April 10, 1875

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They sprang from the darkness, blades catching the moonlight.

I neither heard nor saw them until they were upon me, and had I been anyone else, I would have been dead.

It was the whistling of the blades and the glint of moonlight upon steel that made me spring back, and had I not done so, I would have felt that pure steel bite through flesh and bone and sinew.

It would not have been pleasant.

They were mute as they pressed the attack, waves of cold rolling off of them and numbing my flesh, slowing me down, though not nearly enough for them to gain an advantage. Still, there wasn’t enough time to draw the Colts. My attackers seemed well-aware as to what the weapons were capable of.

But I had my Bowie knife and the will to use it.

The creatures who attacked me were clad in curious armor, and each had a bladed weapon. One used a spear of sorts and the other a sword, and both of them were put to good use. The creatures worked in tandem, their movements fluid and deadly. Soon, I was bleeding from half a dozen small cuts that struggled to heal themselves as I fought. The cut flesh stung, and I could feel a toxin burning through my blood, seeking a way to stop my heart.

As my skin blazed, a cold and ferocious anger settled over me. I’ve never been appreciative of those who’ve tried to bushwhack me.

The one with the spear lunged forward in an effort to create an opening for his comrade to strike, and instead, he allowed me the opportunity to attack. I took hold of the spear’s haft, went low and drove the Bowie knife straight up and into his groin. The stranger bent over me, hot stinking fluid exploding over my hand. I twisted the blade once, then jerked it out, ducking as the other creature slammed the sword down into his wounded comrade.

Without pause, I thrust my shoulder into the stomach of the sword-wielder, shoved his chin up with my free hand and rammed the Bowie knife into his exposed throat with enough force to crush his larynx.

In a moment, the bodies vanished. I was alone, and all that remained of the creatures were their weapons.

That and the stinking ichor soaking my clothes.

#horror #fear

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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