April 16, 1875


The sounds of battle were hard to ignore.

As was the large building which stood in the center of my cornfield.

I admit that I was a trifle disgruntled at the sight of the structure. Getting the corn in is never an easy task, and all I could picture was having to tear the damned building down before I could even break ground to plow.

A sharp scream pierced the air and caused me to roll my eyes.

Whatever battle had been taking place, I’d missed it.

With a sigh, I walked towards the building, and when I reached the closed front door, the clash of steel on steel broke the silence.

Surprised, I drew a Colt, pushed the door open and entered the structure.

I found myself in a crowded courtyard, in the center of which a pair of men fought.

This was no sparring match. The men were out for blood.

In a moment, the sword of one was knocked aside, and he went tumbling to the patio. His opponent stomped on his right leg, the snapping of the bone sharp and bitter in the air. The man on the ground shrieked, and his opponent drove a long dagger into the fallen man’s chest.

Bright blue flames leapt up around them, burning them both alive inside their armor. Flesh melted, and the armor collapsed into a smoldering heap. Dust spilled out over the stones and accoutrements of war.

There was a harsh odor in the air, and a gentle breeze came in through the door I’d left open, stirring the dust up.

Yet as the breeze faded away, the dust didn’t settle.

Instead, it continued to rise.

As I watched, the armor shook and trembled, clattering as it was pulled unerringly up, bodies forming within the confines of the armor.

The resurrected warriors took up their weapons and resumed their duel.

I holstered my Colt, left the building and closed the door behind me.

I’d plant the corn somewhere else this season.

#horror #fear

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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