Ian A. Bain

The Hunt

Four men gather ‘round the table
they burp and chug and laugh
each man drops his sack down
the dick-measuring contest begins.

Edric is first, stroking his beard of moss
blood and beer matted into the moss
“Aye,” says he, “I’ve a boy!” and from his bag
he pulls the head of a boy.
“And what did you do to ensure it was a challenge?” Asks Arthur.
“Look,” points Edric, “I gave him antlers for defence
and doe legs to run away on.”
The other men nod their approval.

Herne is next, his crown of stagg antlers
rests over his ram horns
“Here, I too have a boy,” he says
the trophy plops on the table.
“And what have you done to respect the Hunt?” Edric asks.
“Look, I pulled out his teeth and nails
jammed wolf claws and fangs in the boy’s gums and fingers
even half wolf he was no match for me.”
The men nod.

The Headless Horseman is next
he rolls his trophy across the table
the hunting party know what the horseman
does to his prey:
he gives them false hope,
hope that they might actually escape his clutches,
he is the cruelest of them all.

The men cheer and drink
trade stories of the Hunt
and Mother Nature looks down on them
she laughs.

Barbs

No, not barbs, hooks
rusty hooks on old black chains
Every hook is different
“You suck at writing” is a small fishhook
“You’re too fat to be loved” is a much bigger, nastier hook,
 covered in hundreds of tiny barbs
“You’re worthless” that hook I made myself
They tug at my flesh, pulling it from the bone
But I’ll let the hooks dig in
I’ll let them tear apart my flesh
And when there’s nothing left
There’ll be nothing for the hooks to dig into.

Ian A. Bain is a writer of dark fiction living in Muskoka, Ontario. Ian enjoys Horror, coffee, and long walks through the swamp with his wife and undead dog. Ian’s fiction has appeared in various anthologies, magazines, and podcasts, and his non-fiction work can be found under “The Horror Hoser” at deadheadreviews.com. Ian can be stalked online at @bainwrites on Twitter.