Starve a Curse, Feed the Soul

Prologue: Awakening

A/N: This unique tale is being read/dramatized by PureGrendal on YouTube.

Apologies for any grammar errors or typos. This story was originally published without the help of Grammarly or Wattpad's spell-check so it was proof-read by me manually. And I still wish to speak more properly XD ... But I think the flow is still pretty decent. Enjoy!

Minnesota was infamous for its harsh weathers. And the North Woods was no exception when it came to plummeting temperatures. Every winter would masked its woodlands and its inhabitants in frozen ferocity. And despite being early November, the autumn atmosphere was unseasonably bitter cold. The recent drizzle dusted the ground with ice and caused the evergreens to stiffen from hoarfrost.

The early wintered woodlands were always quiet after dusk. Most of its small mammal and aviary occupants that didn't migrate were sleeping safely in their unseen nests and hidden burrows. This night, however, was more silent due to the weather being absent of wind. Not to mention the missing presence of nocturnal inhabitants. Everything was inert... Until the still silence was broken by a small, yet beaming, unusual light that accompanied crunching of frozen foliage on the forest floor beneath heavy boots.

Joe suppressed chattering his teeth; he wished not to bite his tongue a second time. The man chided himself with low mumbles laced with curses for forgetting to put on his thermal-wear, which still remained draped over a chair, at home.

After blowing clouded breath under gloved hands, and pulling down his beanie light-cap to wholly cover his reddening ears, the hunter observed the ground for any signs of deer tracks. There wasn't enough frost to make any good confirmation of tracking, but eventually, the enthusiastic sportsman swore his eyes could vaguely distinguish telltale signs of his quarry leaving several indented prints in some vague places. And by his best guess on the width of the tracks, this deer was certainly not a doe, but a buck. Ignoring the cold, Joe grinned at the prospects of bringing home a worthy trophy. He returned both hands to his rifle, and tentatively made his way in the North Woods.

The hunter knew jacklighting was not allowed, but he didn't see the harm in it. He was well enough in the abundant woods and away from the local residences. But of course, he still kept to the nearest trail in hiking distance to where his truck was parked. Sure, he was keen on bagging a stag, but the man was certainly not foolish. He usually brought along his father or preferably, his best friend for safety and to simply shoot the shit to pass the time. However, his old man was out of town, and his friend had whined about it being too cold of a night for hunting, and said he was going to stay in tonight and game. Joe clicked his tongue to himself.

Mitch's such a wuss... Son of a-!  

His thoughts and walking had been interrupted when his cold, traitorous teeth bit his mouth's sensitive muscle again. After pulling out and unwrapping a stick of gum for his teeth to focus on, Joe resumed his hike.

Nearly an hour went by, and the chewing, trudging man was starting to become very disgruntled. There was hardly any more signs of the unrecognizable tracks as if the deer were jumping through the dense timber to move around. And the cold air in the eerily quiet forest was starting to sink through the hunter's coat and his nerves.

Joe spit out the last of his gum and was debating to return to his truck, until he finally found it. A short distance away; a glint of reflective light and some twitching in bushy shrubbery.

Fuck, yeah!

The hunter continued to keep to the trees, carefully creeping closer to the source of the possible game. His eyes scanned ahead; in hopes his cap's bright LED would display some eye shine. It was times like this, that Joe was glad he never opted to use his truck's headlights. Getting around on foot was much quieter, and even with the spotlight advantage to confuse the deer, they were always so easily startled. The man squinted his sights; no reflective retinas to be seen. But his heart skipped a beat from what he could tell were very large antlers. This stag had to be no less than a ten pointer.