 A man once paid me to be hunted for sport. I'd stumbled across his page when I was browsing the web for work. I was looking for some sort of side gig to pass the time. I was at a bit of a crossroads in my life. I'd quit my previous job to break away from the redundancy it had sucked me into. It was a spontaneous decision, with no real planning involved. Luckily in this day and age, the internet caters to people like me. People who don't care about chasing money or don't want to be tied down. It wasn't the money I was after, but the change it would provide. I felt like I couldn't enjoy anything in life, like I was just going through the motions. That night, I'd been scrolling for quite some time, skimming over job posts, help wanted here, shorthanded there. I didn't think I'd find anything to suit me. It all seemed like the same thing, disguised under a different title. That was, until I found this particular ad. I thought it was a scam at first. Full dollar signs on each side of the Craigslist title, like a trap set for the elderly in search of credit card numbers. I clicked on it anyway, curiosity getting the better of me. In all caps, the posting read, big money for manhunt volunteers. At least it was to the point. The details below gave a brief introduction as to what the job entailed. I skimmed over them with amusement, half of me doubting it was true, the other half hoping it was. As ridiculous as the prospect was, I had to admit it was exciting. There were some requirements for the job, however, and I was surprised to find that I fit the bill. Must be male, must be young, and fit, if possible. Must not be afraid of the dark, must come alone, no cell phones, no firearms, no police. Must meet the night before to discuss. The list went on for a while, but ultimately ended up with a phone number and a type signature as someone simply named Bob. I found myself thinking it over. I didn't exactly have anything to lose. No family, no friends. I always lived alone. The idea of wanting to pack up at a moment's notice never seemed to sit well with any of the significant others I had in the past. I don't know if it was stupidity or the need for adventure, but in the end I found myself grabbing my phone. I mean, how often do people get to say they were hunted for sport? The money wouldn't hurt either. I gave him a ring. The man who answered the call was tipsy but eager, and when I mentioned my interest in his post, he seemed to be ecstatic. Like I was calling to give him the lead role in a movie. The conversation was a little awkward, considering the reasoning behind the call itself. But after a few minutes of cryptic back and forth, we agreed on a meeting place. I was a few towns away, but he insisted I met him closer to his side of the woods. The hunt would be at his estate, and I should stay in town so I was well rested for the event. We would meet at a local bar called the Sixth Shot to discuss terms and conditions. He seemed determined like he'd been waiting for someone for a while. He said he would understand if I was in no hurry, but with my current status of unemployment and lack of overall plans, I found myself matching his energy. I had to admit, the concept was a little exciting. If it was real at all, we decided to meet the next day. The Sixth Shot was a bustling little place. A neon sign with a smoking gun made it easy to find. When I arrived, I found the guy immediately. He looked about how you'd expect a manhunter to look like. He pulled it off well. A black polo and tan cargoes, a shiny shaved head with a thick curled mustache, all worn on a very tan and muscular body. He was sitting at the bar alone, and he lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw me. Like he knew. He patted the stool next to him, like he was welcoming a long lost friend. When I crossed the bar, I was met with a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulder. He told me he was delighted to meet me and drinks were on him. After a brief introduction, he got a glass of top shelf bourbon for himself while I sipped on an Irish red ale. I'd acquired a taste for it recently. Considering he was trying to hire me with the intent to murder me, he seemed like a pretty cool guy. We got to know each other a little before getting to the serious stuff, the people around enjoying their drinks none the wiser. The man known as Bob was actually Robert Callahan, a man born into a world of wealth and, as it seemed, perpetual boredom. His father ran a very successful chain of automotive stamping companies that he inherited from his grandfather. By the time his father passed, there were so many buildings and people assigned to making the gears turn efficiently across the globe without his input that he was able to live a life of leisure on a seven figure income without as much as lifting a finger. The companies ran themselves as he grew older and he filled his young adult years with seeking thrills across the globe. He tried anything that got his adrenaline pumping from skydiving to whitewater rafting. He took a liking to hunting, which he said had started an escapade of finding the world's most dangerous predators and killing them no matter the cost. He said he'd seen it all. But in all his years, there was one thing he hadn't bagged, a human. I laughed at his extraordinary lifestyle, feeling a bit mundane when it was my turn to share stories. Mine was far from exciting. I