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The familiar cold wind of fall hit the Pine Barrens, turning tree leaves red and plucking them off the branches. Piles of the already fallen leaves build higher, but the next gust carries them, hitting the side of an isolated house with a bronze label reading "Gordon Drale". Some leaves get carried around the corner, and pushed into the banks of the decently sized lake, crystal clear from the drop in temperature. The leaves stay afloat the water, with only a select few sinking due to holes made by the local caterpillar population.
The sun hardly up, he wooden back door of the isolated house slowly opens with the wind, drawing the attention of the home owner, sitting in a camouflage open-able chair next to a fireplace, still burning but slowly going out. He stood up an walked over to the newly opened door, slamming it closed as hard as he could. "Damned hinges couldn't hold their own weight" he mumbled, turning back to return to his fire.
Turning back around, he felt another could breeze come, this time, the fire got even lower.The darkness of the just, ending night surrounded him, with the sun being just behind the tree tops rising. He continued walking, not being easily afraid of this sort of thing after living in the Pine Barrens for years. He reached his chair before long, and grabbed the model 29 revolver he always had near him in case of a Black Bear, or other creature appearing. It was always better safe than sorry.
Feeling the weight of his eyes hurt at the glow of the sun, he eventually decided it was time to rest. He made the turn, now with his revolver, back into his house, closing the back door. He attached the lock on the inside of the door, and walked through the kitchen and too the right, into the bedroom. Laying down when the sun rises wasn't usually his thing, but tonight, it seemed right. Revolver on his bed stand, he faded away.
The loud noise ricochets through the wooden house, causing Gordon to instantly wake up. Unaware of what he heard, he lies in bed, waiting for the noise again.
Nearly jumping up, he grabs the revolver he laid next to his bed. Pointing it at the bedroom door, waiting for the sound again. A loud thump seemed to come from right behind him. He spun around right away, to see a brown blur fly up, as another thump sounded, but this time on the roof above. Out the window, footsteps were visible. "That sound was a footstep?" He thought to himself confused, as he looked back up at his ceiling. A clicking sound echoed above his head. Again and again, the *click* of the tiles on the roof being hit with something sounding like metal.
Near impossible to decide if he should leave to witness this thing for himself, or stay still and safe. Eventually, after much waiting, the noises stopped. No tile hitting, no walking, only Gordon hearing his own deep breath, trying to stay silent. Suddenly, the noise familiar to any hunter, pulling skin, or tearing fabric broke the silence. A large gust of wind picked up, and a large thump was heard from the backyard.
Curiosity driving him crazy, he made sure his revolver was loaded, and ran through the kitchen, out the back door. In shock he stayed still, wordless. The bottom half of a whitetail deer laid on the ground, with leaves blown over it. Blood dripped right off the roof, hitting the ground next to him, where it had already begun a small puddle. Gagging and disgusted, he closed the door again, thinking of any possibility or explanation.