The War of the Rebellion: Pennsylvania, 1864


We were twenty strong when they came spilling out of the buildings around us, and we were not nearly enough.

At first, the goblins seemed far more intent upon the destruction of the abandoned town than they were of us. In fact, I am not certain they even saw us. Perhaps, they might not have noticed us at all.

I’ll never know.

One of our number, a young and foolhardy captain who had made his bones serving alongside Captain Custer, raised his rifle and fired, killing one of the small, gray creatures.

It was the worst idea he had, and the last as well.

A number of goblins broke off their destruction and attacked. The captain was among the first to fall, but he was not the last.

The men’s shots were true, and their years in battle kept them focused, unshaken even by the minuscule monstrosities we faced. They chose their targets, they reloaded their weapons, and in the end, our guns were useless.

There wasn’t enough time to reload, not when there were dozens of the damned goblins swarming over us.

I am uncertain as to how much time passed. I know only that soon I stood alone, splattered in the blood of friends and the ichor of the enemy. At least thirty of the goblins remained, but they kept their distance, eyeing me warily. I had no compulsion about killing them, and there was a large pile of their corpses around me.

In silence, the goblins dragged off my dead, bringing the corpses into their warrens beneath the town.

There was nothing I could do. Not then.

When I was alone, with nothing save bloody smears to remind me of my comrades, I cleaned off my Colts, reloaded them, and dug out my matches.

Somewhere in the town there would be lamp oil, and soon I would burn the goblins out.

#horror #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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