left the more boring bits out, but I told him I spent most of my 20s as a park ranger. It kept me close to nature and outdoors, but when it's all you look at, it tends to lose its luster. I left that to be a cab driver in the big city, something that kept me in transit and entertained for a while. Always moving with so many people to observe in the busy city life, but in time I found myself too contained to the city itself, which was why I recently quit. Which brings me about to where I am now, discussing being hunted by another man. He was fascinated, jotting down notes in a little pocketbook while he sipped his bourbon. We conversed for a while. I finished a couple of beers and he ordered another pair of bourbon. The conversation was nice. It had been a while since the last time I went out with friends. Despite the fun I was having, we couldn't beat around the bush forever. When it came time to discuss the actual terms of our agreement, his face turned serious. I would be paid $5,000 tonight, granted I still wanted to go through with it. He said this would help me settle accounts before the event. He said he owned a mansion outside of town, with over 30 acres of forest land. He was outside city limits. His nearest neighbor was six miles away. No one would hear screams or gunshots. We would start tomorrow night. I was supposed to get to his estate at 10pm. After my arrival, I would get 15 minutes to head into the forest as a head start. He explained when the 15 minutes were up, he would promptly signal with a flare. If I had any second thoughts, I needed to address them and withdraw from the woods before the signal. If I was still in the woods when the flare went off, I would be shot on sight. He said I would be paid $10,000 an hour as I survived. The hunt would go on until dawn, and if I was still alive come daybreak, I'd be set free. He would be armed with a hunting rifle and a combat knife. I would be armed with my wits. It was evident it wasn't in his plans for me to survive, but that was something I had already come to terms with. He studied my face when he said these things, perhaps trying to gauge my reaction. I tried my best to play it cool, despite being a little nervous. Does any of this bother you? He eventually asked, downing the last of his drink. No, not really. I've always just tried to go with the flow, and doing that made me stumble upon your offer. Maybe if I get out and live a little, it'll encourage me to settle down for a bit more. That is, if I make it out alive. I winked, and we both had a laugh. Man, you are a riot. If I wasn't trying to kill you, I think we'd be pretty good friends. After all the details were ironed out, he paid the tab, and it was time for us to take our leave. We shook on it before going our separate ways. He was excited for the next day, a pep in his step carrying him to his obnoxiously lifted truck. He burned out as he left, almost rear-ending a Buick as he left the parking lot. I watched him go, feeling oddly serene in the cool night air. It was hard to describe. There was no one waiting for me to come back. No one to give me a courtesy call if I didn't turn up. I don't know if it was the thrill of the challenge, or just the drastic break in monotony. I spent my life trying to not be a creature of habit. Maybe this would be the last shift off course. Or maybe tomorrow I'd just die, and not have to worry about it anymore. With the moon shining bright, and the cool breeze on my back, I decided I'd take a walk before sleeping in my car for the night. It might be my last time to enjoy a night like this. I woke the next day in the backseat of my car, feeling oddly rejuvenated, despite my choice of bed for the night. Through the blinding afternoon rays, I found my phone and checked my bank account. He was a man of his word. The five thousand had been wired as promised. I decided I'd head into town, and indulge in some of the local variety, and find a place to shower before it was time to meet Robert at the estate. I climbed into the front seat, and left the bar parking lot. On the way into town, I called my landlord and cancelled my lease. I was already living in and out of boxes, and my lease was month-to-month, so I wouldn't exactly be missed. After getting something to eat, I called and cancelled all utility accounts for my apartment, electricity, internet, stuff like that. I'd already put in my resignation at the cab company. There wasn't really any ties to my life at the apartment. I would either survive till dawn, and get the biggest payday of my life, or not have to worry about the next step if I failed. Either way, this was the end of the current chapter in my life. After spending the day around town, I found myself driving to Robert's property, the sun already making its way into the horizon. His driveway was long and winding, leading to a gigantic house that looked like the surrounding forest was trying to swallow it. When I pulled up, it was already almost dark. A butler greeted me at the mansion, an old man carrying a silver tray covered in a soft cloth. He opened the car door and let me out, introducing himself only as Charles. I'll be taking your belongings now. If you don't make it out, they will be destroyed at sunrise. He held out the tray. Of course, I said, handing over my phone, wallet, and keys. After placing them on the tray, he offered a smile. Would you like a refreshment before heading