He had never felt more alive.

He belonged here, not in that stupid, dingy house he lived in, but rather in the midst of the woods, where he was the hunter. It made Henry feel dominant, like the alpha of a pack – not the polite and henpecked husband he was in reality. Here, the foxes were the only ones who had to fear. For he was fairly talented at what he did – that is, being a foxhunter. Henry’s foxhound trotted beside him, sniffing the air, ready to alert him of any moving object, hopefully a red fox.
Suddenly, he saw it – the red coat scarred his vision. He kept the animal in his sight, as he snapped his hunting gear in place. Smiling in a slightly sadistic manner, he aimed and steadily shot. The fox fell in one instance and Henry ignored the stench of death that filled his nostrils.

He opened out his hunting bag to pull out a shovel, and then started digging a hole near the spot of the fox’s death. Quickly, he reached a decent depth, and dumped the dead corpse in the hole to the best of his ability. He decided not to dismiss the madness of what he was doing, and got rid of any evidence of the demise of the fox. Normally, foxhunters used their hunted prey for something after the kill, but Henry only hunted for the chase. He did not want the fox after it was dead because it really had no purpose to him. He did his best to dispose the animal so that no one could spot the evidence. Glancing at his watch, he nearly gasped at its display.

It was time to go home.

Henry had never liked home, where he transformed from dangerous foxhunter to vulnerable husband, subject to his loving, but capricious wife. It was as if he was suddenly reminded of his true place. Yes, he did love his wife, but she sometimes became more of a mother than a spouse.

Today was no different.

“Henry,” came Natalie’s nagging, pesky voice. “There’s orange fur all over your new coat!”

“Henry,” She called again. “Where were you doing for so long?”

“Henry,” She badgered a third time, for good measure. “You’re late for dinner.”

It was easy to see why Henry spent so much time in the woods. However, during dinner, he felt absurdly peculiar. He felt restless, sitting in the chair at dinner with Natalie, ignoring the urge to launch up and go on a nice run. It was odd – besides foxhunting, Henry avoided all sorts of physical activities.

The next few days repeated themselves in the same routine – his wife was just as irritating and his life was just as dull, but Henry went hunting or took long runs to avoid bursting of pent-up frustration. His runs opened up a whole new world. He began to indulge in the natural smells of the world. Recognizing animals by their aromas began to become a hobby for Henry, as he learned to identify hiking trails exclusively from their scent. He wondered if this was something all runners and hikers were aware of, or if this was simply an ability that came easy to him. Natalie began to question his new rentals from the library, all in disorganized array around the house. Most were science magazines that featured pictures of animals he spotted on his runs. He found himself gazing intently at the flesh underneath the skins of the animals and imagined their throbbing pulse as he attacked, ripping open the fragile bodies with his newly sharp fingernails. Just as quickly as the thoughts arrived, Henry shook them away.

After long and strenuous workouts after his dull and dismal desk job, he began to notice the thinning of his face as he wiped sweat off his forehead. He felt more agile and loose, as if his actions were bound to be more dexterous and lithe after every workout. Following every exercise, he felt lighter and adroit. Weirdly enough, Henry seemed to be leaving trails of scarlet red hair all over the bathroom and trailing into the shower stall. Natalie never ceased to comment on the fact that neither of them had red hair.

While he tried to avoid the quandary the new developments in him presented, Henry knew he would have to deal with the problem. Quickly.

After a long day of work and a relaxing afternoon of foxhunt, Henry opened the front door of his house. Abruptly, he found himself overwhelmed by the sweet smell of something cooking. This was especially strange, considering Henry had never found Natalie’s cooking appealing. Now, his mouth was watering and he was in intense need to put extremely rare-meat into his mouth. Noticeably, his wife was acting unusually anxious and apprehensive, as if she had been expecting a bad result of this meal. Henry shrugged. As far as he was concerned, nothing could be quite as horrible once he satisfied his gnawing hunger. Natalie’s fingers were shaking as she cut the meat into pieces with her long, sharp culinary knife. Henry refrained from moving her fingers aside and attacking the meal with his bare hands. When she let go of the meat, he quickly zeroed in on the meal and pierced a couple of pieces into his sharp fingernails. As the meat entered his mouth, he felt the purest sense of euphoria, and excitement and satisfaction he had never felt before.

The euphoria had stunted him to the point where he was unaware of Natalie – bothersome, yet loyal, Natalie. Natalie had stood up from the table. Natalie had come to stand up above him, her right hand clutching the long kitchen knife. Natalie used the knife as a defense, as she slowly backed up until she reached Henry’s hunting gear. Pulling out her husband’s hunting gun with her free hand, she dropped the knife, and scrambled for the gun with both hands. She held it out, her fingers making their way to the trigger. She seemed to be heaving with sobs.

“H-H-Henry,” She choked back on more sobs. “Stop this nonsense! Just stop all of this.” It was at this that Henry became more aware of his surroundings. The meat was gone, his unsatisfied hunger most probably at fault. His nails grew to unnatural lengths within minutes and his body was growing the red-scarlet fur he had made a habit of seeing in the bathroom sink while he shaved.

His mind immediately flashed to the image of those dead foxes – their corpses before he buried them. Their agile bodies. Their sharp nails. Their even sharper noses. Their remarkably red fur. As much as Henry wanted to deny the facts, he simply could not ignore whatever had been laid out in front of him. He was turning into the same prey he had hunted.
For some reason, Henry was glad that Natalie had been the one wielding his very own hunting gun. He wanted nothing less than to experience the bullet burying itself into his now furry skin at his wife’s hand. He restrained himself from escaping his house.

“Natalie,” He tried to murmur one last time, but the words got caught in his animalistic throat. He choked on her name and could no longer keep control of his body’s intense command. He could no longer resist his body’s intense impulse to run out the door on all fours.

He wished only that he could have felt her name on his tongue, one last time.

He let out a guttural howl, as he left the confines of the house and ran towards the woods where he had never felt more alive.