Halloween Special

    Hi! I'm prefacing this short story with: I am not much of a horror fan/writer. My closest experiences with horror are living in the US and watching others play horror games or watch scary videos. Though, since it's Halloween, I wanted to take a stab at it (ba-dum-tss). Puns aside, enjoy the first(?) Halloween special... Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

    On the night of a blood moon, a lone man walked through a graveyard. He wore a pointed hat, leather garb that covered him from head to toe, and metal boots. On his hips were hatchets and on his back, a metal bat. His gaze and stride were predatory, as he never averted his gaze from the tombstones at his feet. The only sounds permeating the graveyard were the crunching of leaves under the hunter's feet and the whistling wind.

    The wind itself seemed to beckon the ethereal... What leaves were left on the disrobing trees were being rustled. The rustling seemed to extend to the energy itself, crawling along the skin like ants. Feeling this, the hunter stopped his prowl and stretched and limber himself up for the trial that was to follow. Eventually the wind stopped, but the feeling didn't. It went from the feeling of ants crawling on your skin to being engulfed by centipedes. The hunter wasn't unfamiliar to this sensation but he involuntarily shivered nonetheless. Though as the feeling seemed to become unbearable, it suddenly stopped. With the sudden lack of that sensation, his senses sharpened. The hunter took a wide stance and brought his focus to the ground. Everything had become still. Far too still for those who sharpened their intuition. Still to where you could hear a pin drop in the distance... Or notice the movement of stray ant going about its business...

    Suddenly a hand grabbed the ankle of the hunter. He reflexively kicked that hand and yanked the undead from his once resting place. As he kicked, he unsheathed the hatchet from that same side and chopped off its head. It flopped on the ground, but attempted to get up despite the lack of its head. The hunter then swiftly stomped on its head and its body went limp. Though that was purely the start of the horde he faced. Soon, the once still environment almost buzzed with the groans and shamblings of the undead. Seeing his foes, he unsheathed his second hatchet.

    He started his assault on a group of three farthest from him, throwing a hatchet at one of their necks. The hatchet buried itself in of one of them, though did no lasting damage. Though the small hesitation and distraction from their stumbling allowed the hunter to chase them down. With the hatchet still in his hands, he cut the heads off of two of them while at the same time retrieving his other hatchet and beheading that undead. As soon as the heads hit the ground, he took stomping steps to be rid of them. Following this pattern of dashing around the graveyard, attacking the farthest foes, he drew the attention of all those who had risen.

    He had become surrounded on all sides. At this point his breathing was a bit more labored, dashing across the graveyard, though it led to the outcome he sought. He wiped the blood off the hatchets before sheathing them and slowly brought out his bat. Metal bats were usually hollow, allowing for baseball players to better swing them. Though our hunter's bat was not, making it severely heavier, denser. His arms began to shake. Not because of the weight. Not because of the horror of being surrounded by the undead who would devour him alive. He shook with excitement and adrenaline.

    The simplest part of this trial was about to transpire.

    Before the zombies could make their first move, he struck first. He swung his bat across numerous undead, causing their heads to pop like over ripe fruit. Following the momentum of the bat, his assault on the zombies resembled a violently rushing river. His wide, whirling offensive also acted as a solid defense, keeping zombies off of him. Following the momentum also allowed for him to fight longer without tiring...

    The hunter's battle carried out until daybreak. Around him was a mishmash of bodies, blood, and guts. His whole body heaved with his breaths as he still clutched his bat. Eventually, when it was clear there were no more enemies to knock down, he leaned on his bat. As a way of removing weight, he took off his leather jacket. He then made his way out the graveyard, swaying/shambling, with another night survived, and another won.