This feels like it has to be a response to The Horla, right? But it's got that signature Bierce humor, the good, dark shit.
Another apparently invisible entity is coming after another hapless person, but instead of a well-to-do French person it's a retired guy in the hills of California who likes to hunt a lot.
The way this very short story sticks in multiple frames, a gag about how de Maupassant's character comes up with a name for the thing somehow, and proffers an explanation while refusing to assure us that's actually the right answer, all these things come together for a brief gothic repast, a charming, funny, gruesome tale of an inquest and the way we shrug and fill in the blank when it's too much effort to think about it first.
And those "chapter" titles? Come on. "One does not always eat what is on the table."