Hunting for Something

This was for an assignment in my fiction workshop. It's already been critiqued heavily and a rewrite is in the works, but please feel free to comment with ideas and suggestions!


Molly Addison crept through the waist-high grass, trying to move forward as slowly and inconspicuously as possible. One trembling hand was grasped on the very end of a wooden handle to a butterfly net. Her other hand clutched the tip of the net to hold it out. While her heart was pounding against her chest, her breathing was slow. Any sudden movements or sounds might startle the large, black swallowtail from leaving its brief perch on a low-lying branch of a mimosa tree.

She straightened up her back and stretched her arms up so that the net was just a foot away from the butterfly. Her wound up muscles all sprung at once as she swung the net, but the butterfly was a second ahead. Molly landed with the net in the grass and yelled, “Crap!” while watching the black swallowtail flutter frantically into the sky. She had been so close! Now she wouldn’t have anything to show her father when she got home! With the sun so low, it was too late to track and catch anything else. Disheartened, Molly fetched her satchel, whose empty mason jars clinked together. It was odd walking home without the nervous fluttering of bugs inside them.

The house was built in the middle of ten acres of woods, which had pockets of untouched fields that were wonderful for hunting for bugs. Molly approached the house from the driveway, entered through the open garage, and stopped long enough to put her things away. She kicked off her muddy shoes and set her net down next to half a dozen others, most of which were torn from being caught in briars. Going to a wooden cabinet by the freezer, she methodically placed the empty jars from her satchel into the cabinet with the others, turning them just so they were perfectly aligned.

A muddled voice came from inside the house, and Molly recognized it as her father calling her. It was weird having him home and she had to remind herself it was the weekend.
“Coming!” she announced as she hung her satchel on the raincoat rack and headed inside. The door led into a hallway that opened out into a kitchen. In the middle of the massive center island were two boxes of pizza. Molly’s heart sank at the sight. Another day without a home cooked meal.

But where was her father? “Daddy?” No response. Hadn’t he just called her? Molly huffed moodily as she padded across the linoleum floor, peeking around the corner into the doorway of the study. There he was, still dressed in a suit from work. He was pouring over a mound of papers. Bills, she thought. Or work. Probably work.

She waited for him to notice her, but he didn’t. She cleared her throat softly, then loudly. Nothing. Could he hear her? Molly worried her lower lip between her teeth before she timidly called out again, “Daddy?”

“What?” His dark tone made anxiety trickle hotly up her spine and turn her ears red.

“Did you call me?”

“Oh. Yes. I ordered pizza for you.” This he said without looking up from those papers. Molly quietly thanked him and turned to get food, but her father’s voice started again. “Did you catch any flutterbys, baby?”

Her heart warmed. “Not today. Although, I’m thinking if I try early in the morning maybe I’ll find something.”

“Just wait ‘til the sun comes up.”

That was the rule: never go outside after dark. Molly nodded her head obediently, grabbed a slice of pizza, and went to her room for the rest of the evening so as to not disturb her father.



A loud gunshot awoke Molly in the middle of the night. It was not the first time she had heard the noise, nor the last. Next to their nine acres of land were countless other acres owned by their neighbors. It wasn’t farmland, but it wasn’t hunting grounds either. The illegality didn’t faze everyone, though, and at least once a week some brazen idiot with a shotgun and an eye for the wild deer would sneak over the fence.

Unable to go back to sleep, Molly slid out of bed and went to the living room. She turned on a lamp settled on an end table and grabbed a small but thick book beside it. She made herself comfortable on the couch before she cracked open the book. Inside were hundreds of pictures of insects. She flipped to the butterfly section and let her eyes pan around the room. The walls of the living room were lined with her little prizes nestled inside shadowboxes. Mostly butterflies. A couple moths. One bird grasshopper that she had chased for an hour. Molly slowly flipped through her book, matching her trophies to the pictures. She was proud of how good she was at catching, but her father never seemed very interested. Perhaps she just needed to catch something more impressive? Surely, that large, black swallowtail would have impressed him.

The sun could not rise fast enough. Molly was eager to go back outside and stalk unsuspecting insects in the summer heat. Hour by hour, she passed the time by absorbing herself into a variety of field guides. She looked up the insects and the plants they tended to house. She tried to pick out something, but could not decide. Eventually she got dressed and stood by the bay window in the dining room, watching the sky lighten. The moment she saw the wispy clouds fade into a pink hue on the horizon, she headed for the garage door.

Tiptoeing down the steps, she fetched her satchel, picked out three mason jars, and grabbed one of her nets. She walked briskly down the driveway until it turned to gravel, then veered off path to take a shortcut through the woods to her favorite field overgrown with weedy flowers that the insects adored.