in? Mr. Callahan said to accommodate you before hitting into the forest. He truly appreciates you answering his ad. Charles said, I'm fine, thank you. I guess I'd rather just get to it. I said, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. Of course, if you will follow me, it's right this way. He gestured for me to follow him. Charles escorted me through the house. The inside was furnished top to bottom in luxurious wooden furniture, bare skin rugs, chandeliers made of gold, paintings from the Renaissance era. The estate was definitely worth a fortune. We passed by a trophy room, filled wall to wall with mounds of animals from across the globe. They seemed to stare with their glass eyes, following us as we made our way through. Charles made no effort to engage in conversation, and neither did I. The other end of the mansion consisted of a large patio. Waiting for us there was Robert, who seemed to be preparing for our little hunt. He was running a large combat knife over a stone, slowly and methodically as we approached. Propped up next to him was his rifle. The bolt was pulled back, several cartridges laid out on a glass table. Next to it was the flare gun. The time is approaching, said Charles, and Robert nodded. He wiped the blade off and sheathed it on his belt. I looked at his loadout on the table, starting to feel sick to my stomach. This was seriously happening. Now that I was here and seeing him fully prepared, I couldn't help but feel like I was in over my head. Robert stood and grabbed his rifle. He picked up each cartridge and loaded them slowly, one at a time until it was full. He racked the bolt forward and slung the rifle on his shoulder and grabbed the flare gun. Fifteen minutes, then the flare. Having second thoughts, he said, twirling the flare gun on his finger. No, not really, I said, making my way off the patio. I wasn't exactly sure what to say in a situation such as this, so I figured it was best to just get it going. Excellent. I'll see you on the other side. He saluted me and Charles gave me a nod. I turned and left the patio, making my way to the woods. Each step got heavier as I approached the trees, the darkness behind them getting eerier the closer I got. When I got to the tree line, I looked back at the mansion. Robert and Charles just watched expectantly. I swallowed and ducked in, feeling the full weight of my decision, perhaps a little too late. Once the mansion was no longer visible, I started jogging. I was mindful of my footsteps. A stray log or vine could trip me up. During my time as a park ranger, I spent dozens of hours hiking trails. I would survey the land weekly, picking up discarded things like trash and lost clothing. This landscape was much different, however. The ground was uneven, years of collected leaves burying fallen limbs and jutting rocks. I was wearing decent boots, but terrain was unforgiving. One misplaced step and I could roll or break an ankle. I wouldn't be able to rush too much. If I could just maintain a steady pace, I'd be able to put enough distance between us and maybe find a decent place to hide. With the sun set and no light source, I couldn't see very far in front of me. I tried not to think about how much time had passed. I just focused on pushing forward. Ahead, the trees started to crowd. Giant maples with lush branches blocking the moonlight that was trying to shine in. I ducked under them quickly. A twisted branch snagged my shirt and I shook it loose. I came to a small clearing and I took a second to catch my breath. I leaned on a tree, shaking clumps of mud and pine needles from my boots. The ground was wetter than I had anticipated. Off in the distance behind me, there was an echoing pop. I looked to see the flare reaching toward the sky. A little orange ball of fire. I pushed off the tree and continued. I had to keep moving. I ran across the clearing, each step squishing on the ground as I went. On my third stride, my boots stepped on something awkward and hard. By the time I heard the clicking sound, I knew it was already too late. I stumbled awkwardly to the ground, agony shooting up my leg as the wind was knocked out of me. I looked down at the bear trap, blood oozing from where the metal jaws were buried. I was frustrated at my foolishness. Of course he trapped the woods. Why wouldn't he? I forced the jaws apart, the mechanism creaking, begging to bite down again. My hands shook, holding the slippery metal and when my leg was barely free, I let it snap shut. The steel on steel bite clacked into the night. The sound so loud it bounced through the trees. A second later, there was an excited whooping noise. He heard it. He'd be coming. I tried to see my ankle in the dark. There were nasty gashes on either side, but I didn't think it was broken. I got back up. It would hold weight. It just hurt like hell. I wanted to look back, but I pushed forward. Panic started to set in. Trying to regulate my breathing, I moved as quickly as I could. One strong step, one baby limp. I scanned the ground, looking out for more traps. There would be more, surely. Branches whipped at my cheeks and pulled at my clothes. I tried to be more careful, but I just couldn't see them quick enough. My left foot squelched in its boot with every step, blood soaking through my sock and into the laces. I pressed on, hurtling a large dead log. I had to find a spot to hide for a moment, catch my breath. My heart