Hunter

Ex-Royal Marine commando Hunter is no angel. He drinks too much and loves women even more. His wife Jenny is carrying on her own affair with his best friend, Jock, and the mysterious landscape that surrounds the young family holds the kinds of dark secrets that create suspenseful folklore. When Hunter and Jenny decide to rekindle their love via an out-of-the-way weekend trip with their young son Carl, they drive into a quaint village, obviously untouched for hundreds of years. After encountering a gnarled old woman who gives them directions to a local pub, Hunter is excited by the chills that travel down his spine. Jenny just wants to go home. During a post-lunch stroll in the countryside, Hunter stumbles upon twelve standing stones. As he touches one of the stones, his hand is covered in blood and even more red liquid puddles around his feet. Suddenly, their son disappears from where they were picnicking and while on a frantic search to find him, Jenny and Hunter encounter a mythical monster like no other. Hunter must fight for his life and the lives of his family as he desperately attempts to save them all from the Beast of Exmoor.

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HUNTERBy P.A. SKINNERiUniverse, Inc.Copyright © 2009 P.A. SKINNERAll right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4401-3099-1Chapter One Hunter swung his Land Rover out of the barracks, pausing at the gate. The civilian guard glanced at his pass and waved him through. A large red striped barrier lifted out of his way, and he passed out of the gate. As he stopped at the main road, he glanced up at the watchtower, a new addition to the camp, standing some twenty feet in the air overlooking the main road and front perimeter fence. His mate Jock was on lookout. The sinister-looking tower would have seemed more at home at a prisoner of war camp, but it was a necessary evil in the days of terrorism. Most road users would not have even noticed the construction, since it blended in so well with its backdrop of ash and elm. Jock pushed aside the camouflage netting and gave Hunter the thumbs-up for their meeting that night, down at the local pub. Hunter replied in the same manner, feeling the scopes of Jock's SA8O rifle on his Land Rover as it disappeared out of sight towards the town. Hunter did not live in married quarters, to which he was entitled as a married man with a child. However, Jenny wanted better. She hated the marines and all they stood for; she hated the forces full stop. With his low wages, they had just managed to buy a small terraced house in the nearby village of Norton. It was nice, but claustrophobic, with only two small bedrooms, a bathroom upstairs, two similar rooms and a kitchen downstairs, but it did have a pub just up the road, and that was a godsend for Hunter. He pulled the short wheelbase Land Rover to a halt on the hard standing just outside the front door, its bumper nearly touching the small bay window. The hollow slam of the car door closing brought the old woman next door to her window. The curtain twitched, and an eye peered out through a small gap in the lace. Hunter grinned at his onlooker, the sort of grin that said, Piss off, you nosy old bag. He slammed the Georgian front door behind him, stepping into the tiny dark hall. The musty smell of damp filled the air in this little cubicle of a room. He had planned to get it done, but somehow it seemed to have slipped his mind, just like all the rest of the little jobs around the place. The sound of something knocked against the living room door brought a smile to his face as he hung up his jacket, on the last remaining hook on the wall. The rest had snapped or had just fallen out of the plaster. Hunter opened the door slowly crouching down on his knees as he did so. The knocking became louder as Hunter peered round the other side of the door. "What are you up to then?" Hunter said looking down at a toddler with a plastic play brick in his hand, banging it against the door. He snatched up the giggling little bundle, tossing him into the air and catching him again. "Watch what you're doing, you'll bloody knock his brains out one of these days!" a shrill woman's voice shouted from the sofa. "He's all right; he's a Hunter, isn't he," Hunter proclaimed, tossing the boy into the air once again. "Yeah, don't I bloody know it?" Hunter's wife stood up from off the sofa, straightening her clothes. She was a plain but pretty girl and did not need any makeup to catch the eye of the opposite sex. She had a very Nordic pale complexion with fair hair. Her piercing blue eyes would captivate onlookers in a glance. Hunter thought she had an air of naughty innocence about her, and that was partly what attracted him to her. The bad boy image with the good, pretty schoolgirl. This summed them up as a couple. Her jogging bottoms sagged round her bum; the material had lost its clinging power. She was a shapely girl, not showing the signs of childbirth that most mothers had to bear. Her figure was trim from constant diets and binge fitness. She feared gaining weight as her mother had done and never lost it again. Presently Jenny was happy with her body thinking it firm and made for pleasure. She had married Hunter at the age of eighteen, and now at twenty-one she wished she had waited. Carl their son appeared on the scene a year or so after the marriage, now eighteen months old, father and son were inseparable. Hunter presented a contrast to his pale, pretty wife. His dark leathery complexion and dark cropped hair made for an intimidating look, reinforced by thick eyebrows that met in the middle of his face. Although both Jenny and Hunter were roughly the same height at five feet, ten inches tall. Jenny could never really put her finger on what attracted her to him, other than she liked the bad boy image and a bit of rough. She indeed got that from him. Hunter held the boy in his arms as he followed Jenny into the small kitchen. The sink was crammed with dishes from the night before and a pot full of last night's curry still untouched on the