Not the actual prompt. Somewhat inspired, but mainly the setting. Enjoy the unknown and uncanny.

-

It was stupid, really. It was just a single, malfunctioned frame from that old trail camera, the broken one marked GT4- game trail 4. Was a stupid idea to go hunting with that thing as our play-pretend motivator. Wasn’t so pretend in the end.

What a dumb way to die, if he’d got me, but he didn’t. I don’t even miss him. I know how it sounds but- I don’t even know if it was him at all- don’t know if he was all messed up from the start. He’s dead now, so it doesn’t matter. He’s dead, and I killed him. Put a shotshell right between his eyes. It didn't feel that different from shooting a buck.

If I had ever thought about killing the Rico I knew before, I’d have nearly broken down at the idea. We were gonna get married, him and I. Was even gonna change my last name, just for him. José and Rico Ferdinand. Still has a nice ring to it. I said I don’t miss him, but I miss the way things used to be. Miss the way we used to be. Can’t go back now, since the poor bastard’s rotting on the side of the road, turning into unidentifiable roadkill. Nobody’s filed a missing persons report yet, but it’s not like I killed the real him. I killed the thing that tried to replace him, and I remind myself that every single day. I hope to God that the thing I killed wasn't Rico.

It’s my fault though. I know it. I’m the one who showed him that malfunctioned trail cam footage, I’m the one that fueled his imagination, spurred his idea that we go on a pretend monster hunt while on our regular routine. I didn’t disagree, even drove out to town to buy new ammunition. Still have a few boxes of those shotshells, and one of them is missing only one 90-grain, the one I used to kill Rico. I haven’t washed the shirt that’s splattered with his blood. Took his hat off his body, left it sitting on the counter. Kept his gun, kept his clothes. Still sleep on the left side of our twin beds pushed together. Still make enough coffee for two.

I remember what he used to look like, and the Rico I killed was all wrong, I just know. He looked the same, down to every hair, but he was just not right. The whole ordeal is still fresh in my mind- we were driving in my beat-up pickup back to our little house, a deer carcass rattling around in the cargo bed. It was an eight-point buck, something worth making a trophy. Rico had shot it right through the heart. I’d have to clean up the mess that was surely pooling around it. It was dusk, and the last rays of the red sun dusted the clouds like spatterings of blood. I was at the wheel. The road back home was mostly a straight shot from our regular hunting grounds. Everything was normal- everything was perfectly fine, just as it should have been.

We saw several deer on the way back- all too small to bother going after, though. I stopped to let the few that tried to cross the road pass by, noticing how they hesitated before running across, just like a human. I wondered how different we were from game animals like deer. I’ve heard that our meat is not dissimilar to that of pork or beef- so I assumed we were not that different at all. I was right.

I slammed the brakes. Shot an arm out to steady Rico, since I didn't want him getting a bloody nose on the dashboard. He braced an arm on the door to steady himself, before looking at me and then out the windshield.

“The hell-?”

“Fuckin- deer, man. Almost hit ‘em,” I huffed, crossing my wrists over the steering wheel as I waited for the deer to pass. It didn't budge an inch.

“You sure that's a deer?” Rico asked jokingly, pushing my shoulder with a dumb grin on his face. He noticed my odd look, then added, “GT4? Spider deer?”

I rolled my eyes and chuckled, looking back at the deer that stood right in front of our truck. It had gotten dark out, and the headlights had turned on.

My smile faded as I took in the sight before me. I cocked my head to the side, cracking my neck in the process. The pops were more painful than they should have been.

"Hey- I don't think that's a whitetail. You know we don't get fallow deer around here- there's only one main species and it's the whitetail deer," I added, looking at Rico with what I would think was concern in my eyes.

"It's just a deer."

I waited for him to say something else, something to explain the blank expression on his face. No more words came from his lips, which now looked strangely pale and rubbery compared to the normal pink and slightly chapped they appeared to have been just moments ago.

I looked back at the deer. It looked normal. It looked wrong.

I looked at Rico. It looked normal. It looked wrong.

Its eyes were far too white, its irises far too black. Its smile was too bright. Its mouth opened too far when it spoke. There was no light in its eyes. Its hair seemed coarse and wiry. Every bit of it was the same as my boyfriend except for every bit of it that was not.

It was not Rico.