Payback
By Allen Kitchen
Sept 27, 1998
all rights reserved

	Major Oday Silverspoon eased open the finely polished doors to his 
favorite room in the mansion.  The trophy room.  He slowly made his 
arthritic way inside the ornate den, using his ivory-tipped cane to assist him 
in standing erect.  Moving carefully so not to trip, the 75 year old man limped 
to the velvet chair next to the fireplace, and eased his aching old body into 
the cushions.
	Beside him on the table was a glass of brandy and a cigar, thoughtfully 
laid out for him by his housekeeper.  He took the glass in his shaking hands, 
and tried not to spill much on his nightcoat as he considered the room around 
him.
	On the wall were a number of animal heads; trophies from his safaris.  
About 24 in all.  Lions, bears, wolves.  Once upon a time, he could see clear 
enough to shoot them from a great distance.  But now... now he was so old 
and feeble he could barely make out their shapes only a couple of dozen feet 
away.  
	Odds were he couldn't even begin to lift his gun anymore.  When was 
the last time he'd taken it down from the fireplace?  It had to have been at 
least a decade ago.  
	He sighed, and sipped his brandy again.  Yes, long ago he had been 
rich, young, and strong.  Now, all he was was rich.  All he had left of his 
youth were the memories.  The memories that came back to him when he 
looked at his trophies.
	Oday stared at the Lion's head for a few moments, lost in recollection.  
He could still recall that day in the veldt; the rush he'd felt when he'd shot the 
king of the jungle from over 250 yards.  He remembered feeling virile and 
strong all day and into the night.  That night when he, the mighty hunter, 
snuck into Beth's tent for the first time, and began a hunt of a different sort.  
	Ah, the joys of youth.
	He closed his eyes and swirled the glass beneath his nose.  At least his 
sense of smell was still sharp.  He might be losing his eyesight and strength, 
but he could still smell.  
	Stretching out his arms, he opened his eyes again.  What he saw made 
him stop in mid-reach.
	The lion's head was gone.  
	Oday stared blankly at the empty spot on the wall, trying to figure out 
where it could have gone.  Perhaps the housekeeper...
	"No." a baritone voice beside him said.  "The housekeeper didn't take 
me down."
	The very startled man spun around in his chair to see who had spoken.  
There, standing by the bearskin rug, was the lion he had shot!  Standing on 
all fours again, just as it had that day all those many years ago!
	"What on earth?" Oday stammered.
	The lion walked around to the front of the chair, and sat on it's 
haunches.  He then stared at the old man with bright yellow eyes.
	"Don't you recognize me?" it taunted.  "I'm the spirit of the lion you 
murdered a half century ago.  You've been staring at my lifeless head most of 
your life, and you don't know me by now?"
	"But!  But you're dead!" the old man cried out.  "I shot you!"
	The lion nodded twice.  
	"That you did old man.  That you did.  And that's why I'm here tonight; 
to settle the score with you."
	"What score?  What are you talking about?  I was a hunter, just like 
you were."
	The lion folded it's ears back in annoyance.
	"Killer, certainly.  But a hunter like me?  Never.  Not in a million 
years.  Tell me old man; after you took your trophy, what did you do with the 
body?  Did you eat it?  Did you give the meat to anyone else to eat?  Did my 
death serve any real purpose, other than your vanity?"
	Oday sat frozen, unable to move or answer.
	"You can't remember, can you?" the lion taunted.  "Some hunter _you_ 
are.  Or were."
	"Yes!" Oday said, finally finding his voice again.  "I was a hunter, and 
I bested you.  What difference does it make whether I killed for sport or for 
food?"
	"The difference," the lion replied. "Is that people who hunt for food do 
so to eat.  People like you who hunt for sport just like the challenge of killing; 
you just like the hunt, but you don't have a valid reason to hunt.  So you 
invent one; trophys.  When I hunted, my pride and I ate what I killed.  We 
had to kill to survive.  
	"But you!" the lion roared.  "You just took my head and left my meat 
to rot in the sun!  You didn't even say 'thank you'!  A hunter?  Bah!  You're 
no hunter.  You've never had to stalk an animal with only surprise to help you 
while hunger pangs twisted your belly.  You've never had to kill to feed your 
young.  All you had to do was aim and shoot!"
	"It isn't as easy as it sounds." Oday weakly protested.
	"It's a lot easier than doing it with claws, I'll promise you that.  Real 
hunters don't kill for the joy of killing.  They kill for food, and I approve of 
that.  Your species would be better off if everyone had to survive in the wild 
for a time.  You and I are not the same, so don't you even think of saying that 
again."
	Oday started to rise up out of his chair, but suddenly a pair of black 
paws reached around the back and pulled him roughly into the chair again.
	"What's the matter old one?" an even deeper voice above him rumbled.  
"Is your past uncomfortable?"
	Oday tilted his head back, and his eyes almost popped out of their 
sockets.
	"No!  I killed you.  I killed you, and turned you into a rug.  I've walked 
across your hide every day for the past 40 years."
	"Yes." The bear snorted.  "And talk about adding insult to injury."
	"It's very simple old man." The lion said as he rose up on all fours once 
more.  "Today is the day all your victims get to come back from the dead and 
settle matters with you."  
	As the lion spoke, Oday saw that one by one, all his animal heads were 
shimmering and vanishing from their mounts.  As they did so, the whole 
animal shimmered into being in the room not far from where their head once 
hung.  After a short time, the room was filled to capacity with bobcats, 
leopards, wolves, dingoes; all facing him and quietly mumbling "do you 
remember me?"
	Oday's eyes were wild with fear!  His nose was clogged with the scents 
of so many animals in an enclosed room.  That and the stench of old blood 
was overpowering.  He coughed several times, and tried to wish the 
apparitions away.  It didn't work.
	"Well, old man?" the lion asked, less than a foot from his legs.  "Do 
you have anything to say to your victims before we begin?"
	"No!" Oday screamed as he clutched his chest in terror.  "No, go away!  
I did nothing wrong!"
	The bear shook it's head, and seemed to chuckle.  
	"Wrong answer." He rumbled.
	"Yes," the lion agreed.  "But one we expected.  The correct response 
would have been 'I'm sorry, I didn't know any better.'  Or 'Thank you for your 
life.'  But you still don't get it, do you Oday?"
	He shook his head while the laughter of the bear behind him filled the 
room.
	"You see, hunters, real hunters, cull the herds." The lion said with a 
wicked smile.  "They remove the old and the sick.  Humankind has grown all 
too numerous on this planet and has forgotten the natural laws that allow all 
species to live together.  So; now it is time to cull the herd."
	"And we'll start," the bear added, patting Oday's chest.  "With the old 
and the sick."
	Oday let out a horrified scream as the animals all closed in on him at 
once.

******

	"I'm afraid he's dead, Ms. O'Brien." The doctor told the housekeeper 
while closing the doors to the trophy room.  "Massive heart attack.  I'll notify 
the authorities, and make all the arrangements for you."
	Ms. O'Brien simply sat crying in the hallway chair.  She didn't 
acknowledge that she'd heard the physician.
	Doctor Worthing stepped over to her, and put a hand on the middle-
aged woman's shoulder.  
	"Are you going to be all right miss?"
	She nodded quickly in response.
	"Yes." she said.  "But I just can't forget that look on his face when I 
found him.  He looked as though he'd been scared to death!"