Molly skipped through the woods, humming to herself as she hopped over rotten logs and skittered around twiggy saplings. Just as the field came into view, her foot landed in a hole and twisted sideways. A sharp cry escaped her as she fell forward, landing hard with her arms out in front of her. The sound of rushing blood filled her ears as she lied there, waiting for the pain to go away. It didn’t. It only got worse.

“Daddy,” she whimpered as she tried to push herself up onto her elbows. Her arms were shaking with adrenaline. “Daddy!” Tears filled the rim of her eyes as she pulled her foot out of the hole. She took a deep breath to try to settle her nerves, but when she exhaled, it broke into a series of pathetic sobs.

“Hello!” An unfamiliar voice called out nearby. Molly wiped at her face and looked around. “Where are you?”

“Here!” Molly called back. She could hear the crunching leaves and pinpointed where the person was coming from. Immediately, there came a man dressed in camouflage.

“Are you alright?” The young man slowed down as he approached. He slung a shotgun off his shoulder and propped it up against a tree before approaching her.

Molly stared at the long, sleek gun and then looked at the man apprehensively. He looked a lot younger than she expected, maybe her own age. And none of the neighbors had any children.
“What happened?” he asked, kneeling down beside her.

“I… I fell,” she answered plainly. “I think I broke my ankle.”

He smiled crookedly. “Maybe you just sprained it. May I take a look?”

She nodded and wiped again at her face, realizing that she was still crying. With his help, she rolled over and sat up straight. He took notice to the uncovered little hole her foot had fallen in. “Looks like something was digging out here. Moles, probably. If you broke your ankle, you’d be screaming. Can you still wiggle your toes?” She could. “Good. Do you live around here?”
Molly pointed in the direction she had come. “Do you live around here?”

“Ah, well,” he hesitated while he helped her stand up, looping one of her arms around his neck. “No. No, I don’t.”

She waited until they had shuffled a little distance from the shotgun before she asked further, “Are you the one shooting at night?”

His mouth twisted as though he were thinking. He didn’t answer, and instead asked, “What’s your name?”

“You should tell me yours first.”

He laughed. “It’s Terry.” She could not tell if he was lying. It would make sense to be a fake name, considering if he was hunting the deer like she thought. He’d be in a lot of trouble if her father found out.

“Molly,” she answered.

“So what are you doing out here so early, Molly?”

“Hunting.”

“What?” he laughed again. “Hunting what?”

Molly found herself embarrassed. He probably hunted deer and ducks and bass and… whatever else hunters hunted. And what did she hunt? Bugs. “I… collect bugs.”

“Like butterflies?” She nodded and waited for him to laugh again. It would not be the first time someone had laughed at her for such a ridiculous hobby. “That’s impressive.”

“What?” Molly turned to look at him. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, butterflies are fast. I can’t imagine catching one. Maybe you could show me sometime.”

“Sometime when you aren’t—” Molly caught herself from finishing her thought, but Terry had already blushed at the implication.

“I’ve never shot anything,” he said softly, stopping so he could look at her. Molly was nervous at how intensely he stared at her. “Never. My… my dad keeps bringing me out for fun, but I’m a bad shot.”

Molly nodded slowly, trying to digest what he said. “Then… where is your dad?”

“Back home. I came alone last night. I just wanted to catch something to impress him.” That sounded familiar, but Molly kept her thoughts to herself while they continued through the woods. It was easier to see now that the sun was climbing, and Molly had to wonder how she had avoided tripping earlier. Leaf litter covered the ground, but there were so many dips and little holes in the ground.

When her house finally came into view, Terry stopped. Molly waited a moment for him to continue. When he stayed still, she pulled herself out of his arms and tested her foot. It hurt, but she could manage a slow walk. Molly looked back at him. “Would you like to come in?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ll get in trouble if your parents see me.”

“It’s just my dad, and he hardly even notices me.” When he turned her down again, Molly shrugged her shoulders and hobbled back inside.



A week in the middle of summer could go by in the blink of an eye. Molly could never find the right moment to tell her father about the boy who had helped her get home after she twisted her ankle. She never even told him about twisting her ankle. He did not notice that she walked slower than normal, or that she never went outside.

“What’cha doin’?” she asked him one day.

“Trying to budget money so I can afford your tuition,” he answered. Before Molly could leave, he called out, “Hey Moll? I noticed you haven’t gone outside in a couple days. You alright?”

“Yeah. Just been reading in my room.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Good book?”

