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Pops and I listened to country music the whole ride back. I checked my phone periodically to update Mom on our progress but not much else. Pictures of Warzone painted my social media threads and I had about a million missed messages. But all of that seemed so insignificant now.
I smirked.
If my friends only knew what I did this weekend.
I was content to just sit in the truck and spend time with my grandfather.
We pulled up to the house and unloaded my stuff.
After explaining our whole ordeal with Mom and Dad over dinner, Pops headed for his truck.
When we reached the door he turned to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
Tears welled in his eyes.
Wait.
Is Pops actually crying?
“Jason, we may not always see eye-to-eye,” he said, looking in the air and wiping away a tear, “and I don’t pretend to understand all this computer mumbo-jumbo you’re into. But I sure am proud of you, boy.”
He held out his hand for a handshake.
I grabbed his hand, then leaned in and gave him a hug. At that moment nothing else mattered. Not my phone. Not video games. Not my friends. I was just glad to have my grandfather back.
“Thanks Pops. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
In all my life, I can’t recall a time that the old man ever opened up like that. And not just to me. I mean anyone. Not even my grandmother. I suppose, in his eyes, public displays of affection just weren’t things that ‘real men’ did. But in that moment, we bonded. Maybe for the first time ever. Words can’t describe it. But a connection was made. I held more respect and adoration for my grandfather than anyone I’d ever met.
***
IT’S BEEN NEARLY DECADE since the incident and my thoughts often return to that day. Sometimes I wonder where a creature like that came from. Was it the last of its kind? Or are there more out there, lurking in the deep woods? I’ve tried to forget about the whole ordeal. But lately, memories of the hunt have resurfaced. Each time, they seem more and more vivid and they become more and more frequent.
Nightmares.
Of that demon.
I wake up in the middle of the night caught in a fit of rage, wheezing and convulsing. The smells of rotten meat and sour milk fill my nostrils. I have to shower just to snap out of it. Strangely enough, when I look into the mirror, I can almost see the monster’s red glowing eyes staring back at me through my reflection.
THE END
