War in the Hollow: Dec. 22, ‘36


Their world is burning.

The fire in the forest, started by the cigarette dropped by a dying man, continues to burn.

I will do nothing to extinguish it.

Now, in the gloom and smoke of this new hell, I hunt.

They have attempted to hide themselves away, and I butcher them where they lay.

The soldiers are stringing wire from one fortification to the next, hoping to keep track of my movements.

But I kill the men as they establish the lines, cut those lines already laid, and wait for my prey in the shadows.

I have found a fresh set of wires. Two of them, and when I lean close, I can hear them humming with a peculiar sound. Occasionally, echoing in this smoke-filled wasteland, I can hear screaming.

There are monsters other than myself here, and they are hunting as well.

I cut the new wires, and then I sit down and wait, knife in hand.

I am not kept waiting long.

Soon, a team of two comes out. They are bent over, following the lines. Their movements are hasty, frightened. And they should be. They know that I am here, somewhere, for who else would cut the lines?

I wait for them to repair the wires, and as they prepare to leave, I attack.

My movements are swift and sure, each man dying within seconds.

Cleaning the blood off my blade, I follow the lines for a short way, and then I cut them again.

I will repeat this process until night falls, and it is too dark to see.

Then I will rest and wait.

I am not done killing.

#horror #fear #art #christmas

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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