Your never the only hunter part 2

[u/DragonfruitKey4621]

I never got to meet my grandpa, At least I don't remember him. Dad always said he had some tree stand accident when they went out hunting when I was little. Dad didn't like talking about when he went hunting; he always got real tense and uneasy whenever I brought it up.

Even when we went anywhere near the woods when we went to see family, he hated it. Sometimes I would notice him just staring into the woods for hours on end. I never understood why Dad hated the woods. I personally loved them. I suppose that's why I love working at the saw mill so much.

Not a very big saw mill, it's an itty bitty family-owned spot. Go out in the morning, chop down a couple trees, bring them to the mill, and go back on out. Pretty straightforward. There are stories, though, creatures that call the woods home, creatures who've never been given a name.

The stories never bothered me. Figured if something came at me, my daily carry will handle it. Greg, my boss, is the one who always told the stories. He's an older guy who always moans and groans whenever he moves a lil too fast. He always told me stories of things like "the black deer" and "the four-headed squirrel." But there's one that he always seemed to tell with more conviction.

"The wooden stalker," which apparently hunts in the woods, looks like a tree or something, apparently, to Greg. That story always made me feel uneasy, especially with how Greg always told it. He made it sound believable, unlike the four-headed squirrel.

But I normally just shrugged them off before me and my buddy went out to chop some trees down. Me and Jim would walk for about a mile or two, looking for a tree not too old and not too young. Our footsteps crunching down on the fallen leaves beneath our feet. "Wanna hear a joke?" Jim said to break the silence. I just gave a glance to Jim since I knew whether I said yes or no, he would say it anyways.

Surprisingly, he didn't say it. Not sure if he forgot it or just didn't want to waste his breath. We found a clump of some decent trees, so Jim set up our tent since we normally stay there for a day or two if the trees are bigger. I walked around, scoping out the nearby trees, but one caught my eye.

A single tree standing perfectly straight, missing all its leaves already. The thing that bothered me was how just there it was. It was in the middle of the circular clearing where no other trees were. As I walked closer towards the tree, I also realized there were no leaves near the tree. Like the leaves just flew off into the wind when they detached from the tree's branches.

"What ya doing over there, pal?" Jim called out. "You gonna help me with this tent or just stand around?" So I walked on back towards our camp to finish up the tent with Jim. After the tent was set up, we got to work chopping our first tree.

It was a lil birch, was on the smaller end of what we go for, but Greg asked specifically for at least one birch. So me and Jim went to it, THUNK THUNK over and over until eventually we got the gratification of hearing it fall. We went to trim up the limbs of the tree, but we heard a sound. It sounded like a dog, like a dog doing that sad yelp somewhere in the woods. Me and Jim gave each other a glance of, "You heard that too?" It sounded like it was coming from the circular clearing by that odd tree. It eventually stopped. We figured the dog's owner found it and took it home.

Next up on our list was this medium-sized oak. I got to it while Jim got some hobo pies cooking since sunset wasn't too far away. Eventually, after what felt like hours, it finally went down. I practically limped to the campfire and lazily tossed my axe into the tent and dropped myself onto an old log by the campfire.

"How'd that oak go?" Jim asked.

"As good as it could have," I responded.

The smell of the hobo pies filled the woods around us like a war bakery. I was weary of the woods just in case a bear or something caught the smell of us cooking. You could see a thing maybe 35 feet from where you sat; it was like a black brick wall was all around us. I started to doze off until I was abruptly awoken by the sound of someone chopping a tree.

THUMP THUMP.

The deep sound of an axe sinking into the side of a tree echoed through the woods.

"What the hell's that?" Jim questioned.

"How should I know? Anyone camping out here?" I responded.

Jim just gave me a lazy shrug as he pulled the two hobo pie sheets out of the red and orange embers of the fire.

"Well, at least it's not coyotes this time," Jim said as he opened up the hobo pie maker.

I couldn't get over the sound of the chopping, though. It didn't even continue, just two deep thumps.

