Page 32 of Taunting Tarran
He locked me in a room with a rotting corpse when I was eight. It didn’t take long for the heat of the Spanish summer to make it bloat, skin stretched tight like an overfilled balloon. Flies buzzed around my head, their wings a maddening hum as they laid eggs in the festering flesh. Maggots writhed, turning the skin into a grotesque, undulating mass. The stench was unbearable, a sickly sweet odour that clung to my nostrils. I watched in horror as the body transformed, knowing it was only a matter of time before it burst, and the writhing critters would surround me.
I’ve never been squeamish, but a fresh corpseisa good corpse. With bodies, I’d rather do what I had to, and go. Not hang around and watch them liquefy and be devoured by theearth. But that was rule one of hunting. I can almost hear him now, my grandfather whispering in my ear.‘Just remember not to nick the stomach, that stench will fucking haunt you forever.’
And haunt me the smell has. That was my punishment for being too hasty, missing the shot, and injuring, not killing the animal. I was in that room for two whole days.That bastard.
I remember, on my hunting trips, the forest was thick with the scent of damp earth. The morning sun barely kissed the horizon, its light struggling to pierce the gloom. My breath hung in the chill, fleeting clouds that dissolved as quickly as they formed. I moved with purpose, avoiding the betraying snap of twigs or the rustle of leaves beneath my boots.
Then, I saw a clearing. I crouched low, my pulse quickening as I spotted fresh deer tracks etched into the soil, leading deeper into the woods. The world around me seemed to hold its breath as I followed the trail, each step drawing me closer. And then I saw it – a deer, its coat glistening in the faint light of dawn. It lifted its head, ears twitching, every muscle poised to flee at the first hint of danger.
My eyes locked onto the animal as I slowly drew back an arrow from the bow.
Time seemed to stretch, the surrounding world narrowing down to just the deer and the huntress – me. The arrow flew true, striking the deer with precision, the impact causing the deer to bolt, crashing through the underbrush before collapsing a short distance away.
My grandfather’s words echoing in my ears.‘Never take alife without gratitude. This deer has given us more than just meat,’ he had said, while kneeling beside the animal.‘Taking a life, Tarran, whether animal or otherwise changes you, it leaves a mark on your soul, and it’s a reminder of the responsibility you bear.’
The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting the sky in hues of gold and amber as we step off the plane and pile into the rental car. The air is different here – rich, earthy, and heavy with the scent of pine. With the windows rolled down, the evening breeze carries the sound of crickets chirping and distant birds settling into the night.
‘Have you got the map?’ Rachel asks, glancing over at Anna in the passenger seat.
Anna rolls her eyes, scrolling through her phone. ‘A map? Seriously? What are you, fifty?’
Emma smirks from behind the wheel, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. ‘We’ve got GPS, babe. Technology. I just need to remember not to drift back to the left side of the road,’ she laughs, but her focus remains razor-sharp on the narrow, winding path ahead. The tall pines on either side of the road close in, their shadows stretching long as the last traces of sunlight begin to fade. My eyes dart to the thick forestsurrounding us, unease curling at the edges of my thoughts.
‘No picking up hitchhikers!’ Anna declares firmly, her tone halfway between teasing and serious. She leans over, pointing a finger at Emma. ‘I know you –you’d probably stop for a squirrel if it gave you the right look.’
‘More like a raccoon,’ Rachel says, laughing. ‘Seriously, too many horror movies.’
I chuckle, breaking my gaze away from the darkening woods. ‘Raccoons in Spain? You’re pushing it. Pretty sure we’d be lucky to see a stray cat ‘round here.’
Emma perks up, her eyes wide with curiosity. ‘Wait, are there raccoons in Spain? Because that would be awesome.’
Anna shrugs, laughing, ‘No clue. But here’s what I do know – we’re not stopping. No hitchhikers, no raccoons, no squirrels. Got it?’
Rachel nods. ‘Agreed. Let’s keep the tank full and avoid any unnecessary stops. We don’t speak the lingo.’
Emma sighs but doesn’t argue, keeping her focus on the twisting road. The humour does little to shake the unease sitting in the pit of my stomach.
The car jolts as Emma slams on the brakes, throwing all of us forward against our seatbelts.
‘What the hell?’ Sarah yelps, as she wakes up, her voice filled with both annoyance and panic as she clutches at the door.
‘That’s John!’ Anna exclaims, pointing out of the window with wide eyes.
‘John?’ I ask, leaning forward between the seats.
‘Who the hell is John?’ Rachel asks in full-blown dramatics.
‘That creepy old dude Tarran was sat with on the plane,’ Emma answers.
All of us look at Emma. ‘I… erm...’ she stammers, clearly caught between her gut instincts and her compulsion to play the good Samaritan.
Sarah leans back with a sly smile. ‘Well, Tarran, you did spend an entire flight bonding with him. You should know whether he’s harmless or a psycho.’
‘I- I don’t know. He’s old.’
‘Oh, for Christ sake.’ Emma huffs, her gaze flickering to the side mirror, where John and his so-called grandson are still visible, standing by their car. ‘Who’s the other guy? He doesn’t look half bad, if you ask me?’
‘That will be his grandson,’ I answer. ‘He said he was meeting him at the airport.’
