(~500 Words, Local Legend, Ghost Story, Haynesville Woods)
“Used to be, we told the kids to stay out of the Haynesville woods at night ‘cause of coyotes, or maybe a black bear in spring. But that was before folks started hearing the hoofbeats.
Not galloping, no. Just a steady thud-thud, soft as anything, following behind, but coming closer than any deer would.
The first man to see him was a hunter from down in Sherman, out in the Haynesville woods looking for a couple of buddies of his who went out jacklighting and didn’t come back to their camp. He found their truck, spotlight and all, still running, at the head of a trail, but no sign of his two buddies anywhere.
The hunter figured they must have left the truck to follow the path into the woods, so he pulled out his flashlight and started in after ‘em, calling their names. Said he spotted what he thought was another hunter—tall guy in an old army jacket, standing dead still in the fog, just off the trail. Had a cap pulled low over his face.
Fella waved at him. Friendly, almost.
The hunter walked right up to the guy in the army jacket to ask about his lost friends. Guy said he’d help him look, so they walked together a piece, looking into the trees, this side and that. They’d been at it for a while, the hunter moving his flashlight to one side of the trail, then the other.
The hunter happened to glance down at the guy walking beside him, just as the beam crossed over the guy’s feet. He expected to see boots…
Instead, he saw the guy had hooves. Big split ones. Black as rot.
Said the guy smiled then. Didn’t speak at first. Just kept walking alongside him, smooth as anything, helping him look for his buddies. The hunter tried not to spook, figured maybe it was some weird joke.
But the man kept talking; about hunts long past, the way the world was changing, rivers that ran long ago, now dried up.
Then the night went quiet. Real quiet. No birds, no frogs, no nothing. That’s when the guy says:
‘Too bad about your friends. These woods have a history. Never have been real welcoming to trespassers, don’t you think?”
And the guy in the army jacket smiles wide, too wide, and the hunter bolts back to his camp.
The next morning, they spotted the place where the two missing jacklighters left the trail. Found their rifles in the woods. Never found the bodies, though. Just a trail of hoofprints in the mud, following the two jacklighters’ tracks into the trees.
So, if you’re out there with your floodlight and your rifle, remember this: the Hoofman don’t care much for thieves in his woods. Walk soft, take only what you have a right to. And if you meet a friendly guy who offers to walk alongside you, try to be friendly right back.And for God’s sake, don’t look down.”
(Back to ‘Small Bites: Short Fiction and Essays‘)