The Notdeer (Draft)

The NotDeer
Uncle Reggies talk show was just a little too loud for Stephen, but then again, everything was a little loud about Uncle Reggie. His American flag hat, full denim, and perpetually unshaven stubble told about that much for anyone who saw him.
Still, Stephen didn’t mind it too much—he only saw his dad's most distant brother only once every three years—and the drive from to Reggie’s cabin wasn’t too long. It was just lonely, as the hub around Pennsylvania's Williamsport Regional Airport quickly gave way to endless pines and soulless roads.
So, as the bruised pick up truck clattered along the dirt roads, Stephen wasn’t entirely annoyed by the company, although the occasionally racist comments from Reggie’s favorite talk show (The Pennsylvanian Patriot, hosted by “Sergeant Philly”) did motivate him to keep small talk going to prevent any awkward radio monologues.
He had already talked about all their traditional events: hunting, fishing, and something that Reggie liked to call “noodling” (Stephen just watched, for that last one), so he chose to ask about the fog which had begun to envelope the car since their departure.
After all, the fog was one of the only things that differed from this year's pilgrimage. Stephen had never seen fog on these roads, especially not fog this heavy. It started out weak, but now, the density was enough for Reggie to use his windshield wipers—and Reggie made a point of NEVER using his windshield wipers, as they were dirtier than the car itself.
“Crazy fog this year huh? Have you guys been getting this a lot?”
Reggie responded with his usual stoic but still friendly demeanor, “not until the old road closed, nope”.
“Oh, so this is uh…” flustered Stephen.
“Yup, we on a detour”
“Cool,” said Stephen, who was a little embarrassed at not noticing it was a different road, but then again, how could he? They all looked the same! But inwardly, it made sense to him. He hadn’t said it or wanted to admit it to himself, but this road felt different, and it wasn’t just the fog or the darkness.
The forest was supposed to be lonely, a desolate drive, but it wasn’t. There was something there—and it wasn’t Sergeant Philly. Stephen had always despised the cliche of “something watching you”, but now he began to actually understand it. It wasn’t something watching, it was something coming; it was the feeling of the word “ominous”; it was the innate human sense of oncoming danger.
“So, you’ve driven this way plenty of times before, right?” Stephen finally said, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.
“I know these roads like the back of my hand” said Reggie, not answering the question. He did however, point out Stephen's window at the forest to the right of the car, which had trees on a declining slope, unlike the left, which was fairly flat. “Fer’ example, that over there is the Allegheny National Reserve” said Uncle Reggie, although the intense fog and dark made the entire gesture meaningless.
“Cool,” Stephen responded quickly, not even looking out the window. The feeling was aggressive now, and Stephen could not seem to peel his eyes off of the road. It had come on so quick, no build up whatsoever, but Stephen suddenly couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something to be on alert for. What is this? I’ve never had a panic attack before… he thought, and it seemed like Reggie didn’t notice it all; in fact, he was still looking out the passenger window when Stephen saw it.
Suddenly, out of the milky fog, a deer materialized in the truck's headlights.
“Oh SHIT!” Uncle Reggie yelled, slamming the ancient brakes and pitching Stephen into the dashboard. The car screeched, slipping a bit on the dirt path, and stopped.
“You good kiddo?”
Stephen had hit the dash pretty hard, but physically, he was alright, save for a bruise or two. Mentally, however, Stephen knew something wasn’t quite right. The deer was gone now, but Stephen had a very good look at it, too good a look—in fact, he couldn’t take his eyes off it until he hit the dashboard. It appeared right where he was looking, splashing out of the fog, staring at Stephen, for… how long was it?
Stephen somehow wasn’t certain how long he looked at it, but it felt like ages.
He was certain, however, that it was not a regular deer, or at least not a healthy one. Its legs had been a bit too long, and impossibly slender. The skin too, was shrunken almost as if by a vacuum. But nothing disturbed Stephen more than it’s eyes, the eyes that had stared piercingly through the windshield at him for what seemed like an eternity. They were the same jet black doe eyes Stephen had seen countless times hunting, but they were not nearly as innocent. Instead, they had a kind of pervasive intelligence one may expect from a quiet genius or Hannibal Lecter.
