Nigel stared at the woman walking along the path. He needed to cross the path to get to some
good eats for lunch, but there was a human in the way.
His mother had taught him to be afraid of humans, that they
carried the booming rods that killed many of his family, but this woman was
taking forever, meandering along, staring at the thing she was holding, not
even noticing him. So many people on the
path were like this woman, oblivious to these things in their hands. Sometimes the humans talked to the
things. Sometimes the things made noises. Sometimes the humans held them up to the sky
and then put them back in their hand.
Nigel was hungry, and getting angry as the woman took
forever to cross his path. He decided it
was time to push her along. He charged, and
as he got to her, she looked up, saw the deer, and started to run away, like he
had done so many times when he had been surprised by a human. He smiled and charged.
Her two legs were no match for his four, so it only took a
couple of pushes of his huge rack of antlers until she collapsed, dead. As he returned to his mission for lunch, a
wave of power surged over him, the power of someone who had no fear. He was determined to rule over the humans,
and excitedly thought about his next kill.
The trail made for easy targets. Nobody suspected the buck in the brush,
watching and plotting for his next victim.
Never groups, never ones on those speeding by on those machines with the
two circles, and never anyone bigger than him.
Usually, it was women, walking by themselves, the slower the
better.
While the bodies piled up, the humans were stumped. Women, walking alone on the trail, killed by
being beaten to death in the middle of the day.
There were none of the usual clues or patterns the humans needed to
solve the mystery, and soon, the killings became routine.
Nigel would spot his victim and charge until they were on
the ground, lifeless, then would go about his business. When the body would be discovered by another
human, Nigel would flee, pretending to be afraid of the flashing lights, the
sirens, the flow of people in and out, the yellow streamers.
Sometimes he would go over to where the big boxes with trees
on top were parked, listening to the humans chatter into sticks while facing
other humans with boxes on their shoulders and snaking cords everywhere. They would gab on about the “Millennium Trail
Killer,” whose motive remained a mystery as the victims grew.
Eventually, it became harder for Nigel to find victims as
the humans stopped walking the trail alone.
His bloodlust unsatiated, he wandered around until he found another
great trail to catch victims, even if it meant crossing those big, hard paths
with the fast-moving boxes that sometimes killed deer. Bah, he was Nigel, the Millennium Trail
Killer. Nothing could stop him….
One afternoon, he spotted the perfect human, and charged him
to death. High on the thrill, Nigel started
the long journey home, not realizing how late it had gotten.
*****
“Another body on a new trail. The Millennium Trail Killer must have moved.” Jane said to Mark, her cameraman. They were headed up to the newest crime scene
for the evening news.
“Or a copycat.” Mark
replied.
“A copycat of the perfect crime?” Jane looked at Mark as he drove. “Doubtful.”
They rounded a curve and felt the unmistakable thud of
hitting something. Mark pulled over, getting
out of the news truck to investigate. He
shouted to Jane.
“Ugh, I have to call it in.
We hit a deer.”
