Strangers in Cross: Jan. 11, ‘38


They are trapped.

The ravens have formed a wide, rough circle around the perimeter of the university. They will make certain that no one leaves and that no one enters.

I returned this morning, the air crisp and beautiful, the Colts a comfortable weight on my hips. There are no guards of which to speak.

They have left this place, and that was a wise decision.

When I entered the grounds, Grimnir landed on my shoulder and peered at me.

“Where?” I asked.

The raven let out a pleased laugh, sprang up, and took wing. I followed as he led me to the Broach Building, and as I drew nearer, I caught sight of at least one of the creatures as it raced past a window in the causeway that stretched between the Broach Building and the university’s bindery.

The door into Broach was not barred, though it should have been.

At the far end of the long lobby, I was greeted by three young men, their faces pale and grim, unshaven and wild-eyed. Nearby, a pair of bodies lay entangled with one another. From what I could see, the corpses were those of students. I could see the marks of the creatures’ teeth upon them, and I knew the dead students had been fed to the abominations.

For a moment, I considered speaking with the three living young men. I thought perhaps I might convince them to let me pass, to hunt down the creatures.

But the students took that decision away from me when they attacked.

They had armed themselves with knives, and they thought those weapons would suffice.

They did not.

The Colts whispered as they cleared leather, and the click of the hammers caused my heart to soar.

I am made to kill and to do little else.

The .44 slugs slammed into the young men, catching them off balance and throwing them back. Blood splashed upon the polished stone floor, and the weapons clattered out of twitching hands.

My Colts spoke again as I passed the students by, blowing their brains out, one by one.

I did not pause.

I was hunting.

#horror #fear #art #writing

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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