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A Hunter’s Death

By Brian Michael Barbeito
Jan. 15, 2007

The three hunters walked along the path for hours. Slowly and methodically, calmly alert. It was autumn, and it was getting to be later in the afternoon. One man, the one in front, fired at something in the air, and down came a bird, a Quail. They walked over to look around the area. They sat for a rest, and the man who had fired handed out some bread. His face was dented and wrinkled, and he had sparkling eyes that looked light blue sometimes, and at other times seemed green. He was short and sturdy. He had been a soldier in a war, a long time ago, and told stories about it. Today he told not a war story though, but just sat and ate the bread. As they walked along again, they came upon a lake, and there was stillness there, with nothing happening atop the water, and no wind blowing trees around its edges. Down there below the water though, there was something that nobody would have thought was there. It was a series of caves, and they stretched for miles. Inside the caves were groups of people that lived there. They were a group of humans who had evolved along different lines. They had a gill like apparatus and could swim in the lake. They hunted there, for fish, and they also ate land animals too. At night, in the wintertime, when the lake was frozen, they huddled there, deep in the watery caves, lighting little fires where there were dry places and ledges, and barely surviving. They didn’t speak, but only grunted. This day, one of the three soldiers wandered off a bit, and went for a walk along the small-pebbled shoreline of the lake. He went up to the water a bit more, and crouched down, to wash his hands. In an instant, another hand grabbed one of his hands from underneath the water, and pulled him forward. Then one of these cave dwelling lake-men stood up and stomped on the hunter, with great energy and a few moments later the hunter became unconscious and was carried away, brought below the lake, to the inner caves. When he awoke, it was a few grunts he heard, from the cave-lake dwellers around him. Then they cut off his head, and his arms and his legs, and they began eating him, and meanwhile his two companions up top of the lake had still been looking for him. There were search parties and helicopters eventually. He was never found, and how could he be found, seeing that at that time he was being digested in the insides of the strange group of lake peoples’, well, insides. His hunting friends never did figure out what had happened to him. They felt bad, but there was nothing they could do. Some people thought he had fell into the water and drowned. Some people wondered if he hadn’t somehow planned a fake death, to disappear and start a new life, but nobody knew for sure. Nobody, but nobody, thought that he had been stolen and eaten by people who lived in and under the lake.

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