And, Stephen shuddered, they were too far forward on its head. Way too far forward.
There was also something about its mouth….
“Stephen?! Are you ok?”
He shook it out of his head, forgetting they had nearly crashed. “Yeah, yeah I’m all good” he mustered.
“Nothin’s gonna break us mountain boys! Ain’t that right, Steph?” said Uncle Reggie, before seeing the paleness of Stephens face and quickly adding, “…but don’t worry we’ll be at the cabin soon.”
“See, I’m telling you Grant, we don’t have damn near enough church’s out here” piped up the Pennsylvania Patriot’s Sergeant Philly—miraculously, the radio was still playing.
Stephen realized he had completely drowned it out when he started getting paranoid, so it made him feel better to hear it again. He tried focusing intently on it, anything to get that… that thing that was not a deer—no, just a sick deer, a sick deer he saw while high on mountain air and paranoia—out of his head.
“Damn right Sarge! I swear yesterday I saw… you know Zacks Pub n’ Grub?”
“Sure do”
“The last owner had…”
It had eyes on the front of its head.
“… a Virgin Mary right in the waiting area, but this damn new guy took it down! It was…”
It was waiting for him. He had felt it coming.
“…a straight disgrace when I saw it!”
“Sure does seem like no one’s God-fearin’ anymore” responded Philly, “but they still got some damn fine…
I’m fine, thought Stephen, I’m overreacting. Even if, and it isn’t, but even if that thing isn’t a deer, what’s it gonna do?
He pushed the fact a deer could ram a car and survive out of his head, instead focusing on how Reggie always “stayed packin”, as he put it.
He had first seen the gun when he was much younger, back when the pickup was still somewhat new, and he had opened the glovebox out of curiosity.
Reggie, having some feeling of parental responsibility—but not the amount of an actual parent—quickly closed the glovebox and told Stephen not to ever open it, but couldn’t help but brag a little.
That’s why Stephen, although he never opened the glovebox again, knew it was a .44 Magnum. “Capable of taking down a bear” Reggie had claimed, also citing it as his reason for keeping such a colossal firearm.
“Have you seen any bears lately?” asked Stephen, grateful he had thought of something to talk about.
“Eh, actually I haven’t seen much of nothing since they made us take this detour road. There’s not even a deer crossing sign anymore after some poor folk crashed into it. Seems like something’s scaring em’ all away!” joked his Uncle.
Stephen didn’t find the joke very funny. In fact, he was so transfixed on the turn up ahead he had barely heard it. It was a curve to the left more tight than the winding road they had been on so far. And somehow, it was darker. Stephen wanted to turn his eyes away, he really did. There was nothing there but barely viewable trees, with dark patches in between the trunks leading down the hillside; there was nothing to see. But he couldn’t turn his eyes away, he couldn’t move or speak. He was like a frog mesmerized by a blinding light. Something demanded his attention, and for some reason, he couldn’t help but wait for the curtains to open.
Then, that something stood up. The dark patch Stephen had been stuck looking at was now occupied. Its skin was still sucked in as if by a vacuum. It’s eyes, although somewhat obscured by the darkness and fog, still pierced through the windshield and at Stephen with just as much intensity. It’s front arms did not bend as you would expect in a jumping deer or rabbit, but fell loosely to the sides, all of its weight supported by its impossibly thin hind legs. And, it’s mouth… what was a deer's mouth supposed to look like again?
Suddenly, the curve disappeared in a blur. Reggie had rounded it quite quick. Stephens head yanked to the side, as if the force compelling him to look at that thing had suddenly went limp and let his flexed neck muscles finally turn away.
That curve couldn’t have lasted more than a second, thought Stephen, but he had enough time to see every horrible detail of that—he was sure now—that….. notdeer, and recall it from memory as if he had stared at it for hours. But the most horrifying thing, besides it’s forward facing, knowing, eyes, was how Stephen, although he knew it was coming, wanted to see it, was forced to see it. The Notdeer had chosen a witness.
But he wasn’t going to go down so easily. He was terrified, and consequently incredibly nauseous, but admittedly, these trips had toughened him up.
