To the huntsman lurking somewhere at the end of the hallway,
I know you’re there.
And I will find you.
You played your hand too early and recklessly, when you jumped on my son’s foot last week. Did you think he wouldn’t scream? Did you think we would never find you?
Oh I know that you ran away, and I know it’s been almost a week and you are still hiding, but it’s too late for you. You’re not a secret anymore.
I don’t know why you think it’s ok for you to be here? Did the multiple cockroach bombs we set off before Christmas not send the right message to you? Or did you think that you were somehow exempt on a technicality (that is, not being a cockroach?) Did you think the absence of the former spiders who made this their home, meant it was an open invitation for you?
Because I assure you, Mr Huntsman, it was not.
I hate you.
Now I don’t mean to be rude and it is of course, nothing personal, but I think it would be better off if you were dead.
If you were a daddy long legs, maybe this whole situation may be open to negotiation, but you’re not. You are a huntsman. Big, hairy and creepy looking.
You need to be aware, I’m on the prowl. You may be the huntsman, but I am the HuntsWoman. My senses are heightened, and I’m on the alert.
When I saw this chair at the casino where my family went for breakfast, I thought it was you.
Every dark shape, shifting on the walls when I get up to children in the night is examined.
Even this beautiful wall decoration done by the child you attacked gets an extra glance in the middle of the night.
Be warned Huntsman.
I am looking for you.
I will find you.
And when I do…
Boatman will squash you.