The Hunt

A poet sat alone on a park bench at twilight. The last rays of sunlight streamed down through the leaves and disappeared. The day had been a long and tedious one and while he sat in contemplation it escaped his notice that the park had emptied. All had become still and silent; he looked to the sky and was startled by the noticeable absence of both moon and stars. Instead there were swirling smoky patterns in scarlet and crimson moving slowly into an abyss of darkness.

A shift in his peripheral vision brought his attention forward and there he saw a girl. A child of about seven she stood in barely any clothing and bare feet, her hair and skin a pure white that seemed to glow and brighten the dark around her. He could not tear his eyes away as this cherub of light moved toward him at a measured, swaying pace. As she stood before him she smiled sweetly and plucked from thin air a fruit, offering it to him to eat. Mesmerised, he hardly noticed as he brought it to his lips and bit through its soft skin.

 As juice spilled down his chin his eyes widened at what could only be described as the taste of sunlight and joy. He bit savagely again and again and when he was done he began to plead with the girl for more, but as his eyes rose his voice left him in horror at the sight in front of him. The girl was gone and in her place stood a ghastly, pallid demon.Her mouth split her face in half and was filled with rows of sharp, child-sized teeth that shone as she grinned. Her eyes had become large glittering orbs in her skull, inky and full of malice. Her hands were huge, twice the size of those of a grown man, with black talons at the end of each finger, which curved into throat slitting claws. When she looked down at him it was with three voices that she giggled. She leaned forward and he scrambled back, but there was nowhere for him to run. In her three-toned voice she squealed (and screamed, and rasped) “This is going to be fun!” while he collapsed into unconsciousness.

When he woke it was not into the world he knew. All around him were creatures not of this realm, satanic in nature and evil in complexion. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and rotten leaves, an image of bleeding trees crossed his mind. A hush fell over the hoard and his gaze fell on the dias before him which held two great thrones. Reclining upon them were what can only be described as royalty, a woman clad in shadows and a man wreathed in gold. They exuded authority and when they stood he felt the crowd shift in anticipation.

The woman spoke “Have we our prey?” a thorned creature lunged and shoved him so he stumbled forward onto a large round platform where he stood alone to be scrutinised like a prized hart. The woman stared down her nose at him “By what name do they call you, mortal man?” and he stuttered “They ca-ca-ca-call m-me Poe”. “And what makes you worthy of an honor such as this?” as he opened his mouth to express his confusion he was stopped by a voice.

The creature that had filched him slunk forward and said with a hiss, screech, and wail “A weaver of words it is, winding webs.Spiders! Spiders in the dark! Poet! Poet!”. He felt the air crackle with excitement and hurriedly exclaimed “What is all this? What is going on here!? Who (or perhaps I should say what) are you all? What horrid fate do you intend for me?” The queen’s delicate nose crinkled in disgust as her eyes probed him “Be silent human. Let your tongue dare to move only when I bid it.” She turned and addressed the court

“As you all know, every century the courts Seelie and Unseelie alike come forth to contend for the winning of an ancient wager. If any Unseelie fey cause the death of our......Mr.Poe...then I shall win. However it would be unwise of my little lovelies to fail me hence the Seelie King should prevail, an outcome which will make me quite....displeased. I warn you my gruesome degenerates, If I should be defeated retribution shall fall on each of you.”

The Seelie King stood and let his fingers slide across the Queen’s throat, chuckling with a voice that sounded like honey. “Darling, let us not taint this day of facetious bloodshed with threats of malice. Let us revel in it and enjoy ourselves.” He called out across the glade “Let my people fear not. No ill will shall befall you if our loss be great. As our Mr.Poe is a charmer of words, let our arena be the cage of his mind. Let the Centennial Hunt commence!”