Welcome to Creep'scast.

There is something inhuman in the backwoods of West Virginia, written by Saturday.

This autumn, a couple of work friends are going deer hunting.

It's been the talk of the office for two months straight.

It became the conversational watering hole,

and everyone who don't take part are left to dry out in the sun.

Heck, even Vicky, the receptionist, is coming along.

I think she's going mostly for the smores, but I'm not going.

I have a difficult history with hunting, and not a lot of people know about it. I don't like to talk

openly about it since it happened so long ago, and I hate being the guy who keeps talking about his past. Trauma or not,

I've had it buried in the back of my mind for years. But now that all this talk is circling around

the office, it made me want to put to paper what actually happened. It was two months ahead of my

15th birthday. My dad was taking me hunting

in a state park over in Logan County, West Virginia. I had little to no idea what was going on.

I just knew that I had to come along and try out new boots, a hat, a vest, the whole shebang.

He took me to target practice a couple of sessions,

but we ended up spending most of our time discussing gun safety. I was very anti-gun back then,

and I suppose that I still am, but for different reasons. Still, I wanted to spend time with him. Dad had been sick on and off work for a long time following an accident, and he had just started

to properly recover.

This would be our first outing in almost two years, and the whole family was excited for it, again for different reasons.

It was an early September morning when we set out. Mom waved goodbye from the kitchen window.

Dad had packed enough stuff to cover us for a whole week, but we were only going away for the weekend.

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