He knew Reggie wouldn’t believe him—he wouldn’t believe himself—and he now knew how to
shoot a gun anyways. I killed two deer last trip single-handedly, he convinced himself, although his memory attempted to remind him that Reggie had helped steady his hand both times.
He shook it away, palmed his wildly sweaty forehead and greasy hair, and scooted closer to the glovebox, subtlety putting his hand on it.
Uncle Reggie didn’t notice at all. He was squinting at the road ahead, which was just as dark as it had been, but yet even more foggy.
It only took a couple of seconds with his hand near the glovebox for Stephen to begin to doubt himself. After all, the more reasonable part of his mind (which was quite stressed now) brought up, what was he gonna do? Shoot through the window? This wasn’t a cop show, he could barely shoot, and he didn’t have any control over himself last time he had seen the thing anyways. And what if he was crazy? Or if it was a normal deer? No, it couldn’t be the last one, but the feeling was coming; Stephen had to make a decision.
He couldn’t handle seeing it again, and although it hadn’t harmed him yet, that made no difference. He wanted out of here, out of this cramped car in these thick woods with an Uncle that could never help him on this dark and frigid night with a nightmare he couldn’t look away from—that’s it!
I just need to close my eyes!
It was such a stupidly easy concept he almost laughed in relief. Fear had made it hard to think, had almost had him grab for a gun he barely knew how to shoot, but he was fine now. Just relax, if it’s a hallucination it will stop, if it’s real… Stephen did not want to think that much about it.
“I-I’m going to take a nap” he said, although he had already forcefully closed his eyes, as if he was scared he couldn’t.
“Really? Ok, but we are only about 15 minutes from the cabin.”
“Just gonna rest 'em” replied Stephen with a small tint of irritation.
“Suit yourself” Reggie didn’t have the concentration to push it further, as the road was getting blurred enough for even a seasoned mountain driver to navigate. There was almost no moon, and the pitch black had to be illuminated carefully, as the headlamps could now easily reflect off of the almost completely opaque fog and blind him. He, in his 23 years up North, had seen nothing like it. And, really, he wanted to take a nap as well.
Stephen, meanwhile, was occupied with keeping his eyes shut. That’s all he had to do, he thought, until they got to the cabin. Only 15 more minutes until he was safe. He chose not to consider the fact that the cabin was just as windowed as the car, thinking instead of the next morning.
The pines really were beautiful then, and Reggie and him would have a whole day together in the sun, and they would be armed, and he may be able to think of an excuse to get home, and…
“OH…!” yelled Reggie, slamming on the brakes. As Stephen's eyes flew open and his heart rate jumped to max, he had just enough time to see the tree, or whatever it was, they crashed into. This time, the truck had not gotten lucky. The impact hadn’t been enough to seriously hurt Reggie or his nephew, but the car's engine had been totaled in the head on collision, and their ears were still ringing from the sound of obliterated metal as they fell out of the car.
Stephen’s earlier bruising was now much worse and exceedingly painful, but he didn’t notice it over his new, much more bleak, situation.
No cell service, no car, and no way to close his eyes.
Reggie had just rounded the car and was immensely relieved to see Stephen alive and well, albeit noticeably paler. He got him to his feet and was thankful that Stephen seemed to be able to walk—the cabin was only about two miles away now, thank god.
“Eh,” Reggie stumbled on his words, his mind still spinning, “Engines screwed, but the cabin is real close now, don’t worry.”
Stephen wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to tell him about the notdeer, to close his eyes, to hide, to grab his gun and end the ordeal completely. It didn’t matter if he thought Stephen had lost it, it didn’t matter at all.
Stephen was going to tell him too, he really was; but then a twig snapped in the bushes off the road nearby.
If he had time to truly consider his actions, like anyone, he wouldn’t have turned. But all humans have an extremely hard time ignoring signs of danger: it’s what keeps us alive, in most cases.
So Stephen couldn’t help but turn his head to see what had made the noise, and by then, it was already too late. The notdeer stood by the trail, and for a second, it almost looked normal. It was not yet standing on its hind legs. It’s tattered and tight skin were hard to see through the darkness. It’s unsettlingly long legs were behind the bushes. It’s eyes, for an instant, possessed nothing.
But then, it smiled, and Stephen finally understood what was wrong with its mouth.