A Hunter Called Night

by Tim Waggoner

Genres: Ghost; Occult & Supernatural; Horror

Synopsis

If you enjoyed Horrorstor by Grady Hendrix or Authority by Jeff Vandermeer, then you'll love this latest horror from the Bram Stoker winning Tim Waggoner.

A sinister being called Night and her panther-like Harriers stalk their quarry, a man known only as Arron. Arron seeks refuge within an office building, a place Night cannot go, for it’s part of the civilized world, and she’s a creature of the Wild. To flush Arron out, she creates Blight, a reality-warping field that slowly transforms the building and its occupants in horrible and deadly ways. But unknown to Night, while she waits for the Blight to do its work, a group of survivors from a previous attempt to capture Arron are coming for her. The hunter is now the hunted. FLAME TREE PRESS is the imprint of long-standing independent Flame Tree Publishing, dedicated to full-length original fiction in the horror and suspense, science fiction & fantasy, and crime / mystery / thriller categories. The list brings together fantastic new authors and the more established; the award winners, and exciting, original voices. Learn more about Flame Tree Press at www.flametreepress.com and connect on social media @FlameTreePress

Release date: May 9, 2023

Publisher: Flame Tree Publishing

Print pages: 256

Sample

Chapter One

Collier, Ohio. Now.

Arron ran through the woods, early morning air cold on sweat-covered skin, sky above a crisp light blue. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day, and Arron wondered if he’d live long enough to enjoy it. At the moment, the odds were not in his favor.

There was no path here, and he was forced to run with leaping strides as he crashed through undergrowth, thin branches slapping his face and hands. It was the first week of May, plants and leaves a fresh bright green, air smelling of new life. Anyone else would’ve found the scent pleasant, even soothing, but Arron could smell the decay hidden within, already gnawing at the greenery. Everything that lived carried death within it – except for him. His death was behind him, and closing fast. He could hear the Harriers thrashing through the undergrowth as they pursued him. They could be silent as midnight shadows when they wished, but they wanted him to know they were coming for him, wanted him to be afraid. And he was. Very.

He saw flashes of darkness in his peripheral vision, and he knew at least two of the Harriers had pulled even with him. The other two most likely followed behind, and when the four deemed the time was right, the two on his flanks would rush ahead, whirl around, and come at him, while the pair at his back would race forward and attack from the rear, trapping him. It was exactly what he would’ve done in their place.

He didn’t know how long he’d been running. He’d sensed the Harriers on his trail just after sunrise, and they’d picked up his scent not long after that. He’d been running ever since, and his leg muscles burned, heavy like molten lead, each new step more of an effort than the one before. Pain pierced his lungs with each breath, and his heart beat hummingbird fast. His chest felt tight, constricted, and he wondered if he were on the verge of a heart attack.

He saw a break in the trees ahead, beyond it a small office building – gray, squat, three stories, sunlight glinting off windows, parking lot filled with vehicles. The building was a bland, anonymous structure, bereft of any personality whatsoever, but right then it was the most beautiful thing Arron had ever seen. He laughed with relief and ran faster, legs no longer heavy, chest no longer tight. Civilization called to him, and if he could reach it, he would be safe from the Harriers – and their mistress. For a time, at least.

The Harriers plunged through the undergrowth with increased speed, their movements almost frantic now, and Arron knew they’d spotted the office building and intended to bring him down before he could escape them. He had no weapons with which to fight, possessed no special skills. All he could do was keep running and pray he was fast enough. Moments later, he burst out of the woods and onto a neatly trimmed lawn, so surprised to still be alive that he almost stopped running and stood in shocked amazement. He might have, too, if a Harrier hadn’t emerged from the woods then and come bounding toward him, large paws thudding against the ground. The creature resembled a black panther, but it was bigger and so dark it seemed to be formed from living shadow. The white of its sharp teeth was a stark contrast to its black face, and its feral-yellow eyes shone with a cruel, cunning intelligence. The only thing that saved Arron was the lawn. As vegetation, the grass belonged to the Wild, but since it had been cultivated and cared for by humans, it was also part of the civilized world. As such, while the Harrier could still tread upon it, its speed was greatly diminished, forcing it to walk instead of run. Arron’s human form had no such limitation, and he continued on toward the parking lot.

