Creepy Short Stories

Hunting With My Father

John wasn't my dad's brother but my mom's. He was a bit more the city type, like me. He taught at one of the local high schools and delved into a number of random hobbies. Lately, it had been photography. Even as we drove up, I could see that he had the fancy new Nikon DSLR camera set about his neck on the strap. We brought three guns with us: the two Brownings and my dad's old .30-30 rifle, but we didn't expect John to shoot anything unless it was with his camera. I figured the only real reason my dad brought along his .30-30 was because of the nostalgia rather than for all of us to shoot. It was the gun he used with his father and he kept it like it was brand new.

Even with the proper care and maintenance, it was still old. And the new Brownings were much more solid. He even got them setup with brand new scopes and shoulder straps. The works. If a deer came across our path, we'd have the gear to take it down.

We arrived at our hunting ground in the afternoon. It was a few hours from where we lived and then another hour driving along a dirt and gravel road. That was the most boring. The car couldn't go more than fifteen miles per hour on the road with all the bumps and dips. Finally, we reached out spot which turned out to be a bit of a clearing in the middle of a large group of trees. I don't remember the exact location just that it took quite a ways to get there.

We set our camp up, just a large single tent for the three of us, and unpacked some of our gear. John had made sure to grab some of that nice camping cook gear and my dad had pre-cooked some ribs and chicken that we'd just have to warm up. The first thing we did after setting up was eat.

"So, Fred," John began as we munched on some ribs. "What are the odds of getting a deer out here?"
"As good as anyone else's." My dad shrugged. There was a bit of a pause before John spoke again.

"Let's say we get a deer. Then what do we do then?" John quirked a brow as he focused on my dad. It seemed an innocent question but I knew where it was going. The question meant, if we got a deer, how did we plan on taking care of that heavy thing in the middle of the brush? Or, more specifically, how did my dad plan on taking care of it. John's a good guy but he might've been overly concerned for my dad. My dad lost a lot of his strength in the hospital, but he wasn't feeble yet. And Dad hated it when people thought he was.

"We'll lug it up and carry it back here." He spoke shortly, a bit of annoyance slipping into his voice. "David can handle it. Right son?" He asked me with a bit of a smile. I returned it with one of my own and nodded.

"Yeah, I can take care of it. I'm stronger than I look." My dad's smile grew and John shrugged his shoulders.
We finished soon after and the sun was starting to show the first signs of beginning to sink down toward the horizon.

"You know, we'll have a couple of hours before it gets dark," Dad said as he gazed up at the sky. "You want to take a bit of a walk and see if we get lucky?"

"Sure." I replied quickly. "Why not?" John nodded in agreement and, soon, the three of us were trudging off into the trees.

Only Dad and I carried our guns, both of us wielding brand new Brownings. John was content just having his camera. Dad moved on through the thin path, leading the way as he seemed to recall memories of himself and his father. I trudged along behind him, my rifle slung about my shoulder. John had the rear, his hands lingering near his camera. Every once in a while, I'd hear a soft click as he'd shoot a picture of some of sort of eye-catching scenery while we walked.

We didn't find much. No deer and, hell, we didn't even see any animals except random birds and the hordes of bugs. I was starting to get tired and my legs began to hurt. It had been a long day and I wanted nothing more than to go sit down and relax a bit before conking out. The cold started to set in as the sun sunk lower, nipping at me even through my jacket. Dad pushed on before he stopped and bent down.