Jillian Chantal

This week we have a picture prompt and each post is limited to 300 words. I was going to be a rebel and put up 337 as that was the end of a paragraph but then I decided to conform and stick to the rules, so apologies for ending so abruptly. This is a very rough draft of a Christmas story I was hoping to publish this year but it may not happen after all.

Be sure to check out the other tales here.

Two shots rang out in short succession followed by a screech of pain. The man in the cabin sat up from reading the latest issue of Men’s Health and, tossing it to the floor, leapt from his chair. On his way to the side door, he grabbed his coat and gloves. Snatching his medical bag as he passed it on the table, he was outside in the brutally cold weather within moments. He strode across the part of the property where he parked his car and on into the woods.

A light dusting of snow covered the ground and sprinkled down on Colin Danson’s shoulders as he passed under an evergreen tree on the land he inherited from his grandfather. He followed the blood trail leading away from his cabin, wondering what kind of animal he would find at the end of the path or if the person with the shotgun already had the victim in his clutches.

“Blasted hunters on my property. I wonder who think they are to shoot so close to my porch,” he muttered as he tracked what he hoped was a wounded animal and not a dead one. Or even a human being. That screech sounded like a wild creature but it could very well be a person. His gut clenched at the thought of what he was really stalking and what he’d find at the end of his quest.

It had only been a few days since he came to prepare the property for the winter. His grandfather had always said it was almost impossible to get up the mountain pass once the snows came. Even in a four-wheel drive vehicle. And the terrain was too steep for a snowmobile to make sense after a certain elevation.

A large blotch of blood at his feet concerned Colin.