In Gods’ Hollow: May 2, 1912

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It took me until nightfall to cross the room.

With Grimnir as sentry, I set my back against a wall, put my Colts in my hands, and faced a tall, narrow door. The rising sun woke me, and I broke my fast with a small amount of jerked beef and water.

As the raven settled onto my shoulder, I opened the door and found myself in a stairwell that went down a hell of a lot farther than I wanted it to.

Sighing, I started down the stairs, pausing every hour or so until, around noon, I reached the landing. In front of me was another door, and for a moment, I entertained the horrific notion that I might open it only to find myself in the first room I had entered.

I don’t deny that I was mightily relieved when I stepped into the interior of a church.

There were no windows, nor was there another door that I could see. What little light there was came from a few electric lanterns, and it hid far more than it revealed.

As I stood considering my options, I heard shoes upon the floor, and a clergyman stepped out into the light. Orbs coursed through the air around him, and I could hear the sound of faint screams from them as they passed by me.

The clergyman was an unpleasant looking man, and when I asked where the boy was, he pointed to the floor.

“He went below,” the man informed me, “as all the bad ones do.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I made him,” the man replied. He gestured to the orbs. “I make them all. They come back to me when they’re better.”

“This is better?” I asked.

He smiled. “Of course, it is. You are too old. You have to leave.”

“Open the door.”

He shook his head. “You can’t make me. Only God can make me.”

The smirk which appeared on his face was irritating, and, I confess, it set me off a bit.

I didn’t use the Colts. Ammunition needed to be conserved.

I used my Bowie knife, and I cut the smirk off his face. As he choked on his own lips, he opened the door for me.

Before I went down the stairs, I gave Grimnir his eyes and put a maggot hole in his belly.

#horror #monsters #supernatural #death

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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