He knew he shouldn’t waste time glancing over his shoulder, but he couldn’t stop himself. He saw the Harrier chasing him at a walk, head down and leaning forward as if pressing against a strong wind, growling in frustration. The three others emerged from the trees soon after, and they too were forced to slow their pace once their paws touched the lawn. Arron saw no sign of their mistress, but he knew she was coming. She was never far behind her Harriers. He looked forward once more and kept running, unwilling to slow down even for an instant until he had reached safety. The space between the woods and the parking lot wasn’t large, no more than fifty feet, but crossing it seemed to take a lifetime. Even though Arron knew there was no way the Harriers could catch up to him now, he still imagined that any moment he would feel the weight of a feline body slamming into him, bearing him to the ground….

A metallic-blue SUV was the closest vehicle, and when Arron reached it, he slumped onto its hood and gulped air. He remained like that for several moments, too exhausted to feel any sense of victory or relief. He heard growling then, and he forced himself to stand upright and turn to look at his pursuers. The four Harriers sat shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the grass, inches from where the parking lot’s asphalt began. There was no obvious barrier between Arron and the big cats, but the Harriers could no more enter the parking lot than if a three-foot thick steel wall lay between them.

Arron gave the cats a shaky smile.

“Too late – again.”

The Harriers’ growls grew deeper, and their yellow eyes blazed with frustration. Then she stepped forth from the woods and began walking toward her cats, movements slow and languid, as if she were part feline herself. Night was a tall, thin woman with long blond hair and sharp features. She wore a black leather jacket, black shirt, black leather jeans, and black boots. There were five small nubs on her left hand where fingers should be, and her expression was one of barely repressed fury. She stopped when she reached the Harriers and stood just behind them, stroking the head of the nearest with her right hand, which was fully intact.

“You’ve given me a great deal of trouble these last few years, Arron. Aren’t you tired of running?”

Despite the anger in her face, Night’s voice was cool and calm, like a nighttime radio DJ’s, honey-smooth, almost hypnotic.

Arron’s throat was dry from breathing so harshly during his run, and when he spoke, his voice was a rasping croak.

“I’ll never stop.”

Night’s eyes were as yellow as her cats’, and they flashed with irritation.

“Wherever you go in this world, I can track you, and whatever hole you manage to find to hide in, eventually I’ll be a

ble to reach in and pull you out. You can’t win, Arron. It’s simply not possible.”

Up to this point, Arron had avoided meeting Night’s gaze, but he forced himself to look directly into her eyes now, although he couldn’t stop himself from trembling as he did.

“Seems to me I’ve been winning for years,” he said.

Night clenched her jaw but said nothing.

Arron imagined what he must look like to her – a too-lean man with matted shoulder-length black hair and a thick unkempt beard, eyes sunken, cheekbones prominent, white long-sleeved linen shirt and light brown pants covered with stains, mud and grass, mostly, but there was some blood there too. Yes, there was. His leather sandals were scuffed and worn, the straps barely holding together. It had been a while since he’d seen himself in a mirror, but he knew he looked like he could be anywhere from forty to seventy, a walking, breathing scarecrow, tired, spent, weak. And there was nothing Night had more contempt for than weakness.

Night stepped forward, the Harriers moving aside to make room for her. Arron knew she could not reach him as long as he remained off the grass, but his body still tensed as if anticipating an attack. When she reached the edge of the parking lot, she stopped and looked down, as if contemplating the unseen barrier between them. Then she crouched, fixed her gaze on Arron, and pressed her right hand to the ground. Arron felt her summoning power from deep within, and the air became heavy and charged, like the last moments before the eruption of a violent thunderstorm. The grass around her hand dried, turned black, and Arron saw the leading edge of the dead spot begin edging toward the parking lot, moving slowly, torturously, a fraction of an inch at a time, but moving nevertheless. The Blight spread sideways as well, right and left, moving much faster as it began to trace the lot’s outline, and Arron realized Night was attempting to box him in.

She stood.

“Are we really going to play this game again?” she asked. In answer, Arron turned and began running toward the building, Night’s laughter following him.

 

Chapter Two

“Good morning, Ms. Morgan. The usual?”

