~Dear Abram Moldova~
My name is Adam, one day my dad asked me what we should go hunt for. He specified it should be from the horror stories I like to read.
This is where I signed our death warrants. With a smile I said, “Let’s to hunt a skinwalker,” then he asked with a smile, “How do you kill it then.” I explained there was no proof they can die and he shrugged as he grabbed his shotgun and 30-30.
I know he was doing this to show me there is nothing to be afraid of, but sadly he took his quest to the grave. At the time I was very little so I had a tendency to have nightmares about these horror stories. My dad had no other option, my mother died from a wild animal and ever since then he wanted to find it. I guess this way he shows me there are no monsters.
I grabbed the colt my dad lends me when we hunt as we exited the cottage. We walked across the field and into the forest, which at that hour was getting quite dark but of course my dad was doing this to show the dark isn’t scary. Our boots squished in the wet mud and as we walked maybe 3-4 miles out we started to see it. Blood was dripping everywhere, my dad took this chance to show me that it was a coyote. But when we got to where the tracks led, it was no coyote we saw. We got into a clearing and started hearing weird noises, like moaning and a sort of hiss.
We saw shadows move in the tall trees that were barely climbable since they had no branches. It made no sense that there could be something up there, but dad just said to me quietly, “Those shadows are just your mind playing tricks on yo-” he was interrupted by multiple noises coming from everywhere. All the animals were screaming, and on top of us we heard the hissing and moaning turn into a shrill scream alongside a loud, deep groan.
Suddenly we heard something drop from the tress behind us. As we whirled around it was already on dad, he was hitting it with a knife and unloading but it was just ripping him apart. It tore off his waist down and started opening his stomach, it tore away his throat and bashed his face in with its big hands.
The creature was just as described in the stories, very tall with skin all white. Big hands with long fingers stained by blood. This one was different though it had a big smile that was almost cartoon like, its eyes going sometimes from pitch black to a wide white. Blood flew everywhere as I tried firing, It didn’t even faze it.
I picked up my dad’s shotgun and managed to flow its head off. But to my horror it just started regenerating, I knew it was going to come after me as soon as it was done. Its whole body turned to face me and I ran, I ran like never before. All I had was an almost empty handgun and a shotgun with one shell left. I ran so fast I didn’t even realize where I was, I made it into town. I heard it follow me, ripping and destroying everything in its path.
When in town I ran into the square and yelled for help, I sobbed as everyone looked at me. Suddenly it burst through the trees, everyone screaming as it tore through buildings and lamp posts. It didn’t make sense, skinwalker were supposed to be clean and never get caught. Maybe it had gone insane, or it knew it could kill everyone in the small town. We only had about 53-57 people, it was child’s play.
I watched in an alleyway as it tore women and children apart, some men even got the old cannon from the abandoned war room. They hit it point-blank tearing through its whole left side, but it just kept on killing. It had no mercy, no remorse, all that was in its blank eyes that turned black to white was insanity and pleasure. Houses were destroyed as it got faster and stronger somehow, as if killing my father and all those animals was just a warm-up.
Its smile went up to its ears and its jaw dropped farther than any human could. I took a bicycle and road away from town as fast as I could, when I got home I called the police. “911 what is your emergency?” the lady said, I replied with, “Help! Almost everyone in my town is dead!” She said, “Please do not use this helpline for prank calls, goodbye,” before I could say anything she hung up. I looked out the window from our cottage which was higher up on a hill than the town.
The town was on fire, I watched it scream and moan triumphantly into the sky. The town was in ruins and I was the only survivor. The rangers saw the smoke and came over with cops, fireman, and ambulance. I explained everything that happened but they thought this was just a traumatized kid trying to fit everything together.
I moved to New York after that but I knew it would come for me. I write you this letter so you know why I never came back. I can hear its hissing moan from the bottom of my apartment building. I’m sorry my dear son for not being there for you to see your first birthday or how you saved that boy from falling from a tree. Tell my story to your soon to be new born sister, Ana.
Your beloved father,