draining board. Hunter looked back into the living room. The place was a mess. Things had not been that good between the two of them lately; arguments had become more frequent, even sometimes leading to a fight. Like most arguments, it was down to money. He was due to leave the Royal Marines in seven days, with still no real job to go to. Therefore, her worry was money and where they would get it. Hunter placed the boy on the floor in the living room, next to a pile of his plastic bricks, then stepped back into the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him. She knew what was coming next as she wound a tin opener round a large tin of baked beans. "What've you been doing all day?" Hunter asked in a quiet but stern voice. She slammed the tin down on the drainer, sending some of its contents into the air to land in splatters all around. "Go on, start again! Every day's the fucking same." She squared up to him with one hand on her hip and the other ready for a fight. "Yeah." He leant towards her till his nose was an inch from hers. "Well if you'd done some fucking housework, just tidied the place up, maybe I'd keep my mouth shut. But you don't, and every night when I get home, you're stretched out on the fucking sofa." She had no answer or excuse for him, just a plain "Piss off." Hunter curbed his anger, thinking, It's like water off a duck's back. He went back into the front room and wrestled with his boy. Within an hour, things had cooled down, and Jenny had started to speak to him again, even cuddling up to him. She sat on the sofa with her legs apart and him on the floor between them. She massaged his knotted muscles. He relaxed with the boy asleep on his lap. It was times like this Hunter knew why he had married her. She was a good girl at heart, but the pressure of not having any money would get to her; and he couldn't blame her. He was just glad he was not the same. Jenny carried Carl up to bed; Hunter followed them up the stairs. He wanted a bath. He turned on the two chrome taps and stepped into the bedroom to get undressed. Stripped down to his underpants, he went back into the bathroom. Steam billowed through the brightly lit boxlike room. Jogging bottoms, knickers, and a T-shirt lay in a crumpled heap on top of the toilet seat. Hunter peered round the bathroom door, seeing Jenny soaping herself in the bath. She smiled at him as she ran the soap over her firm breasts, leaving a white lathery trail in its wake. Hunter needed no instruction; he pulled down his underpants and climbed into the bath behind her. Snatching the bar of soap from her, he started to massage it into her soft, white skin. He nibbled at her neck, licking off the watery residue. She reached behind, feeling through the soapy water, and found what she was looking for. Hunter slipped his hands easily between her legs, sliding his fingers along her flesh, rubbing the most sensitive areas. She gave a sudden shriek of pleasure when he had found the right place. Her legs thrashed uncontrollably as his hands seemed to control her very soul. Water splashed up the walls and drenched the carpet. Finally she lifted herself and turned. Facing each other now, they were coupled as one. Hunter let Jenny do most of the work. He watched as she moved her firm, supple body rhythmically on to his, gasping in ecstasy with every push of her loins. Watching her pleasure turned him on. Seeing her as she was now confirmed his love for her. To him she was a beauty. She was in another dimension with her whole body in rapture. These were the good times he remembered. Her movements grew faster, and her pleasure became louder. Her head rolled from side to side as Hunter scrutinized her every move. She would look at him and then to the heavens, her green eyes ablaze with passion. Their crescendo came to a climax with Jenny collapsing onto him. He kissed the top of her head, its taste clinging to his lips. Then within moments, she uncoupled herself and stepped from the bath. Back to reality, Hunter thought. Jenny stood looking into the small bathroom mirror and rubbed the towel across her boyish short hair, then sauntered out of the room. They sat on either end of the sofa downstairs. Where's the passion now? he asked himself. He gave a quick glance at the clock on the wall, but not quick enough to avoid a wary scowl from her. Seven o'clock; the pubs must be open. He was restless, and Jenny had noticed. "If you want to go down the pub, go!" she said, not even looking at him. Hunter could not believe his luck. He did not need telling again. The drive to the Fox and Hounds public house did not take more than a few minutes. Hunter pulled into the car park, bringing the Land Rover to a halt on a small patch of grass by the entrance. In the darkness, he studied the other parked vehicles. Jock's car was not among them. A cold north wind was gusting, not forecast by the weather service. The wind rattled Land Rover's canvas roof and threw down the odd heavy drop of rain with a thump. Hunter stepped from the cab, losing grip of the door as the wind slammed it against the car's front wing. He grabbed it again and slammed it shut with vengeance. He shrugged off the chill night air as he turned to face the cottage-type pub; it was homely and welcoming but still had an aura of mystery about it. It was the oldest building in the village, even having a mention in the Domesday Book, but no one knew how old it really was. Now it served the community as a pub and had done so for many years, but folklore had it that the dreaded Judge Jeffries used it as a courthouse, after the Pitchfork Rebellion, and hanged many of the villagers, guilty or not. It was said that was the very same gibbet now bore the pub's sign. Hunter stepped into the warm atmosphere of the bar. "Evening, Hunter, the usual?" the landlord asked. "Yeah, thanks, Fred." Hunter sat himself on a stool at the bar and watched the landlord pull his pint. Fred had been the landlord of the Fox and Hounds for fifteen years. He was a portly man with beetroot red cheeks and a grey handlebar moustache. Now in