Bethany smiled. “Yes, please.”

Salvador Tran returned her smile then looked over his shoulder at a petite woman in her early twenties, her short hair dyed a dark maroon. “One large latte, Yvette.”

The woman stood at the back counter, refilling a coffee urn with grounds. She didn’t turn around to look at Salvador, her only reply an inarticulate grunt that could’ve meant anything – or nothing. Salvador frowned, faced Bethany once more, and gave her an apologetic look. She broadened her smile and paid for her drink.

“How is your fiancée?” Salvador asked. “Is she feeling any better?”

Elissa had been off work for the last week, fighting a really bad cold. Salvador was always inquiring about people’s health, and while he’d never said anything to indicate it, Bethany had the impression that he was still worried about COVID-19, even though there had been a vaccine for a while now. Maybe he’d had it, or a friend or loved one had. She hoped he hadn’t lost anyone to the disease.

“She’s on the road to recovery,” Bethany said. That didn’t tell the whole story, of course. Elissa suffered from frequent migraines, and they became worse whenever she got sick. Right now she was home in bed, lights out, taking NSAIDs, and managing as best she could. Bethany had offered to stay home and care for her, but Elissa had insisted she go to work.

You can’t let Nate be alone in the office all day. Imagine how many things he’ll fuck up if you aren’t there to stop him.

Salvador beamed. “Good, good. Give her my best.”

“I will.”

Bethany was in her early thirties, medium height, with short curly brown hair, cute rather than beautiful. She wore a white long-sleeved blouse, black slacks, a pair of comfortable black flats, brown purse slung over her left shoulder. Sometimes she had the impression that Salvador was flirting with her, even though he knew she was gay. Some men were turned on by the idea of ‘converting’ a gay woman, saw it as a challenge. She told herself that Salvador just enjoyed people, and what she viewed as flirting was likely nothing more than his natural warm demeanor toward his customers. Still, sometimes she wondered….

She stepped off to the side so the next person in line could order.

Grinders was the only place to get coffee, pastries, and snacks in the Delgado Building, and as such, it did steady business throughout the workday. Customers came in off the street as well, and it never ceased to impress Bethany how Salvador seemed to know almost everyone’s name. She wished she could get him to call her by her first name, though. Ms. Morgan sounded too formal and stuffy, a name for an older woman. Much older. But Salvador Tran, while warm and genial, had respectfully declined when she’d asked him to use her first name. It’s important for a businessman to show respect for his customers, he’d explained. He was middle-aged, stocky, and clean-shaven, and wore a black t-shirt with the Grinders logo on it, along with black pants. He also wore a green apron to protect his clothing from spills – a common hazard in his line of work. Yvette wore the same outfit, although her clothes were rumpled and in obvious need of washing. Grinders wasn’t very large: a brewing area, front counter with register, display case for pastries and muffins, three small tables with wooden chairs. People usually got their coffee and snacks to go, so the tables went unused much of the time. Grinders was located on the ground floor of the building, facing the street to attract outside business, and every day Salvador put a chalk signboard on the sidewalk outside announcing special deals. Today espresso shots were fifty per cent off, and Bethany had been tempted to take advantage of the offer. She’d slept on the couch last night so Elissa could have the bedroom to herself, but she’d drifted in and out, periodically getting up to see if Elissa needed anything, and now she felt like a goddamned zombie. She needed some serious caffeine if she was going to make it through the day in even a semi-somnambulant state, but she thought it would be better to pace herself. A few shots of espresso might get her going, but she’d crash before lunchtime. Better to take it slow and steady. It was Monday, just after nine a.m., and five o’clock was a long way off.

A handful of other people stood around waiting for their drinks, each keeping a fair amount of distance from the others. COVID-19 might not be a major concern anymore, but some of the social-distancing habits that people had developed during the pandemic still lingered.

“You seem lost in thought this morning.”

Bethany turned to see Soo Cockrell smiling at her. Soo was a psychologist who had a practice called Healthy Minds on the second floor. Bethany had gone to see her a couple times – at Elissa’s insistence – to talk about her issues with codependence, not that she thought she had a real problem with it. She’d gone primarily to make Elissa happy, which, now that she thought about it, was codependent in itself, wasn’t it? Soo was a short woman in her late fifties, possessed of what some might call a matronly figure. Her white hair was almost a buzz cut, and she wore autumn colors today – a brown knit sweater that was too big for her over a tan blouse, with a brown skirt and boots. She’d always struck Bethany as something of an earth mother type, and her outfit reinforced that impression.

