War: 8.24.1930


The clink of silverware upon china heralded fresh horrors.

The Hollow, and those structures which can be found within it, is not bound to follow any rules which I can understand.

Having left the dugout where I killed the four men, I traveled for three days up a flight of stairs, which seemed to never end. Always I followed the faint, pleasant trail of fresh air.

Always it proved elusive.

Finally, at the end of the third day, the scent of fresh air grew stronger, and it was joined by smells of hot food. I heard voices murmuring in pleasant conversation and caught the unmistakable sounds of people dining.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I found the way blocked by a French door, beyond which was a room filled with diners. As I stood there, the conversations faded away, and everyone turned their eyes to me.

My own attention went from those seated at the tables to what the servers were preparing.

Having partaken of human flesh on more than one occasion myself, there was no way to misconstrue what the diners were about to feast upon. I tried the door-latch and found it locked. The diners turned their attention to their servers, and they waited.

Evidently, I was not to be worried about.

I disagreed with this assessment.

Taking two steps down, I drew a Colt and blew the lock out of the door and let myself into the room.

The servers fled for their lives, but the officers stood their ground.

At least for a few minutes.

It’s hard to be brave when you’re wearing your friend’s brains when all you were expecting was to share a meal with them.

I am not a forgiving man, and those in the room were not deserving of what little mercy I possess.

Still, the goal was not to slaughter them all but to find at least one or two who would be willing to provide me with directions to someone with greater authority.

This was far more difficult than I thought it would be.

The Colts roared, and in the end, there was only one young man left alive, and as I approached him, he screamed.

His head erupted, sending fragments of skull out like so much shrapnel.

I spent half an hour cleaning his bones out of my face.

I was, to say the least, displeased.

#horror #monsters #supernatural #death

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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