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The Rangers just drove away, so I think I’m clear to write now. If you read the title, then you know I’m a hunter. And before I tell the story, I think there are some misconceptions about hunters that I need to clear up.

First off, I respect the wildlife. I don’t kill for sport, and most of us don't either. I live in a secluded cabin deep in the mountains. The nearest actual store is an hour or so from my cabin, so I find it easier to hunt deer instead of making that drive every time I need food.

And second off, if I see an animal who is injured, I put it out of its misery. That’s not really a misconception, just a good segway into the story, since that’s how it started.

I was on a trip into the woods, venturing to a flower-filled meadow that deer seemed to love grazing and frolicking in. Usually, there were several there, but this time there were none. Odd. After 45 minutes of nothing, I tromped out into the field and took off my mufflers, my ears immediately being hit with the sound of a wounded deer.

I figured I’d better put a bullet in its head instead of leaving it to suffer. I followed the sound and found a deer laying down on its side, intestines leaking from a large gash on its side. I took out my revolver I kept with me for this particular task and took aim.

Just then I heard the crashing of bushes and branches snapping to my right. Something was coming. Based on the sounds, a bear maybe. I saw a boulder a few paces away, so I jumped behind it and waited. When the sounds stopped, I peeked out from behind my spot.

A lone deer was standing over the wounded one, sniffing it and nudging it. I was confused and about to reveal myself when the deer looked around, as if checking that no one was watching, then it…grew.

Its bones grew into spindly limbs, tearing its flesh at its joints, and the smell of fresh blood wafted my way. Its antlers grew longer and more tangled, while its teeth previously meant for chewing plants shifted into a carnivorous maw. It began to use a pair of new clawed hands to tear the wounded deer open further and eat the organs that fell out.

I tried not to let my breakfast come back up while planning on what to do next. My rifle was about 20 yards away, and I wasn’t sure how fast the thing that was feeding was. I eventually decided on a mad dash to my gun, hoping it didn’t chase me. I counted down from three and took off towards my dropped weapon.

Behind me, I heard the thing I was dreading. The thing was after me.

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT

I jumped at my rifle and snatched it, whipping around and shooting a desperate blank In the thing’s direction. I covered my face, so I didn’t see my shot hit it in the shoulder. It let out a sound that echoed off every tree in the dark woods behind it.

While it was still reeling, I pulled out my revolver and ran up, holding the barrel about an inch from its forehead. I fired the killing shot.

I realized that I had better report this to a forest ranger or even the police, but ended up picking the first one. I showed them the body and they went silent. Without a word, they loaded up the corpse into their pickup truck and drove off.

So now I’m at my desk writing this, and, well. I don’t think I have much time left. I keep hearing something screeching, and I have no doubt it’s another one of those things. I can hear them tapping and scratching on my window.

If these are my last words, then I have a warning. There is an unknown species in the woods of California.

And they look like deer.