Chasing Them Down: Day 10


I’m curious as to how stupid the Martins are.

I found Luke Martin in Brattleboro, Vermont. He was going by the name of Bowen Martin.

How did he think that taking the name of a brother I was also looking for would be a good idea? Why did he believe that I would look for Luke and not Bowen?

It hurts my head just to think about it.

Well, nevertheless, I found him. He was at an auction, of all things, on the outskirts of Brattleboro. He wasn’t running it or working it; he was simply there. I don’t think he even had any money with which to buy something. Seems as though he was there just for entertainment.

When I saw Luke, he was sitting on a downed tree and tucking a bit of chew into his lip. I made sure to stay in plain sight because I was curious as to how he would react when he saw me.

The damned fool didn’t even notice me.

When the auction ended, I trailed along behind him as the group dispersed. He walked with a few others, field hands by the looks, and they laughed as they went. A few times, I heard them refer to him as Luke, and then they quickly corrected themselves.

More cousins.

The mere idea of more Martins made me loosen the Colts in their holsters. If the cousins were anything like their Maine counterparts, I’d have to kill them as well.

Eventually, the men went to a small bunkhouse on the backside of a large farm, and once they were in and settled down, I walked up to the door and gave it a knock. Then, I stepped to the left and waited.

Someone asked who it was, and I told them.

A shotgun blew a hole through the door.

Well, a .44 slug passes through clapboard just as easily as it does paper, and that was a fact the boys inside learned. A few of them tried to get out, but they didn’t go far.

When I went into the bunkhouse, I was a little upset with myself.

Luke’s brains were blown out over the back wall.

Everyone else in the cabin was dead, and I realized the entire situation was a bust. There would be no information on Pastor Davies and his son, and there was no damned coffee in that entire bunkhouse.

#horror #monsters #supernatural #death

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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