Recollections, 1960: Hunting in the Hollow


Only the one-eyed raven came with me into Gods’ Hollow.

I had sent the remaining ravens out of the rookery to watch those few old friends of mine living near the border. The birds would alert their kin, who in turn, would inform those with whom they lived.

The one-eyed raven and I hunted alone.

We entered the Hollow via Blood Lake, the raven ranging far ahead and flying back occasionally to let me know what he had seen. The Hollow was displeased with our presence, and I felt the hate of my mother pulsing in the trees around us.

She and whatever ilk followed her would wait for another day.

I was hellbent on killing something else.

We picked up the creatures’ trail early and tracked them to a narrow road. Eventually, the road split into three, and so too did the group. The largest tracks followed the center, and so did we.

It took an hour of hard walking, and I was drenched in sweat when the house came into view. I don’t know how many were hidden in the place, or what the hell was rusting out in front of it, but I could hear them. Their voices rose and fell in the warm air, and for all the world, it sounded as though they were laughing.

Perhaps they were.

It ended soon enough.

The one-eyed raven flew round the back of the house, and I went in the front, Colts blazing. Blood splattered the walls and I gunned the creatures down as they tried to get out the back. Those few that made it ran into the raven, and what he did to them defies explanation.

His talons flayed the skin from their flesh, and his beak tore out throats.

The two of us were slick with blood and gore when we finished with the killing, and even dirtier when we left the message.

I stacked seventeen heads in the doorway, and I hoped the message was clear.

We were going to kill them all.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #ghoststories #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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