S15E13 - "Yin and Yang" - Horror Hill

**Erik Peabody** (0:02)
Chilling Tales for Dark Nights.
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Disclaimer Horror Hill is a horror anthology podcast bringing you scary stories from all corners of the internet and beyond. As such, certain stories include content that some listeners might find offensive. Specifically, tonight's episode features a scene of violence against an animal. Listener discretion is advised.
Greetings listeners and welcome back to Horror Hill. I'm Erik Peabody, your host and narrator. This evening, I have two tales for you that couldn't be more different from each other. But variety is the spice of life after all, and sometimes things pair up in unexpected ways, like a delicious peanut butter and bacon sandwich, or pizza with pineapple on it. Don't at me. We'll open with The Hunters by Jack Finn, a nice and bloody tale about well-deserved revenge. Then we'll close out with The Smell of Old Paper, a quiet, haunting story about regret and lost love. Yes friends, tonight is truly running the horror gamut, but both of these stories are quite good, and I think you'll enjoy them. Let's begin, shall we?
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And now from author Jack Finn, I give you The Hunters.
Reed gripped the Mossberg shotgun as he quickly moved through the brush. A cruel smile crossed his lips as he heard the nearby whimpering and snarling that signaled he had caught a wolf in his trap. He quickened his pace. Hunting wolves was illegal in Washington state, and Reed did not need one of those forest rangers coming down from a cascade mountain trail and hearing the creature stirring up a ruckus. The forest opened into a clearing and Reed could see the wolf nipping at its hind leg, bent at an unnatural angle, held fast in the steel jaws of his trap. He unzipped his red flannel jacket, letting some of the body heat from his quick trek through the forest escape into the cool fall air. A red tinged moon, a blood moon, illuminated the clearing as he crossed to his prey.
Ah, shit. Reed noticed with disappointment that it was a young wolf. The small pelt would net him little more than beer money for the weekend. The injured wolf glowered at him with pain-filled eyes and snarled as he approached. Reed could tell that the trap had broken its leg, and a jagged white shard of bone protruded through the wolf's bloody fur. Quit your noise-making. Reed raised the shotgun and squeezed the trigger. The gun roared as it propelled the slug into the young wolf's chest, jarring its body so violently that it tore free if the leg clenched in the trap. The wolf let out one rasping breath, and then lay still, its sightless eyes reflecting the red moon.
Hardly worth a walk up here. He looked down at the torn body of the small wolf and kicked at it with his boot. May get a couple of dollars from some tourists looking to buy a lucky wolf's paw. Oh, they weren't too lucky for you. Reed laughed at his joke, a harsh cackling sound ending in a smoker's cough. A cold wind blew through the clearing and suddenly he felt lightheaded. The world swayed and Reed reached out a hand to steady himself, but failing to find purchase, tumbled to the ground. The last thing he saw was the blood moon shining down on him. Then all went black.
Reed awoke lying on his side in total darkness, a cacophony of voices surrounded him. A rough-hewn cloth rubbed against his face and he realized a hood was over his head. Hey, what's going on? He struggled to move, but someone had tied his hands behind his back and bound his feet together. Who's out there? Someone untie me! An air of panic was creeping steadily into his voice. This ain't funny!
Reed? Reed Culver's? Is that you? A vaguely familiar voice called out to him. Jimmy? Jimmy Dodge? I'll kick your ass if this is your idea of a joke. Reed had known Jimmy Dodge since high school and shared many a drunken night at Red's Tavern, but this kind of joke was taking things a little too far for his liking. It's not me, Reed. I'm tied up. I can't see anything. His voice sounded on the verge of outright hysterics. I'm tied up too, a young man's voice called out to them. My name's Danny Stern. Shut up, all of you. A harsh older man whispered at them. I'm trying to listen to what they're saying around us. Strong hands grabbed Reed by the shoulder and dragged him onto his knees. The rough cloth scraped over his face as the hood was removed, and the night air felt cool on his sweaty face. The bright red blood moon shone down on the four men as they knelt tied in a clearing. A chorus of boos and hisses rang around them, and Reed's mind reeled at what he saw. Just outside the tree line encircling the clearing, he could make out the shape of hundreds of animals. Big antlered deer, snarling wolves, hulking black bears, and all manner of forest creatures, great and small, surrounded them. Birds filled the tree branches, and all the animals seemed to be... talking. What the? Reed had to be hallucinating. The animals were yelling at them and shouting cat calls. Kill them! Make them pay! Filthy humans! Oh, sweet Jesus! Jimmy's blonde head swung from side to side in terror. Oh, sweet Jesus! Reed noticed a dark-haired teen to the left of Jimmy. The kid hung his head low and cried as a stain of urine spread across the front of his blue jeans. He figured that must be the Stern kid. Between Jimmy and Reed knelt a stern-faced bald man. His deep-set, beady eyes stared straight ahead, and a sneer formed on the man's lips. Directly in front of them sat three figures on large boulders carved into the shape of crude thrones. The moonlight through the trees cast shadows on the figures, and Reed thought the light must be playing tricks on his eyes. On the center throne sat a creature that looked like a human tree, easily 12 feet tall. A square head that resembled an upside-down tree stump with green, human-like eyes studied the four men. Leaf-covered branches extended upward and outward from the head-like hair, and two large branch-like arms and legs extended from the creature's tree-trunk torso. Dark green vines slithered around the creature's body and limbs like snakes, and a large midnight black crow sat on the creature's shoulder. On the tree-creature's right sat a lithe, black-haired woman whose body and limbs seemed entirely comprised of an ever-blowing windstorm of leaves. Only her pale neck and face seemed of truly corporeal form, and a crown of rose thorns sat on her head with four red rose buds that sat at equidistant points on the crown. Her coal-black eyes filled her eye sockets as they stared malevolently at the four men.