was racing. I was having trouble thinking rationally, as rationally as I could with the situation. An icy feeling of fear washed over me for the first time in a long time. I had gotten what I wanted, a thrill to make me feel alive. But as I looked down at my mangled leg, I was starting to regret it. Gunfire cracked in the distance. A branch near my ear exploded, specks of bark and dust hitting my face from the racing bullet. I threw myself to the ground and started crawling. I dragged myself to a large pine tree and I sat behind it, trying to come up with a plan. The gun went off again, closer this time. The round punched into the tree, shaking loose needles that fell from above. I squinted into the dark, trying to see ahead. In front of me, the ground started to slope and I could faintly make out the sound of rushing water. It could be a creek or a small river. Keeping behind the large pine, I slowly stood, trying to stay concealed until I was ready. I pushed off it and started to run for the slope, hearing the gunfire again as soon as I was in view. A fierce pain ripped through my shoulder and my arm went limp, but I couldn't stop. I started down the hill, I could see the shimmering surface of the creek below. There was something bobbing in the water, rotted logs from the looks of it. I needed to get there, get under the water and use the logs as cover. I worked my way down the slope. The ground was wet, each step threatened to slide out from under me. There were footsteps now, breaking sticks and brushing trees as they tried to catch up. Another gunshot, the bullet whizzed over my head and missed. I tried to go faster and crouch down, but my feet were too unstable. I focused on the water, limping closer and closer, like it was my salvation. I was almost there. Behind me, I could hear the racking of the bolt action and I shot a panicked look behind me. I could barely see him working through the trees, 20 yards away. As I turned back to the creek, my good foot got caught on something and I fell forward. I hit the ground hard and started to roll painfully and awkwardly in the dark. I watched my descent in a swirl of moonlight and darkness, my elbows and knees clubbed by the earth as I went. I came to a stop at the edge of the water, lying on my back gasping for air. I could hardly move, my vision spinning as I looked up at the sky. I could hear him coming down the hill slowly and carefully. He knew he'd won. He was taking his time. Exhausted and defeated, I looked at the creek. It wasn't logs I'd seen floating. The bodies, several of them, bloated and rotting in the clear glow of the moon. The more I looked around, the more I saw men, women, children. Robert was there now, boots squishing as he looked down at me. A pair of black goggles were over his eyes, a wicked grin on his face. He unslung his rifle and let it fall to the ground, then pulled the goggles off his face. He cast them aside like toys, disappointing, very disappointing. I thought with you being a park ranger and all, you'd make it farther. But here we are at the creek. They never make it past the creek. Robert cracked his knuckles and pulled the knife from his belt. He held the knife in both hands and brought it down, aiming for my heart. I put up my hands to fight him, but it only delayed the inevitable. He worked free from my grasp and elbowed me in the head, a blow that sent my vision blurring once more. My arms went slack and he buried the knife in my chest, my lung collapsing as the blade went in. With a grunt, he pulled the blade down, separating my torso down the middle in a nasty, gushing mess. Satisfied, he got up and left me there to die. I tried to talk, but it all came out as gurgled whispers. What? What was that? He mocked and he knelt to hear me. With the last of my breath, I spoke my last two words just loud enough for him to hear. Thank you. The involuntary screams came next. They were loud and shrill, broken vocal cords shouting in a mixture of barking and screeching. With both hands, I pulled at the large incision, yanking the flesh apart in a spray of blood and disintegrating organs. His reaction was the same as all others before him, a look of pure irrational fear. My thin, inky black limbs burst from the gaping wound in my torso. I was on him in an instant, slashing the knife away and digging my nails into his flesh. I ripped his shirt like paper and separated his chest just like he did to me. My piercing screeches ringing out into the night until I burrowed so deep they could no longer be heard. He thrashed and oozed from every orifice as he made room for me, just as the cab driver did and the park ranger before him. I ate and wriggled as he expired, warming and digging my tiny frame into each limb like a suit. When the fit was just right, I stood up and cracked my knuckles. I looked at my reflection in the water, running a hand over my face to feel the new fit better than the last one for sure. I took my time going back to the estate, making sure my walk was just right and everything was in place. The hours passed as I settled in, feeling more and more at home as I worked the joints and muscles. At daybreak, I emerged from the treeline to find Charles on the patio waiting. He came to greet me immediately. Sir, this one had you out all night. Was this one better than the others? Can I get you something to drink? He said, much better than the last and bourbon, if you will.