War in the Hollow: Dec. 9, ‘36

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I have no mercy.

I followed the trail of blood and human refuse as Thorn ranged along either side of the road. It was close to dark, and we’d killed half a dozen men during the day. We’d encountered sign of strange and uncouth creatures, but we’d not seen the beasts themselves.

Shortly before dusk, we came upon a narrow, stone-lined path, and we both spotted the fresh corpse lying to one side. The man had been a soldier, and he had not died a soldier’s death. Something had taken a bite out of the man’s throat, and he’d died from it.

There was more blood along the path, and as we traveled along its course, we spotted a leg here and an arm there. Each well-gnawed upon.

After half an hour of tracking, we came upon a small chateau, smoke curling up from a large fireplace. There was a trio of bodies stacked by a propped open door, and it was through that we entered.

I heard the murmur of voices and smelled the stench of blood and death.

A glance around showed me I was in a medical setting, and I had no doubt that I would find a doctor or two within.

Thorn led the way for me, nose low to the floor. He passed closed doors and open ones alike, and soon we came to a set of stairs. We crept up them, and when we reached the second floor, he paused. There was a door ahead of us, propped open, and Thorn hung back as I approached.

The murmuring voices dropped down, and the sound of a bone saw took their place.

I stepped up to the door and looked in.

A wounded man, unconscious, lay on an operating table, one nurse watching while another held one of the wounded man’s legs in place. Two doctors stood, prepared to assist as a third worked the saw.

I drew a Colt, and I killed them all, the wounded man I killed last.

I can’t have doctors or nurses around.

Not that I plan on leaving any alive.

#horror #fear #art

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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