by C.G. Miller
Four Short And Scary Tales
By C.G. Miller
Copyright 2014 C.G. Miller
Table of Contents
1 - Giant Hunter
2 - The Saviors
3 - Death Worm
4 - How Do I Always Get Stuck Driving?
GIANT HUNTER
“And we’re back,” said a man seated in a cave-like radio station. He wore decrepit aviator shades and spoke into an equally arcane microphone.
“We have a special treat here for you today, listeners. One of our producers just came across a former giant hunter and he’s agreed to speak with us for a few moments.”
“Am I on?” the hunter asked. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, we can certainly hear you, sir,” the radio host said with a slight chuckle. “So tell us a bit about yourself? What’s your name?”
“My name is Humphrey Cavenshire, God save the Queen. I’m a former giant hunter by occupation and a bird watching enthusiast by choice.”
“And where are you from, Mr. Cavenshire?”
“Well, I live in a cozy little cottage in Llandaff, Cardiff. It has a decent sized garden and there’s a pub right down the road.” He sadly gazed out the window. “It’s good enough for what I have, anyway, as I’m around a lot more than I used to be.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Back in my day heyday, I spent most of the time living out of the lorry.”
“How did you spend most of your time, living in a lorry?”
“Why, driving ‘round the Isle hunting,” Mr. Cavenshire said.
“Well it sounds like you’re a lot more relaxed. Tell our listeners, Mr. Cavenshire, what exactly do you want out of life, post giant hunting?”
“I want what any old gent wants, to be left alone,” he said, laughing. “I feel tired all the time. I’ve spent so many years hunting giants that I missed out on a lot of proper rest. Sleeping on the hard ground is good on occasion, but after so many years it really turns your back to rubbish.”
“Fascinating, good sir,” the host said. “What about needs though? What is it you need out of life?”
“Apart from that rest I just mentioned?” Humphrey said, letting out a wheezy laugh that turned into a cough. “Presently, I could use a stiff pint.”
“Ah, a sense of humor too? Such a delight you are, Mr. Cavenshire. So what do you do in your leisure?”
“A bit of an interesting question, innit? I guess the simplest answer is that I enjoy my time. A spot of bird watching here, a game of chess there. I spent so many years serving the Queen that I never had proper time for myself.”
“That’s the worst, isn’t it?” the host said, not pausing to allow Mr. Cavenshire to answer. “Do you perceive yourself as a success or a failure, in regards to your former career?”
“Also an interesting question. I suppose on paper I’ve been very successful. I was the first person to survive an encounter with a Red Bearded Rocksnatch. I could easily kill 20 giants a year, by myself no less,” he said, slapping his knee.
“Oh, and I tracked down the legendary Arnfasta, a particularly nasty Norse Greencoat, fella. Left me an angry scar above the left knee to remember our courtship,” Humphrey said, letting out a chuckle. “I’d even wager to say I was the finest giant hunter this country’s ever seen!”
“Indeed.”
“Away from the occupation though, I feel I missed out on a lot of things,” Humphrey continued. “Serving the Queen was time consuming. I never got a chance to have a family.”
He stared out the window again, his eyes growing moist. “I just was too busy to experience kids, a wife, or love. So, was I a success? Maybe by definition, but emotionally, I don’t think so. I’m just a lonely old gent with nothing but his memories to keep him company at night.”
“Very sad to say the least, sir,” the host said. “May I ask one more question?”
“Certainly.”
“What do you think was, or will be, the defining moment of your life?”
“Phew,” he said softly, reminiscing for a few moments before deciding on an instance, his eyes widening.
“I was maybe 26 years old and had been hunting for a few years after joining up after the Navy. I hadn’t yet perfected the craft, having maybe 15 giants under my belt, tops. But damned if I was eager to prove myself,” he said. “So, I volunteered to track down an exceptionally large Oxford Leafhair, at considerable risk to myself, mind you. After pursuing him for what felt like ages I finally tracked the beast to the Cairngorms.”
“Oh my,” the host exclaimed.
“Oh my is right! I recall it was an unseasonably snowy night, so I had a devil of a time locating the tracks. It was near dawn before I spotted the creature through the snow and he wasn’t moving,” he said, extending his arms in the air. “Naturally, I was disappointed. I hurried over to make sure that fool Will Thatcher hadn’t beat me to the punch again. Oh my stars, do you know what I found? Do you?”
He leaned in close to the radio host.
“What did you find, sir?”
“The Leafhair was a female. And a pregnant one at that,” he said, looking said again. “Well, recently pregnant anyway. It seemed she had died in childbirth.”
“With child?! What did you do, Mr. Cavenshire?”
“Well, as I looked at the great, cooing thing, the oath I took to leave no giants alive floated into my mind,” he said. “But, as soon as I gazed into the large, green eyes of that baby Leafhair, I realized I couldn’t do it.”
He blinked away tears. “My life’s work was devoted to killing these creatures and yet for some reason I couldn’t end the life of the most defenseless one I had ever come across. It just didn’t seem proper.”
“You showed the beast mercy?”
“Well, I did the only thing I could do. I loaded the baby giant into the back of the lorry and drove it down out of the snow. I found a nice spot in some woods where there was plenty of game about and left it there.”
“Ever the gentleman you are, sir,” the host said. “Did you get in trouble?”
“No. I did have to lie on my report though,” he said. “But I slept soundly. At least it had a better chance in the woods than up on the mountain, eh? It’s moments like that that make a man, a man I think. It’s very hard to kill something, but even harder still to learn the lesson of mercy.”
“I couldn’t say it better myself, Mr. Cavenshire,” the host said. “And we’re off to break. Stay tuned.”
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