Cross and Miskatonic University: Five

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He thought he was something special.

Professor Elliot Ravensworth was of the opinion that he and he alone could handle matters relating to the Hollow. How he came by such a bloated sense of self-worth, I’ll never know.

Not that the lack of information will keep me up at night.

There’s little that does.

Regardless of his abilities, I will admit that he was prepared when I entered his home.

He just wasn’t prepared for me.

I’ve been shot plenty of times, and while I don’t enjoy the experience, it hasn’t ever kept me from doing what needs to be done.

When I stepped through the back door, he shot me twice in the chest and once in the stomach with a .32. There wasn’t enough of a punch to the bullets to do much more than cause me to pause, and I grinned at him, nudging the door closed with the heel of my boot.

“Now, Elliot,” I said, drawing one of my Colts, “that’s mighty impolite.”

He tried to squeeze off another shot, but I pulled the trigger, the slug of the Colt tearing through his forearm and causing him to drop the .32 to the floor, his hand hanging useless. When he tried to stagger back toward the hall, I put a bullet into his gut while the one in my own body was pushed out the hole it had made.

The impact of the Colt’s .44 caused him to slump against the wall and then sink down to the floor. His face took on a deathly pallor I was well-familiar with and one that – at this moment in time – irritated the hell out of me.

I cocked the Colt’s hammer back and aimed the weapon at his right knee.

“You’ve got a choice, Elliot,” I told him. “A quick death or a slow one.”

“What do you want?” he whispered, blood staining his lips.

“Who planned the attack?”

Elliot hesitated, and I put a bullet in his knee.

He screamed and then shouted, “Killingly!”

Hank Killingly, the head of the board. First among equals.

“End it,” Elliot whispered.

“I will,” I told him.

“No,” he shook his head. “Me.”

“I already have, Elliot. You’ll bleed out soon enough.”

I sat down in a kitchen chair and smiled, his weak curses music to my ears.

#horror #fear

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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