his late fifties, Fred was still going strong and still fancying his chances with the harem of young girls he employed. The pub was divided into two sections, the larger being a sixteen-table restaurant which took most of the trade. "Cheers, Fred!" Hunter said, taking the pint from the bar and lifting it to his lips. The landlord twirled his moustache with the tips of two fingers. "Where's Jock tonight then?" "Should be here in a minute," Hunter replied. One of the waitresses from the restaurant came into the bar. She smiled at Hunter as she sauntered past the landlord, then bent over and plunged both hands into a box of salt and vinegar crisps. Her meaty buttocks threatened to burst from the material stretched round them. Fred gave her a firm slap on the rump; she gave a friendly protest, then sauntered back into the restaurant. The landlord always boasted of his conquests with the girls, who were all young and all good-looking, but Hunter could not blame him. Lonely old bastard. I would do the same. Come eight o'clock the Fox and Hounds had livened up, but still Jock had not arrived. Hunter thought it unlike Jock to be late for a booze-up. He thought about ringing round to see where he was, thinking he had probably been held up at the camp. He would give him another hour and, if Jock still hadn't arrived, take some bottles home for Jenny. At least then he would not feel so guilty about going out tonight. * * * Jenny sat curled up on the sofa in her dressing gown. It was the usual Friday night crap on TV, quiz shows and a repeat showing of Columbo. A sudden gust of wind rattled the sash windows in the house. The lace curtain twitched above the TV at a draft from outside. She shivered as a cold tingle ran up her spine, and the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. Carl had woken a little earlier, she could only guess because of the wind. There was another gust, and this time the closed door to the kitchen shook. The atmosphere change brought a chill to the room. She checked to make sure the electric fire was still on. She had an uneasy feeling that someone or something was watching her; she looked up at the darkened window covered by a thin curtain of lace. She stood and slowly walked over to the window, pulled back a corner of the curtain, and peered into the darkness. She tried to see the long garden, where a central access path led to the other houses in the row. However, all she could see was her own transparent reflection in the glass. The neighbour's bathroom light partially lit up her small yard, and then she saw that her back door was wide open. She dropped the curtain, opened the kitchen door, and walked into the dark room. The stale smell of food hung in the air, and a biting cold dampness seemed to be all round her. She reached the back door and slammed it shut. "Must be the bloody lock," she murmured aloud and scrutinised the latch on the door. She switched on the kitchen light, and then someone grabbed her from behind. Jenny swung round just as the fluorescent tube flooded the room with brightness. "You stupid bastard, you scared me to death!" she said, pushing herself away from Jock, then punching him in the arm. "Well that'll teach you to keep your door locked, won't it?" He burst out laughing. She switched out the light, and he followed her into the front room. Jock was much taller, just over six feet, and of a bigger build than Hunter, with fair hair, green eyes, and a light skin. He was also one of life's practical jokers. He would never take things too seriously, as he thought life was too short. He was a typical Royal Marine who lived for the moment and didn't take tomorrow for granted. Work hard, play hard. Jock closed the kitchen door as Jenny stood in front of him; he grabbed her by her dressing gown belt and pulled her closer. She resisted slightly, stumbling a few steps, then smiled up at him. "I thought you were supposed to meet Hunter down the pub?" "There's plenty of time, I thought I'd come and see my bit of stuff first." He loosened the belt, pulled the gown over her shoulders, and let it drop to the floor. Her youthful body on display before him, he dropped on to his knees and began to explore her intimate regions with his mouth. Jenny gasped with pleasure and gripped his hair. "You're mad coming here and doing this. Hunter will kill us." Jock looked up at her. "He's got to catch us first!" He pulled her down onto the carpet and once again quenched her insatiable appetite for sex. * * * Five pints later and Jock's hour was nearly up. Hunter was still sitting at the bar, and by now the pub was heaving. Sally, one of the other girls from the restaurant, came in behind the bar after finishing her stint in the kitchen. She said hello to Hunter and quickly scanned the bar; no one needed serving. Fred gave her a cautious glance, just to remind her that she was there to work. Sally was a plain-featured but attractive girl about nineteen who liked a good time. She certainly dressed to catch the eye, wearing a tight T-shirt and white Lycra cycling shorts that left nothing to the imagination. Her lightly tanned legs curved down to a pair of virgin white socks and the same colour plimsolls, giving her an unmerited air of innocence. Sally sat down opposite Hunter and lit a menthol cigarette. She had a soft spot for the commando, of which he knew because one of her friends had told him. He naturally was flattered and had to resist the urge to play on his good fortune. "Where's your mate tonight then, Hunter?" Sally asked, taking a seductive draw on her cigarette. "Dunno, Sally luv, probably on top of a bit of stuff , knowing him." Hunter emptied his glass and placed it back on the bar. Sally screwed her face up at Hunter's last remark. "Same again?" she asked, reaching for his empty pint glass. "Yeah, thanks." She placed the glass under the tap. "Take one for yourself as well?" (Continues...) Excerpted from HUNTERby P.A. SKINNER Copyright © 2009 by P.A. SKINNER . Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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