The Not Deer

It all happened so fast...

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It all happened so fast.

I was driving home; it was late. You don’t know how dark the night can be until you drive on mountain roads. It jumped out from the trees.

I heard a sharp cry as I slammed the brakes. Metal ripped, glass shattered, and then all I heard were my own ragged breaths.

The broken headlight flickered, sending flashes of life across its bloodied corpse. I felt weightless, numbed by adrenaline, as I stepped out of my truck and examined its body.

It looked like a deer, but something wasn’t right about it. I had lived around deer my whole life and seen plenty up close.

This wasn’t like any deer I had ever seen. Its legs were too long. Its eyes were yellow and sharp, like a wolf. Its antlers were twisted and gnarled like old roots.

Before I could look closer, it leaped onto its feet with incredible speed and tore off into the darkness.

I could have sworn it was dead.

I looked over the front of my car; my eyes struggled to follow the path of twisted metal and shattered headlights. I decided I would deal with it later, and drove home.

---

We were throwing a dinner party at the house. Food, drinks, and a nice big bonfire were in the backyard. It was good, but my mind kept returning to that thing I hit on the way home.

I had another drink and then another, trying to distract myself. Then, the screams started.

It all happened so fast.

Everyone ran inside the house, myself included. We shut the sliding glass door behind us and locked it. Everyone was deathly silent, holding their breath.

At the edge of the patio, our neighbor, Craig Massey, lay face down in a pool of his own gathering blood. Something moved in the pitch black beyond the range of the floodlights.

His body shifted as something took hold of it. Then something slowly, methodically pulled his lifeless corpse into the darkness.

“Frank, get your gun,” my wife whispered.

I pushed past guests with gaping mouths and wide eyes, heading to the gun safe in the master bedroom. A single nightlight illuminated the side of the bed as I stepped through the door. I fumbled for the light switch with a shaking hand, finally turning it on.

Inside the gun safe was a Remington Model 870 and ammunition box with four shells. I took it out and tossed everything on the bed. It has been so long since it was used. It was meant for defense, but I never thought I would actually need it.

I loaded the gun and tossed the extra shell in my jacket pocket as a cocktail of shattering glass and screams filled the air. I ran out of the bedroom with the gun raised, pausing in the hall.

My brother, Mason, was lying face down on the ground. The back of his skull was caved in like a rotten melon. The thing that killed him scrapped its bloody hoof across the ground, leaving long red streaks amongst the floral pattern on the rug.

It looked like a deer, but it was wrong. It was not a deer. A Not Deer

A sickly purple tongue carefully licked blood from rotting lips. Yellowed eyes narrowed at the sight of the shotgun in my hands. My trembling finger curled around the trigger.

The Not Deer stomped its hooves on the ground. The twisted and gnarled antlers on its head shook from side to side as a deep, rumbling growl escaped its lips.

I pulled the trigger. Blinding light and deafening sound filled the hall. The blast shredded the skin on the Not Deer’s chest, but nothing more.

I stepped forward and fired again, and once more after that for good measure. The blasts tore flesh, exposed gray stone-like bone, but otherwise, the Not Deer remained unaffected.

It broke eye contact, turned, and leaped out of the living room through the remnants of the sliding glass door.

I made my way to the phone, passing blood-soaked carpet and shattered bone littering the ground. I dialed 9-1-1. Something exhaled sharply behind me.

It all happened so fast.

I felt a hoof hit my spine like a sledgehammer. With a sharp crack, pain exploded across my body. I fell forward, holding the shotgun tight as I hit the ground.

Teeth closed around the leg of my jeans, and with a swift pull, I sailed through the air, passing the bodies of my loved ones, before crashing onto the concrete of the patio outside.

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I felt warm blood running down my forehead from the impact, but I still had my gun. I rolled onto my back. My sweat-covered hands slid across the cool metal of the shotgun. I loaded a shell and cocked it with a sharp crack.

One of the Not Deer stood over me, looking down with those uncaring, unflinching yellow eyes. Wood and branches cracked just out of sight. My gaze shifted to another of the Not Deer, standing mere feet from me on the left.

I pointed the barrel at the one standing above me, my finger resting on the trigger. It remained still. Just one shot left. I had to make it count.

Another sound, just to my right. Reflexes took hold; I swung the barrel to match. Another of the Not Deer stood on its hind legs, towering over me with an empty gaze.

Scuffed hooves came down on my nose. I tasted copper. The Not Deer gathered around. They didn't feel guilty. They had no remorse.

It all happened so fast.

I pulled the trigger as their teeth burrowed into my skin.

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