Just A Game

Most families had typical hobbies; family game nights, bonding over sports teams, even marathon training. Most families bonded over their similar interests. Most families were normal. But not the Prewett's. No, the Prewett's were hunters. Not in the traditional sense, camouflage and bow & arrows and preying on deer. No, the Prewett's were human hunters.

The tradition had dated back for decades, starting with Jethro Prewett. The Prewett’s by nature have always been traditionalists, purists, supremacists. This was a firm value held by the entire bloodline, regardless of the time period. The men were taught to be strong, hot-headed, firm; to act first, ask questions later. Jethro Prewett was, like most at his age, young, dumb, drunk and stupid. And like most occurrences at a bar two hours past midnight and however many drinks deep, it started with a drunken, unfiltered conversation.

“There’s this new fella in town,” his buddy started. “I don’t like the looks of him and he’s buying the farm next to mine.”

“What do you mean?” Jethro asked.

“I don’t know. Don’t like the way he was looking at my wife.”

“Well, you should let him know who’s boss here.”

His buddy looked at him, eyes glazed over when he suddenly got up from the table.

“Jethro, think that’s the smartest thing you've ever said. Let’s go.”

And without a second of hesitation, Jethro found himself leaving the bar and following his friend up the hill, banging on the new neighbor’s door.

The altercation escalated as quickly as it began. Words were exchanged from both parties and when the dust settled, both the neighbor and Jethro’s buddy were on the floor, motionless, while Jethro stood over them victorious.

Jethro looked down at his hands. Red was all that he saw. He felt the fog lift from his head, finally seeing clearly. He assessed the damage of the mangled bodies at the helm of his feet. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, unlike any drug he’s ever experienced. He felt powerful, untouchable, pure. Jethro was on top of the world, looking down on everyone else, god-like. This was the power his family’s been chasing all these years. This was what they were all seeking. This feeling of being limitless, being untouchable. He never wanted this feeling to end, so he chased it for the rest of his life. At first, seeking out other methods, hunting, cage fighting, but nothing compared to the feeling of watching the life drain out of another human’s eyes. Watching their souls dissipate. So that’s what he continued to do, passing on the gift to his children—making sure they understood what true power meant. And when Jethro’s time almost came to end, he taught his kids the ultimate lesson; where he was their target.

The barbaric tradition continued on for years, passing through each generation like a twisted, cherished heirloom, making its way to current day.

The day started out like any other, the sun was shining and the birds were chirping, but Ciara knew this was no ordinary morning. Today was her sixteenth birthday, every girl’s dream. But no, for Ciara, today was her greatest nightmare—the day her prophecy was fulfilled. She dreaded this day for the past sixteen years, waiting in ugly anticipation. The preparation for today left her in a constant state of anxiety. In true Prewett fashion, it started with choosing a victim. Most people didn’t realize the time and dedication it took for this stage; making sure the target was the right kind of target. Not someone who would be missed, but someone to stir up enough sympathy from the surrounding communities, so the Prewett’s could admire the full extent of their work. Ciara begged her family to choose for her, to pick a random person, absolutely anything to avoid making this decision. Alas, her parents made the decision for her—a boy around her age. Ciara didn’t know him, but something about him felt familiar, safe almost.

As the prophecy goes, the hunter, in this case Ciara, must toy with the victim. Talk to them, lure them into a false sense of security. Ciara took a deep breath before walking down the cellar. The cellar had kept all of the Prewett targets, dating back to Jethro Prewett.

“I’m really sorry about all this,” she started, “are you comfortable? Are the cuffs too tight?”

The boy scoffed, “you and your deranged family just kidnapped me, I wake up chained in a cage in some cellar waiting for you guys to do God knows what to me, and you’re asking if I’m okay!”

“Right, sorry, stupid question. I’ve never done this before, if you couldn’t tell,” she said, trying to break the tension. Ciara was met with a venomous look from the boy in the cage. She felt awkward, wanting to fill the uncomfortable silence so she continued to ramble. “I hate this whole thing. This backwards family tradition, it’s barbaric! I never understood it, no matter how many ways my family tried to justify it. When I was younger, the wish I made every year on my birthday was that my family would finally stop this. That we would be the ones to break tradition and it would end. As I got older, I realized that was never going to happen, so my wish changed. Then I started wishing that I wouldn't make it to sixteen. But, I guess birthday wishes don’t actually come true, and now we’re here.”

Finishing her monologue, she looked up to see the boy still staring at her, but his expression shifted. It wasn’t a look of disdain anymore, but it morphed into something else she didn’t recognize. Compassion, maybe?

Unanswered, she turned to leave the cellar when his voice stopped her.

“My name is Elliot. Whatever way this ends, I don’t want my legacy to be an unmarked grave. If I’m dying tonight, I want to die with the one thing I have left, my name.”

Ciara didn’t know why that stopped her in her tracks—why that got her to turn back around towards him. Maybe it was the way he spoke about his legacy, but against her better judgement, she walked back towards Elliot. She intently looked at him, analyzing every wrinkle and feature on his face. Where the rest of the Prewett’s would see a helpless target, a game, Ciara saw Elliot for everything he was—his hopes, dreams, aspirations, all of it.

The silence was palpable between the two of them, neither breaking eye contact. Ciara quickly turned to ensure they were alone before grabbing the large keys hooked up against the wall. Before her brain could catch up to her body, she was unlocking the cage, leaving the door wide for Elliot.

He stared at her, confusion all over his face. “What are you doing?”