Bethany smiled. “No deep thoughts. Just trying to wake up.”

Soo smiled. “Aren’t we all? So how are things going between you and Elissa? Well, I hope.”

Bethany’s brow furrowed slightly. It felt like Soo was probing, and Bethany wanted to tell her that she wasn’t her ther

apist anymore, but then again, she supposed the woman’s question was benign enough. Don’t be so suspicious, she told herself. She’s just taking an interest to be polite.

“They are. We’re getting married in August.”

“How wonderful! Are you planning a small ceremony or are you going to do it up big?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Elissa wants the whole thing – a church wedding, lots of guests, limo ride to the reception, a formal dinner, the cake cutting, throwing the garter, all of it.”

“And you’d prefer something more intimate.”

“Yeah. A short ceremony in front of a judge would be enough for me.”

This had become a sore spot between them. Bethany wanted to give Elissa the kind of wedding she desired – Of course you do. You’re codependent, remember? – but she’d never been comfortable being the center of attention, especially when it came to a large group. All those eyes watching her…. Just the thought made her feel queasy. They’d last argued about it several days ago, right before Elissa came down with her cold.

Don’t you want to celebrate our love in front of the whole world? Or are you ashamed of it…ashamed of me?

It wasn’t that. Elissa had been raised by very liberal, progressive parents, but Bethany’s family were evangelical Christians who took a dim view of homosexuality, to put it mildly. Her parents hadn’t cut off all ties with her after she’d come out, thankfully, but they’d made it clear that the topic of her love life was decidedly off limits in their household. Don’t ask, don’t tell. She seriously doubted anyone in her family would attend her wedding, and she didn’t want to look out at the church as she and Elissa stood at the altar and not see her parents, her brother, or her sister in attendance. She wanted her wedding day to be a joyous occasion, unmarred by even a hint of sadness. She’d tried explaining this to Elissa, but she simply couldn’t understand. Her parents were loving and supportive, and she believed Bethany’s would be too, if she only gave them a chance.

“I’m sure the two of you will work things out,” Soo said. “Just make sure to keep the lines of communication open.”

Yvette approached the side counter, cup in hand. “Black tea!” she called out. She set the cup down and went off to make the next drink.

“That’s me,” Soo said. She went over to pick up her tea, took it to the condiment station, and added cream and sugar. She took a sip, nodded in satisfaction, then replaced the plastic lid and returned to Bethany.

“I hope you have a good day,” Soo said.

“You too,” Bethany replied, and Soo left.

Bethany stifled a yawn as she continued waiting on her latte, regretting that she hadn’t asked for a couple shots of espresso to go with it.

Gonna be a long day, she thought.

* * *

The Delgado Building had a single elevator located in the center of the ground floor. Since the building was only three stories, Bethany usually took the stairs whenever she wished to move from one floor to the next. She thought of it as a way to get a bit of a workout in during business hours. She also went for a short walk during lunch, assuming the weather co-operated. But today she was too wiped out for the stairs, so she walked to the elevator and pressed the button to summon it. It was old and slow – Aren’t we all? she thought – and its machinery came to life with a low, shuddering hum.

The Delgado Building’s ground floor plan was simple: main hallway running from east to west, various offices located behind tan wooden doors, small wall signs indicating business names, no windows in the corridor. Bisecting the main hallway was a shorter one that connected the front and rear entrances – both glass doors with vertical metal handles – and which housed the elevator, a drinking fountain, and the men’s and women’s restrooms. The floor was white tile, although it had grown dingy over the years and was more than ready to be replaced. The design was straight out of the 1960s, dull and utilitarian, bereft of even a hint of charm. Bethany would’ve preferred to work in a place where there was more space and light, art on the walls, plants by the elevator, somewhere that didn’t feel so much like a prison. At least the restrooms were always clean.

