Free High Moor by Graeme Reynolds

pronounced, a sweet metallic odour over the underlying smell of the wet earth. The beast paused. There were other scents nearby. Human. Familiar.
    The urge to rush forward to claim its prize was overwhelming, but the beast was old and experienced. It tried to place the familiar smell of the human. An image flashed across its mind. Darkness, then a flash of light. A searing pain across its chest. It snarled, remembering the human that had caused it that pain many years ago. It circled the scent, straining its ears for any sounds that would help it locate its quarry.
    A creak in the branches above the forest floor. The sound of metal against metal. The click of a round entering the chamber of a firearm. The scent of fear and anticipation from the humans.
    The moon emerged from behind the clouds. The urge to greet its mistress rose within the beast. It pushed the impulse down into itself and moved in silence through the bracken to where the humans lay in wait.
    ***
    24th April 1986. Mill Woods, High Moor. 20:27.
    The goat had stopped bleating and now lay flat on the ground as if resigned to its fate. Carl held the rifle against his shoulder and searched the undergrowth. Steven gripped the hilt of his pistol so hard that his knuckles turned white. The woods were silent.
    Carl turned his head to Steven. “Something’s wrong.”
    The tree that the two men were in shuddered; their platform creaked and shifted beneath them.
    Steven felt his heart lurch in his chest. “What the fuck?”
    “It’s below us. Oh Christ, it knows we’re here.”
    The tree shuddered again as something large crashed against it. The platform groaned in protest. One of the support struts fell to the forest floor.
    “Climb,” yelled Carl. “Get further up the tree before the platform goes.”
    Steven tried to haul himself up, but his hands and feet slipped on the wet branches. The tree shook once more, and another of the support struts splintered. Carl clambered up amongst the branches like a monkey, but Steven was still struggling to gain a footing when the platform tore loose and plummeted down, taking most of their weapons and ammunition with it. Steven wrapped his arms around a branch and held on for his life.
    “Climb, Steve, for Christ's sake climb, and whatever you do, don’t look down.”
    Steven wrapped his legs around the trunk of the tree and tried to shimmy his way up to Carl’s outstretched arms. The tree shook again. A monstrous howl reverberated through the forest. Steven couldn't help himself. He angled his head and looked down, regretting his action in an instant.
    Beneath him was something right out of his worst nightmares. The beast stood on two legs, almost seven feet tall. Thick white fur covered its entire body, apart from a line of scar tissue that ran across its chest. It had long, pointed ears and an elongated jaw filled with saliva-coated fangs. The creature's arms were heavily muscled and ended with razor sharp talons that it sank into the tree trunk as it hauled itself up to the two men.
    “Fuck! It's coming, Carl. Shoot it. For God’s sake, shoot it.”
    “I can’t. I’ll drop you. Now stop fucking about and get up here.”
    The monster was almost halfway up the tree now, closing the distance with apparent ease.
    “Hold onto me, Carl. Don’t fucking let go,” said Steven, then he released his grip on the branch with his right arm as he tried to remove the pistol from his coat pocket.
    Carl grabbed Steven's left arm in a two-handed grip and tried to pull him to safety. The branch that he lay on gave a small snap and shifted beneath him. The beast was now less than two feet away from Steven.
    Steven's hand found the pistol in his pocket and pulled it free. The weapon slipped, and he almost dropped it before his fingers curled around the stock. Without taking the time to steady his aim, he pointed the weapon down and pulled the trigger.
    A shriek of pain came from below, followed by a crash as the beast fell to the