Ciara sighed. She wasn’t sure how to answer that. What was she doing? “You aren’t the first person we’ve done this too, and you certainly won’t be the last. For years, I would see people come and go and I remember wanting nothing more than to do something about it. I need to do something this time.”

That was all she could come up with. Elliot was still hesitant, not wanting to be caught off guard and lured into a false sense of security. Ciara sensed the hesitation and turned to leave the cellar, leaving him alone down them, unchained and free.

Suddenly feeling anxious about her decision, she sprinted back to her bedroom, trying her best to avoid the rest of the Prewetts. Only after slamming and locking the door behind her did she allow herself to crumble. What has she done? She betrayed her family; every ideal they stood for. In the midst of her mental spiral, she realized that through all the emotions she felt in that moment, shame, guilt, anxiety, regret was not one of them. She did not regret her decision to let Elliot go. Ciara knew, regardless of whatever her family taught her, whatever the consequences may be, she did the right thing.

Ciara hoped that Elliot was halfway back to town by now. The tradition wouldn’t begin until sunset, so her family wouldn’t realize he escaped until then. Her family would immediately know that she did this. She wanted to prolong the wrath she was sure to endure from her parents for as long as possible, so she stayed locked in her room.

Hours passed and Ciara was still waiting for the reckoning from her family, but the house was quiet. Too quiet. Curiosity got the best of her as she exited the safety of her bedroom to explore the unknown. All the rooms were empty; none of her siblings running around, neither of her parents getting ready for the prophecy tonight. Suddenly she’s hit with a sinking gut feeling. The cellar. That’s where they all must be. She started sprinting outside, thoughts racing about what could’ve happened. Did Elliot not get away? Did they decide to start without her, knowing of her betrayal? Her heart sank when she saw the cellar doors wide open. They knew. Abruptly, Ciara is pulled out of her self-deprication with the sound of voices wafting from the cellar—clear enough to hear but not clear enough to make out.

She crept down the stairs, careful not to step on any of the older, creaking ones. She, unfortunately, knew the place like the back of her hand. The voices became clear enough for her to make out, all of them familiar. Her siblings, her parents, and Elliot. He didn’t make it out—her biggest fear. Ciara crouched behind the wall to get a clearer view of the scene unravelling before her. Except when it all came into view, it wasn’t at all as she imagined. It wasn’t at all as she feared. It was much worse. Her family sitting locked up and chained with Elliot taunting them, unchained and unhinged.

Elliot laughed maniacally. “Is this fun for you now? Being locked up, caged like an animal, not knowing if you’re going to live or die. Is this fun for you!”

He waved around a long machete as he spoke, the machete that was meant to be used on him just hours earlier. Elliot, mirroring a horror movie villain, wielded it like a pro as he continued to speak.

“I never understood people like you. Preying on others to make yourself feel what? Stronger? More powerful? What’s in it for you in all this! You people toy with lives, with humans all for a game!”

Rage radiated off of him, almost making the temperature of the room rise. The pure anger was unlike anything that Ciara had seen before. But the look in Elliot’s eye was familiar; not like how he was in the cage, but it was the look her family got whenever they had a new victim.

Her family's cries echoed in the background, pleading with the boy. Ciara was paralyzed with fear. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t scream; all she could do was watch in horror. She watched her siblings wail. She watched her parents plead with any god above that would listen, begging for forgiveness. She watched as Elliot paced around the cellar, back and forth and back and forth. His thoughts were almost loud enough to hear, but she couldn’t quite make out what he was thinking. She wanted nothing more than stop this, stop whatever was about to happen. What was going to happen? Ciara’s mind continued to race until Elliot’s footsteps abruptly stopped. He made up his mind.

Furiously, he dug around the cellar searching for something. He crouched down in the pile of tools her family kept when they were toying with their victims. The digging stopped and Elliot arose with exactly what he was looking for. He fiddled with it for a moment, but from her angle, it was unclear to Ciara what he was wielding. Finally it came into view. A blowtorch. The realization hit her at full force; she knew what Elliot was about to do.

The sound of Elliot starting up the torch hit her first. Then the screams of her family. And before Ciara realized what she was doing, she was halfway back up the stairs, sprinting to the nearest bush she could hide. The flames exploded from the cellar, a fiery orange lighting the darkness. The colors were almost pretty to look at, if Ciara didn’t know the horrors that lay beneath them. The screams were faint now but if she focused hard enough, she could still hear them.

Then, a figure broke through the ash, calmly walking away from the carnage. Ciara jumped out of the bush, stopping Elliot in his tracks. They stared at each other, both unwilling to break contact first. It reminded her of when the first went in the cellar. But everything was different now.

Elliot spoke first, “I couldn’t let them do that to anybody else. You, of all people, should understand.”

Ciara, speechless, continued to stare at him. Was he right? Was this all for the best? Was this what she wanted? But then her gaze shifted to the burning house. Everything she’s ever known and everyone she’s ever loved, burning to ashes in front of her. With the silence, Elliot took that as response enough and sprinted away from it all, back towards the town.

Ciara was free. She was free from the prophecy that Jethro Prewett left for her all those years ago. But the only thing she could feel in that moment was pure, blinding rage. This was what her great great grandparents were after. This inhumane feeling. The adrenaline pumping, her blood boiling. This was it. Ciara could walk away, start over like she had always dreamed. At that moment, all Ciara wanted to do was to carry out the Prewett’s prophecy. She stared at the burning house, promising the ashes of her family that she would avenge them. Ciara Prewett wanted nothing more than to hunt Elliot down to the ends of the earth and make him pay. She quietly thought to herself—game on, Elliot.