the trauma. I leapt out for the gun, grabbed it, and swung it up to aim at the creature, but I was too late. Before I could even pull the trigger, the beast had slapped it out of my hand, my hand nearly flying off my wrist as I watched the shotgun soar off into the distance and crash into the trees. It was over, I had no right thinking this would work, at least I went down fighting.

It grabbed me by the shoulders, digging its claws deep, through skin, muscle tissue, all the way down to bone. The pain made me nauseous; I began screaming and writhing in pain as it pinned me down to the ground. I began losing consciousness when it brought its misshapen head towards my face, I caught a glimpse of something familiar. Illuminated in the moonlight I saw the eyes first, then the nose, it was James face. But the skin was stretched far too thin over its large skull, tearing in various places revealing red tissue underneath, the eyes bloodshot. The jaw hung on by a single sinew and a long black tongue hung haphazardly, flopping as it moved.

Then it stood up, and to keep me in place it brought a hoof down hard onto my shin, splintering the bone into hundreds of pieces, I wasn't going anywhere now. I let out another scream, still looming, it stared at me through his eyes before it began to gurgle out words.

"I just...need...to get...it off my...chest."

With that its ribcage splayed open in a macabre explosion of bone and viscera. It began to lower its torso over me, A void stared back, it was though a black hole had nestled into this creatures bosom, and it was going to suck me in and pull me apart from every direction imaginable.

I thought of how I was going to be consumed, how it would go on to masquerade itself as me. How it would lure my mom or friends out in the woods and then mutilate them and continue the cycle. I thought of how it spoke with James voice, how much that angered me. Was I going to just let this thing eat me like it did James? I was going to die no matter what, so it didn't matter what I did at this point.

As it brought its body on top of mine, the ribcage beginning to close in on my sides, puncturing the skin. An unseen force began to pull me deep inside, like a large vacuum. I arced my back and reached under to pull the knife from the sheathe. I brought it up and then quickly stabbed into my satchel, making sure to move it around and coat the blade enough, accidently stabbing myself in the process. With my other hand I grabbed the beasts neck to leverage myself up and plunged the blade into its neck.

James eyes stared at me and widened, the creature yelped like a wounded dog and immediately jumped up and off me. I watched as it brought a claw up to its neck and pull at the blade. It came out with a thunk, more oily blood shooting out in a geyser like fashion. It writhed and thrashed about, swinging its claws aimlessly before collapsing on the ground next to me. I watched it as it went through its death throes, taking long, labored, and phlegmy breaths. The breathing eventually stopped, and it was dead.

I watched it for a while longer, not sure if I was out of danger just yet, then I noticed the skin began to shift and bubble. The beast was shrinking in size, reshaping itself. The horns, claws, and fur began to shrivel away, and it began to take the form of something else. It happened so fast, but right before it disintegrated into a plume of ash, it looked like a middle-aged man with long black hair.

The knife lay in the pile of ash, I crawled over to pick it up and put it back into the sheathe. I lay on my back for a few beats, to catch my breath before pulling out my phone and dialing emergency services. They managed to dispatch a helicopter since they wouldn't have been able to get an ambulance on the trail, and due to the severity of my injuries. I was losing a lot of blood, so I barely remember being strapped into the gurney and lifted onto the helicopter.

I spent the rest of the week in bandages and a leg cast, enduring hospital food and my overly concerned mother. I was discharged Thursday and would have to walk on crutches for a little while, but I was glad to be home, my furry friend was thrilled to see me and hasn't left my side since. The first thing I did when I got home was sit down on the couch, and then I cried. I didn't cry that much other than the first night, not even at the 'funeral' we had for James.

I don't do well with my emotions, I tend to drown them out with hard liquor, or fixate on something else, I avoid them. But all the tears that had been stored up all came out like a dam opening it gates. It was over, I felt like James was at peace, and I sat with my emotions for the first time, embracing them even.

I don't know what I will do from now on, I suppose continue with my life now that I have closure. I am sure I need some sort of psychological help from all of this and will plan to get that soon. The last few days of this week I spent a lot of time sleeping, and I had the dream about the clearing again. But this time, when I revisit the dream, I am always in a different place. I feel nothing though, just emptiness, and I've been feeling that way all week now come to think of it.

Anyways thank you for reading this and for all the suggestions, this will be my last post. Stay out of the woods at night, especially when drinking, and ignore any ten-year-old girls you may hear calling out to you amidst the trees !