“Really good.” She turned again to leave.

“That’s good. Oh, a letter came for you. Who’s Terrence Sanders?”

Molly went to the island in the center of the kitchen and flipped through the mail, stopping when she found a little envelope with her name on it. Opening it, a black string slid out. Molly pulled on it and realized it was a necklace. On the end was a buckeye butterfly, encased in plastic. Her ears burned while a smile split her face. The string was long enough she could pull it over her head. She continued to investigate the envelope, finding a piece of paper inside. On it was a phone number and a familiar name: Terry.

“Molly?” Her father wandered into the kitchen. “Who is it?”

“A boy from school.” Again, not entirely a lie. Molly looked up at her father. “Could I use the phone?”

With an amused smile, he nodded. Molly could hardly contain the giddy giggle that bubbled up. Her heart thumped excited as she took up the phone. For each number she pressed more lightly. Why would he send her his number? Was he just being polite and checking up on her ankle? Or was he interested in— “Sanders residence.”

Molly’s heart raced at the unfamiliar voice. “Is Terry available?” What an awkward question! She was glad her father had disappeared back to his study.

The voice on the other side of the phone chuckled deeply and responded in a slow, languid tone, “And who may I ask is calling?”

“Molly.”

There was a brief lapse of silence and muffled talking. Then she heard him. “Hello?” She wasn’t sure why she was smiling. “Hello?”

“Hi.” What was she supposed to say?

“Molly?”

“Yeah.”

“You got my letter, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you… like the necklace?”

“Yeah, I—I like it. Thank you.” If she said “yeah” one more time, she was going to slap herself silly. Molly fingered the plastic pendant of the necklace, turning it over and over while lightly hopping up on her toes. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the silence, so she took a deep breath and continued, “It was a real surprise.” She craned her neck to look around the corner at her father’s study. Seeing he was still there, she lowered her voice. “I didn’t know you knew my address.”

“Well, your mailbox was at the end of the road. With your last name.”

“That’s not fair,” she playfully pouted. “So, what are you calling for?”

“I wanted to see how your ankle was doing and if maybe we could go hunting together. You could show me how you catch those bugs.”

“It’s better, and I’ll have to ask my dad.” Molly pressed the receiver against her shoulder and stepped into the hallway. “Hey, Daddy? Terry wants to know if he could come bug hunting with me.”

He slowly turned from his desk to look at her. She did not like the expression on his face. “Absolutely not.” Part of her wasn’t surprised, but it still stung. She opened her mouth to ask why, but he cut her off. “I’m not going to have you running out in the middle of the woods with some boy I’ve never met.”

“You could meet him,” she offered.

“How well do you know this boy?” he quizzed as he crossed his arms. “How do you know he’s not trying to trick you? There’s a lot of woods out there, Molly. It would be really easy for someone to catch you.” His eyes seemed to widen with a sudden realization. “You’re not allowed to go out there anymore.”

“Daddy!” she whined incredulously. “Nothing bad has ever happened! Terry would never hurt me. You could even come with us!”

“I SAID NO! And that’s final! Get off the damn phone and go to your room!”

Molly bit back tears to no avail. She took a deep breath to keep her voice from wavering as she cradled the phone. “My dad said no. I need to go.”

“What if I came over for dinner or something?”

“No.” Molly sniffled. “I need to go.”

“I can come over tonight. He doesn’t have to know. Please, Molly. I want to see you.”

He sounded desperate. Vaguely, Molly considered her father’s words. Was Terry trying to lure her? She didn’t want to believe it. She hung up just before she burst into tears. She stared hard at the floor as she walked from the kitchen to her bedroom. She shut off the lights and quietly closed the door before she sank facedown onto her bed and buried her face into a pillow.



Someone was tapping against her window. Molly started awake with a soft gasp and nearly fell out of her bed in alarm. She scrambled across the room for her door when she heard the rhythmic tap-tap-tap again. She squinted at where the blinds were drawn halfway up the window. There’s was Terry’s face. Molly let out a deep sigh of relief and tiptoed across her room to the window, where she pulled the blinds up a little farther and unlocked the window. She eased it open slowly at first to see if it would squeak. When it didn’t, she pushed it open a couple feet.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered as loudly as she dared. “I told you my dad said I couldn’t see you!”

“I know, and I’ll leave in a minute if you want me to. I just wanted to bring you a present. I couldn’t send it in the mail.” Terry lifted a large mason jar and set it on the windowsill.

Unable to see what was in it, Molly reached to the bedside stand and flipped on a lamp. Returning to the window, she peeked into the jar full of twigs and leaves. Nestled at the top of the twig was a fat caterpillar the color of mint with tiny black and yellow stripes going down its body.

