 The gravel crunched under the tires of the black pickup as it turned into the small parking area near the trailhead. The headlights put the immediate tree line into sharp relief until the vehicle was turned off. The words Magafin County Conservation Officer were emblazoned in gold lettering across the side of the truck. The driver's door then swung open, allowing the chilly morning air to seep its way into the cabin. The engine clicked as it cooled, the only man-made sound amongst those of the forest slowly waking up. Jim Taggart stepped out into the early morning air from the truck's interior, dressed in a hunter-green jacket and black gloves. It was still dark out, with barely enough ambient light to see by. Jim's breath trailed behind him as a steam of smoke as he stretched. It was now that he focused his attention on the SUV parked on the opposite end of the parking area. Jim walked over to it and after a quick once-over, revealed a completely flattened rear tire, decided that it had been abandoned. Jim wrote out a citation and stuck it under the SUV's wiper. He then returned to his truck and leaned back in to retrieve his supplies. He hoisted a large pack onto his back first, made sure that his service pistol was still securely holstered on his right hip, then slid his rifle sling onto his left shoulder. The conservation office had been receiving calls about some weird deer sightings over the past month or so. Jim and the others had come to the consensus that there was most likely a buck that had developed a debilitating disease. Most of the descriptions of the animal fit this narrative. This was why Jim was out here. He'd drawn the short straw and now it was his responsibility to put the poor creature out of its misery. Today was probably going to be a long day. Jim started out down the trail at a brisk pace. He had both a GPS and a paper map packed away in his bag, but this was mostly a formality. He knew all the trails like the back of his hand and was able to navigate the surrounding areas almost as well. He hiked out to a meadow some miles out into the woods where the reports seemed to be loosely centered around. Following a spot among the thick vegetation, he set up a small deer blind and began to wait. As he waited, the stories of the campers and hikers that had made reports began to resurface in his mind. Most of them were fairly on track with the symptoms of chronic wasting disease, a deer unsteady on its legs, falling all over itself, looking emaciated. But a few here and there had crossed the realm into the bizarre. One man had reported seeing a deer with white eyes that had walked on its hind legs, like a human. His coworker Landon had been given the responsibility to take the report as he was the best at keeping a straight face and pretending to take things seriously. Personally, Jim had written off this report and the handful of others equally as bizarre and as the result of drugs or alcohol. Jim rolled around with no sightings of any deer at all, sick or healthy. Jim gave a wide yawn and set his binoculars down to the side of his chair. He began to rummage through his pack, producing a granola bar. Deer with this illness oftentimes no longer followed normal behavioral patterns, so there was still a chance he would see it in the midday. But it was just as likely that it was scared and hiding away, which would mean he'd be back out in a day or two in an attempt to actually track the thing. Jim jumped and cursed at the sudden sound of an animal crashing through the forest. It sounded as though it was coming from every angle and he snatched back up his binoculars and pressed them to his face. For an agonizingly long minute, Jim sat frozen in place. The air around him plummeted in temperature and he could suddenly see his breath again. The forest abruptly darkened around him, as though the sun had quite literally fallen out of the sky. As Jim started to lower his binoculars to examine his surroundings, the creature burst forth from the treeline. Jim had to switch his binoculars to night vision mode to really get a look at the thing. It was skeletal in appearance. He wasn't sure how the creature had the ability to hold its own head up, let alone ambulate. As he watched, the deer continued into the clearing on wobbly legs, nearly collapsing to the ground as it tripped over its own feet. Jim now moved to trade his binoculars for his rifle. He could understand now how some of the hikers had mistaken it for something less than natural. It was probably the worst case he'd ever seen. As Jim lowered his head to peer through the scope of his gun, the deer stood shocked still in the clearing. Jim carefully took aim for the head. He let out his breath slowly and finger went to the trigger. A bang rang out, bringing the contrasting silence of the woods to the forefront. The deer collapsed with a thud that seemed to reach even Jim's ears. His main task completed. Jim now went for his cell phone. He sent a quick text back to one of the others at the conservation office. Got the deer, I'm headed back now. All mark on the GPS were to find the body. He didn't want to stick around anymore. It was just a diseased deer after all, but things were wrong. He began to haphazardly pack back up his things, considering even leaving the deer behind. Someone else would have to collect the body. Maybe he would even ride along when they did, but right now, every fiber of his being was screaming at him to get out. When he stepped out, he couldn't help but look toward the direction of the dead deer, but it was gone. He hesitated for a moment. He wanted to leave, but his legs seemed glued to the forest floor. Cursing, he twisted to reach for his binoculars that he'd stashed in a side pocket of his backpack. When he turned back around, he dropped them in surprise. The emaciated deer now stood mere feet from him. There wasn't a scratch on it. It fixated him with a stare, eyes pure white and cloudy and far too forward for an animal of prey. Fur matted here and there, the creature swayed on its hooves as though buffeted by an unseen breeze. The iron musty scent of old blood hit his nostrils and caused Jim to grimace. Its sides did not seem to swell and fall with any breaths. Whatever this was, it wasn't a deer. Then its lips parted and began to raise upwards on its vile muzzle. The parted lips revealed a mouth lined with sharp, pointy teeth. The thing was smiling at him. Jim dropped his supplies in shock and in a split second decision, unsure of the direction of his truck under such terrifying circumstances, he made his best guess and bolted. Jim could hear the crashing of the underbrush just behind him as the creature gave chase. He allowed himself one glance over his shoulder. All traces of feebleness and incoordination were gone from the animal. Jim's ears were filled with the sound of his labored breathing and of the creature barreling through obstacles as though they weren't even there. The man shrieked as his foot caught on a route and he was sent skidding across the forest floor. He quickly rolled over and propped himself up to check on his leg. Sensing no damage severe enough that his adrenaline could not overcome, his eyes darted around the blackened forest. The creature stood several feet away from him as though Jim had neither gained nor lost traction from the moment he'd taken flight. Jim stared at the creature, mahogany eyes massive, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He pushed himself backward in what felt like a futile attempt to distance himself from the creature. He pulled his service pistol from his holster and took aim, but he knew it would do no good. This was it. This was how he would die. The buck's mouth dropped open. Its bottom jaw hit its neck as if it barely hung on just by sinew. From the gaping maw of the creature came a noise that resembled the call of a hyena. Was it laughing? The not-deer bore down on him and Jim screamed. The sound of gunshots rang out across the woods. Jim's coworkers came looking for him. A couple of hours later, his truck was still in the gravel parking area at the head of the trail. The bright orange ticket fluttered in the breeze under the SUV's windshield wiper. The small party of three followed the trail and moved out to where the GPS marker had indicated the dead deer should have been. There was no sign of the deer, not even blood droplets. They found where Jim had set up and his abandoned supplies, but they couldn't find their beloved coworker. They brought in search parties and sent hounds the next day. They even swept the area with a helicopter, but the forest and mountains were dense and visibility was minimal. The dogs brought the officers to a clearing deep in the woods in the opposite direction of the trail and Jim's truck. His coworkers were at a loss, unable to figure out why Jim had gone this way. The dogs lost the scent in the clearing and they never picked it up again. Jim Taggart remains missing to this day.