Gunner Quinn
The Gnome had been following the tracks since the early morning frost. Three splayed toes formed a print bigger than a cast iron skillet with talons sunk deep in the mud below the thin blanket of white. The frost quickly burned off from the hungry spring sun and howling westward winds. The Gnome now moved stealthily through the underbrush, boots quieted, wrapped in hide, bow close at his side. The beast was close.
The folks in the town called it Gobblezilla. Said it had two heads—one crowned in demon-like horns, one completely bald, no snood in sight—with armored legs ending in two spurs large enough to skewer a man on either side. Its weathered feathers framed its massive form, its eyes a soulless abyss. Every spring, it came down from the high pines and terrorized the townsfolk, smashing in root cellars, flattening pumpkin patches, and leaving fields of panicked turkeys fleeing in terror.
The Gnome was the best turkey-talker the town had ever known. He could hoot like an owl, caw like a crow, and gobble so good you’d think a tom was strutting up behind him. He knew just the right purrs, clucks, and yelps to get the old longbeards chatting and strutting. And he was deadly accurate with his old Osage bow.
So, the townsfolk mustered up the courage to ask the Gnome for help. He was a creature of solitude, and when he did come to town to trade, was often regarded as grumpy and impolite. But, best to trust the beast you know.
The Gnome obliged the plea of the town because he knew he could outsmart the bird; his one brain was better than the combined two of Gobblezilla. Also, he was feeling a bit stale in the laziness of early spring and could use a good challenge.
He began by making a combination decoy/blind. The beast was so large that a decoy hen of similar size would be big enough for the Gnome to hide in. He made a wire frame and covered it in feathers and leathers and placed two sticks across the center inside so he could walk while carrying the decoy around him. He used the curved horn of a Markhor to support one head and to use as amplification for his calls. The other head was barely held up by a stick. It wasn’t the best-looking decoy, but it should get him close enough to make a shot.
He stalked the brutish bird until he felt close enough to call. By now, the sun was sinking low in the sky, and he did not especially want to be out with the creature in the night. He called through the Makhor and tried his damndest to sound like a hen straight out of hell—just what Gobblezilla would be after. He let rip a throaty purr, a few yelps that sent shivers down his spine with simultaneous cutts in the mix.
Then he waited. He heard a stick break a few hundred yards away, but he waited still. Once he thought he had given it enough time, he let loose another beastly hen call sequence. This time, Gobblezilla responded.
A demonic gobble ripped through the forest, so loud the trees shook. It was bloodcurdling and nightmarish. But the Gnome stood his ground. The giant turkey beast thundered through the woods, each step a hammer to the earth.
The Gnome carefully removed himself from the decoy and stood behind it. He placed two arrows in his bow and waited. The footsteps grew closer and the earth trembled beneath him.
Once Gobblezilla laid eyes on the decoy, it let out a furious, gut-wrenching scream. The head with the horns pecked and ripped away at the crafted facade while the spurs began to tear it to pieces in anguish. In its fury, the giant creature didn’t see the gnome step into the opening and draw his bow.
In a split second, the terrifying turkey turned its focus on the Gnome. But it was too late for Gobblezilla. The Gnome let the two arrows fly, each hitting a hideous head with a resounding thwack.
Gobblezilla stumbled and flopped to the ground, creating a cloud of dust that choked the Gnome of breath and sight for a few moments. After he regained his ability to see and breathe, he approached the beast and, with the knife at his side, sliced off a beard half as tall as himself. He’d bring this to the folks in town as proof of his success.
They could come clean the big stinking bird and haul the meat off in their mule carts. They’d probably have a great feast, and the Gnome might even go. He did love turkey meat, after all.
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