“Oh my gosh,” Molly gushed with realization. She looked from the jar to Terry, a smile growing on her face. “Do you realize what this is?”

“A caterpillar?” Terry grinned. “I found it in my mum’s garden.”

Molly let the smallest squeak escape her throat. “It’s a black swallowtail caterpillar. I’ve been trying to catch that butterfly for like a month!”

“Well now you have one.” He folded his arms across the window ledge and set his chin down on them. “I’ve been talking to my dad, you know. Trying to talk him into getting a hunting license. It’s not that expensive to take the classes and get it, but he likes to hunt deer and he would have to pay a tag for each one he shoots. For the amount he gets, we’d run out of money in a month, so mum and I are trying to talk him into cutting way down.”

“I would love to stop waking up in the middle of the night.”

He smiled. “Sorry about that. Are you sure you don’t want to go bug hunting in the morning?”

“Terry,” Molly sighed, setting the jar back on the sill while she sat cross-legged on the floor. “I can’t. My dad won’t let me.”

“Do you always listen to him?”

Her temper flared a little. Of course she listened to her father.

“Don’t you ever do anything you want?” He picked his head up. “You’re not exactly a little girl. Unless you’re younger than you look.”

Molly blushed darkly and stared at the wall to avoid his gaze. “My dad doesn’t want me to be alone with you.”

“Why? Does he think I’d hurt you or something?” Molly nodded her head. Terry sighed. “I guess I should go then, before you get in trouble.” When Molly looked out the window at him, she saw him wink. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Bye.” She waited a few seconds before closing the window and relocking it. She lowered the blinds all the way before she took up the large jar and went to lie down on the bed. She held the jar up, staring at the caterpillar. It was nursing a strand of silk, getting ready to become a chrysalis. The gift was sweet and thoughtful, but she could not show her father without a good half-truth as to where it came from. If he found out Terry had snuck by in the middle of the night, what would he do? Yell at her? Be angry? Keep working?

Molly continued to brood before going back to sleep. When morning came, she was still in a bad mood. She was tired of her father keeping her grounded. She was tired of being complacent and listening to everything he said.

She brought the jar into the kitchen while she cooked breakfast that morning. The standard fare of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. Her father was at the table sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper. He was already dressed for work. Molly moodily slapped the eggs and bacon onto two plates and went to set his down for him.

“I think your bug is freaking out,” he said suddenly. Molly glanced at the jar, noticing how the caterpillar was twisting back and forth very rapidly. It continued for several seconds before suddenly, its skin began to shed and peel off, revealing pale, fleshy skin that dried rapidly. The expression on her father’s face was rather interesting. “What the hell was that?”

“It’s turning into a pupa,” she mumbled. “In a few days it’ll be a butterfly.”

He was quiet a moment. Then he smiled. “That’s really neat. Maybe you should start a butterfly garden. Your birthday is coming up.”

Molly crossed her arms, trying to goad herself into talking to her father about Terry. She opened her mouth twice to speak, but never came out. When her father stood up, she blurted out, “I want you to meet Terry.”

“Baby, we already talked about this.”

“Not really. You don’t know Terry, and I don’t know him very well, but I’d like to get to know him. He’s really sweet. And if he came over for dinner, you’d be here to watch us and make sure nothing bad happens.” He didn’t say anything. “Please, Daddy.”

He took a slow, deep breath through his nose and exhaled even more slowly. His calculating eyes stared at her, then back to his newspaper as he took a sip of his coffee. He set the things down and stood up, straightening his collar. “If we’re going to have company, you’re going to need to clean up and—” Molly could not resist the shriek of excitement at his implications. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. “—AND,” he continued with a soft laugh, “I’m going to want to meet his parents.”

“Thank you!” Molly kissed his cheek and went to the phone.

“Just make sure they don’t come until six or later,” he instructed. “I want to be home when they get here.”

“Yes, sir.” Molly dialed the number as quickly as her fingers would move. She pressed the phone to her ear as she hopped with excitement.

The phone picked up. “Sanders residence. Who—”

“Terry!” Molly exclaimed. “Guess what!”

“Molly? What?”

“I just talked with my dad. He said you could come over for dinner so he can meet you. And your parents.”

“Nice. Hold on a second.” Molly waited anxiously, spinning herself up in the long coiled phone cord. Finally, she heard him again. “Cool, they’re both free this afternoon. What time should we come over? Or is it for another day?”

“Tonight. Seven-ish?”

“Sounds good, we’ll be there.”