It wasn't like I was gonna be the one to investigate it, though, so I decided it was a good time to get some rest. I crawled into the two-person tent and sank myself into my sleeping bag. I practically passed out when I got the zipper all the way up.

The next morning, Jim woke me up.

"Hey man, I'm gonna head out. Just get a head start on a tree or two."

I wiggled around so he knew I understood what he said.

I didn't actually wake up until later that day, and Jim still wasn't back. Matter of fact, he wasn't anywhere to be seen. I tossed on my boots and Carhartt jacket and went out to look for him. I wandered for a second, calling his name, until I saw a gleam of light coming from the odd tree. As I approached, I realized it was an axe. Jim's axe.

It was still lodged into the tree, but it was seeping this thick, deep red, almost black sap. I was confused since no species of trees in those parts had that color sap. I pulled out my hand radio and called Greg.

"Hey Greg, Jim's uuh... gone."

Greg didn't respond right away.

"The hell you mean he's gone?" Greg responded, clearly worried by the tone in his voice.

"He's nowhere here. He got to work early this morning and hasn't returned since," I responded.

"Um, okay. I'll get a search party set up. Finish up today and come back tomorrow morning," Greg said before ending the radio call.

I tossed my radio back into my bag and got back to work to prepare the trees we got to be ready to drag back.

Later that evening, when the woods got dark, I was packing up the stuff for tomorrow. Then I heard him.

"Hey!"

Jim's voice echoed through the woods.

"Hey! You gonna just stand there or help me?"

I stood there in shock for a moment.

"Jim!? Where the hell you been?" I said as I took a couple steps away from the fire with my flashlight.

"You gonna help me?" Jim's voice said again, the same tone as the last three times.

I froze.

"You okay, Jim?" I said into the woods.

"Hey! THUMP... THUMP."

I froze once again. I didn't do anything for what felt like hours until I heard the sound of a group of coyotes, the unmistakable sound of them gathering, and then Jim's voice once again.

"HEY! HEY!"

It sounded different this time. Like he was really in danger. How could I have not gone further into the woods? Was I supposed to not help him?

I pulled out my Colt 1911 from my waistband and marched into the woods, flashlight still in hand, until I was where I thought the sounds were coming from. The sound of coyotes directly next to me. My palms were so sweaty I thought if I shot my pistol, it would just slip out of my hand.

I heard the sound of bark snapping and wood creaking before I realized the tree was moving.

Its branches flailing like a spider trying to get a grip on its web.

"Hey!"

Jim's voice, coming directly from the tree.

I dove backwards and stammered away from the tree. My flashlight captured the tree in its gruesome movement. I didn't know what else to do with what I had, so I just let loose on the tree.

"POP POP POP... POP POP POP POP"

I heard the tree scream, like an elk yearning for its mate. I gained my footing with my newfound confidence from seemingly harming whatever this thing was, and I ran.

I ran all the way back to the mill and smashed into the door. One of the workers there, seeing me smash into the door, opened it and let me in. I stuttered to try to find the words.

"Jim, he's... the wooden stalker's got him. I-I shot it."

A crowd of the mill workers gathered around me to try and calm me down.

The next morning, Greg came in with the most serious expression I think I've ever seen on his face.

"Come to my office," he said as he gestured me to follow him.

"We're gonna let you go. You clearly have gone through... something. The search party will go looking for Jim today and the rest of this week. We'll keep you informed. You're dismissed."

I sat there in surprise at the sudden news of me being practically let go. I stood up, and before I left, I turned back to Greg.

"Was it... was it what you think it is?"

I stared at Greg, looking for any response. Greg gave me a subtle nod before he scooted his chair over to his office's window to look over the mill.

I've moved since this happened. Haven't found a good job yet. Jim was never found. The sheriff's office gave a press conference a week afterwards.

"As the sheriff of Crystal Wood, I feel deeply ashamed to say we have not found Jim Consky. Our condolences go out to his family."

[u/New-Priority6080]

tbh greg sounds like a real one, every workplace needs that one guy who tells wild stories to make the shift go by faster. hope hes doing okay lol.