Account 10: The Disappearance of Harold Miller

Background information

• Name: Peter Hail
• Pronouns: He/him
  
• Date: April 8, 2020
• Occupation: Hunter
• City of residence: Robin, Michigan
  
• Date(s) of account: 2016-2018
• Subject of account: The disappearance of Harold Miller
  

Account
My name's Peter Hail. I'm a hunter from a small town that's sort of near Atkins.

I usually hunt with a friend of mine named Harold Miller. At least, I did.

It was May 2, 2016. Harold and I were hunting deer, just the two of us. Expeditions with more than two people tend to be too noisy to keep from attracting anything's attention.

Harold and I had always had an understanding between us, I think. I was a more poetic sort than he ever was, and he was more practical than I could ever hope to be. Our contrast in personalities meant we didn't really speak much to one another, but it didn't keep us from being close. After all, when you're hunting, you want to avoid talking too much, and hunting was most of what we did together.

As I've said, Harold and I were hunting deer. I had just spotted one that didn't seem to notice us. I got it in the sights of my rifle, but as I was about to fire at it, it suddenly spooked and ran off.

I lowered my rifle and glanced around, trying to figure out what had startled it. Harold hadn't moved or made any noise, and I certainly hadn't either. I hadn't even heard anything.

Then I started to hear branches cracking. They were quiet and unhurried as they advanced from the direction where the deer had been and towards myself and Harold. It clearly wasn't some amateur hunter getting overexcited and making noise by accident. Whoever or whatever this was, they were being very deliberate.

I turned to Harold. His expression was just as confused as mine must have been.

I suddenly heard a branch crack from behind me, louder than the rest. On instinct, I turned around to see what it was, but there was nothing there. I turned back to Harold, and he was gone.

He wasn't dead. He was just gone.

I started to panic. He couldn't have left in the brief time my eyes weren't on him, and he certainly couldn't have been quiet enough that I didn't hear him move so impossibly quickly. The foliage wouldn't have been thick enough to cover him even if, for whatever reason, he decided to lower himself to the ground. It was like he had never been there at all.

I searched the rest of the forest. When that came up empty, I visited his home. His daughter Calliope hadn't seen him since he set out with me, nor had his wife Lily. Lily started to get concerned, so with Cal out of earshot, I explained what had happened.

After that is a blur. The police were called, reports were filed, nothing happened. I was brought in for questioning at some point, but I didn't really have anything for them.

It was two years later. It was the first time since Harold disappeared that I'd felt safe going out on a hunting trip, and I saw something on the ground in front of my house when I came back.

It was a corpse- no, not just a corpse. Harold's corpse.

Its rotting face was covered in wounds of some sort, maybe claw marks. They were still bloody, and they looked severely infected.

I was too terrified to move, as much as I wanted to. The corpse slowly climbed to its feet. I gripped my rifle tight, though my hands shook.

"You." The corpse outstretched its arm. "I remember you."
I screamed, but my throat was so dry that the sound couldn't come out.
"Did you think I was dead? No, Peter Hail." The corpse laughed. "You gave up on finding Harold Miller. Worry not. You cannot be blamed for your inferiority. After all, you are only human." The corpse shambled towards me. "But I am so much more."

I stepped back as the corpse advanced forward and gave another unsuccessful attempt at a scream.

Suddenly, the husk's expression changed from cruel to horrified. The corpse- Harold- scratched at his face with long fingernails that had been revealed after the flesh on his fingers had rotted away. They were so sharp and yellow.

"There's something inside me," Harold said. His eyes were wide with fear. "Please, help me."
I shuddered.
"Please. You have to. I can feel it moving-"
Harold was cut off by the corpse's howling. It lunged at me, and on instinct alone, I hit it with the butt of my rifle.

The corpse screamed in pain, and I shot it. It twitched on the ground, then slowly climbed to its feet and lurched forward, trying to claw at me again. My body shook, but I shot at it as it approached.

Harold moaned in pain, asking me to help him in a low whisper, over and over. Over and over, I shot him. It was the only way I knew how.

After far too long, my rifle was out of rounds and he stopped moving. I watched his body until it grew dark. Then, finally, I stumbled home and drank myself to sleep.

If I'd thought about it more, I wouldn't have done that. A man disappears and then shows up months later with my bullets in him? Of course they'd think I killed him.

But it doesn't matter. I must have failed, because when I walked by the next day, his body had disappeared without a trace.

Analysis

Let me get the obvious out of the way. This account is worringly reminiscent of Alex's story about seeing a decaying figure dressed in hunting clothes.

I'd be willing to believe this was meant to be a prank played on Alex and myself, but this account matches information Alex (somehow) dug up from a local Robin newspaper regarding the disappearance of Harold Miller, at least up until the supernatural end of things gets involved. I don't think Alex would lie to me about being stalked by a humanoid monster and then contact the person behind the original to back up that lie.

It suddenly occurs to me that it's not obvious just how stressed I feel right now.