K-Hunter

Bill woke on the beach. His head was pounding. He slowly pushed himself up off the sand. The ship was gone and the sun was going down. The pain in his head confused him as he tried to work out the sound his mouth was making. His eyes blurred and he realize he was crying.

The thick jungle swayed with the whispers of ghosts and demons. Wind hadn't raced through the trees for a week now. The air was thick and heavy. It smothered any hope of relief. A hunter seemed to slip through the air like a fish, his skin glistening with sweat. His prey hid in the shade panting. The creature's hooves were cloven and looked something like a deer with goat horns.

The locals called the island the ghostland. Partly because no one knew exactly where it was. Simply because the island was only encountered in deep fog. Ships did their best to never land there because members of the crew would go missing and others would go mad. Eerie howls and shrieks echoed around in the night. Made by ghosts, it was claimed.

If the hunter had known any of this, he had long forgotten it. All he knew now was the hunt. He sat on a large stone, shaping a two foot, freshly harvested  horn. The hunter couldn't remember what the shape was but he remembered that it cut and slashed. He knew that he wanted to use one. For what, he didn't know other than the image of a man that caused him to burn with hatred.

After he had shaped the horn to an extreme edge, he took it to the boiling pools. He dipped the horn to an inch below where his hand rested. The clear boiling liquid soaked into the horn, hardening it. Being careful not to splash the unknown liquid, he pulled the horn out.

The hunter raised the horn above his head. He bared his teeth animalisticly as it glinted in the moonlight. It was time.

Captain Jensen stared at the receding island with distaste. He felt dirty for even having to stop there. At least he hadn't lost any of his crew. At least the count had been right. For all he knew, someone could have been replaced.

Toby glanced at Scott nervously. He was nervous because he was sure that wasn't Scott. Sure he wore the same clothes but he seemed a little shorter and more muscular. Toby also hadn't been able to get a good look at his face.

"Are you alright Scott?" He asked.

"Hmmm." The hunter grunted back.

The older sailor looked around to make sure no one was watching.

"Now Scott, seeing as we're bunk mates, I trust you completely," Toby looked around again. "However, I think you may have switched places with something on the island."

The hunter glared at him through the rope in his hands.

"But don't worry, I won't tell a soul." The man said quickly. "Knowing would just make me feel better."

The hunter thought a moment and set the rope down. As Toby had thought, that wasn't Scott. He gulped nervously, seeing a glint of malice in his eye.

"So, I'll call you Scott so no one gets suspicious, but have you got a name of your own?"

"Scott." The hunter growled darkly.

"Ok." Toby said. "Now, do you know anything about working on a ship?"

The hunter growled indecisively.

"Right, so stay close to me and I'll teach you."

The cool fog of England was a stark contrast to the heavy heat of the island. Toby nearly melted with relief as he realized he had made it home alive. He glanced at Scott. The man still didn't say much but the way he looked at the England port... Toby knew he would get off here and vanish into the crowds.

"Well, Scott," he held out his hand and pulled it back. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

The hunter bowed his head respectfully.

"Here." Toby pulled off his striped scarf. "It gets cold in England."

Scott accepted the scarf. He bowed his head again and walked towards the gangplank. Toby waved, almost happy to see the back of him.

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