The elevator car was on the third floor, and while she waited for it to descend, the door to the parking lot flew open and a man rushed in – long brown hair, full beard, dressed like he worked at a Renaissance fair. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily, as if he’d made a mad dash from his car to the building. Had it started to rain outside? The forecast didn’t call for it, but that meant nothing as the weather in Ohio could change at a moment’s notice. The man didn’t look wet, though, and a quick glance at the parking lot showed Bethany that i

t was dry outside. He stopped abruptly and turned back to the door, as if he expected someone to be following him. He stared out at the parking lot for several seconds before turning away, breathing easier now but looking far from relaxed. That’s when he noticed Bethany. He regarded her for a moment, and she thought he might say something, but instead he rushed past her and hurried to the building’s front entrance. He started to open the door, but then he looked down at the sidewalk outside, and hesitated. She had no idea what he saw, but whatever it was, it caused him to close the door and step back.

Weird.

An odor hit her then, a musky, loamy scent, like that of a thick dark forest where creatures of fur and claw glided unseen through shadows, a smell both repellent and intriguing, so strong it was almost dizzying. She swayed on her feet for a second, and in her mind, she saw a mountainous form on four gigantic legs moving ponderously through dim mists lit by coruscating lightning. She had trouble making out the thing’s features, except for its glittering yellow eyes, which sliced through the darkness like lasers.

The elevator finally reached the ground floor with a less-than-comforting chunk, and Bethany abruptly returned to herself, the vision forgotten. A loud ding, and the door slid open slowly, as if in no hurry to go about its work. Bethany glanced at the strange man one last time. The building didn’t have a security office, so there was no one she could contact to check on him. She could always call the police, she supposed, but the man – while acting strange – hadn’t actually done anything threatening. If he had behaved the same way but had a haircut and shave and been dressed in a suit and tie, would she have felt so uneasy about him? Probably not. She didn’t want to be one of those middle-class white women who called 911 every time they saw someone ‘suspicious’, which was usually code for ‘Black’ or ‘poor’. The man was likely here for some appointment – maybe to see Soo – and was confused. He’d soon orient himself, and if he was unsure where to go, he’d consult the building directory attached to the wall next to the elevator. You don’t have to help everyone in the world, she reminded herself.

She looked away from the man and stepped into the elevator. She pressed the button for the second floor, and the door slid shut with torturous slowness. Feeling guilty for not at least asking the man if he needed assistance – and feeling irritated at herself for feeling that guilt – she sighed, and the elevator began to carry her upward.

“Gotta toughen up, kid,” she said to herself.

In her subconscious, she smelled the Wild, saw those gigantic inhuman amber eyes, and without realizing why she did so, she shuddered.

* * *

Arron was about to step out of the building when he saw the black line of Blight on the sidewalk. The demarcation was thin, not yet strong enough to affect a human – although it soon would be – but he was bound by certain rules, and stepping over the line was impossible. He had no doubt the line of Blight encircled the entire building, and despite himself, he was impressed. Night might be diminished in power after their last encounter, but she’d learned from it too, had gotten craftier.

He was trapped.

Regardless of how this day’s events played out, he was determined to make things as difficult for Night as possible. He glanced at the elevator just in time to see the woman he’d run past get on. He debated whether to approach her, but by the time he decided to do so, the elevator door closed. He hurried over and tapped the button three times in rapid succession, but he was too late. The door remained closed and the elevator began to rise. Above the door was a small rectangular plastic panel divided into three squares, one for each of the floors. The number one was currently lit up, and as he watched, it dimmed and the number two became illuminated. He waited to see if the elevator would go all the way to the third floor, but it remained where it was. The woman, it seemed, worked on the second floor. Good to know, in case he had need of her later. He’d been running all night, and right now what he needed most was a good strong cup of coffee. This building had a café of some kind; he could smell it. He was safe – for the moment, at least – and he could use some time to rest, gather his thoughts, and plan his next move.

He turned away from the elevator and began following the scent of brewing coffee.

* * *

Harvey Logue sat at a table in Grinders, sipping a black coffee and reading the morning news on his phone. The MedTek office opened at eight, but they’d been swamped yesterday, and he’d stayed late last night finishing a series of blood tests. Because of this, Jinny had told him that he didn’t need to come in until 9: ...