Summer 1903 – Traveling Faster Than Footsteps

 

The deer was quite dead. It was also twenty feet above the ground, wedged in a the crook of an ancient oak. I spidered up the tree to where the body hung. The deer’s throat had been torn out but it appeared to have no wounds otherwise. I ran my hands over its fur and skin. At the nape of the neck I found a ring of punctures similar to the holes left by a toothed bear trap. The lack of blood in the wounds told me that they had been inflicted after death. For a moment, in my mind’s eye, I saw the image of a mother cat carrying a kitten. Yes. Whatever had lifted the deer to its present perch had done so by biting its dead neck.