July 2, 1938


She smiled as I stepped through the door.

The young woman had been filing paperwork, and she remained in that position as the smile on her face faltered.

She saw the guns in my hands, and it took her a moment to regain her composure.

The young woman started to move, and I shook my head, easing the hammers back on the Colts.

She stiffened and gave a short nod.

“You’re the first of your kind to make it in here with a pair of guns, Blood,” she told me, her voice soft and sweet. There was a lilting quality to it, and in a heartbeat, I knew what she was trying to do.

Hypnotism, when done right, is an impressive trick for the weak of mind. She was not doing it right, nor am I weak-minded.

“Where’s my dog?”

Her smile broadened, and she nodded towards a door to the left.

“Oh, he ran through here a bit ago,” she answered, still trying to pitch her voice. “He’s a good-looking shepherd.”

“Who’s been killing the men downstairs?”

She laughed. “All of us, Duncan. We all hate you. The only good thing about you is your heart, and that’s because when it’s stuffed with garlic and onions, it’s sweet on the tongue.”

A sigh escaped her lips, and something about my demeanor made her think it was a good time to try and command me.

“You’ll stand still now, Duncan,” she whispered, “and I’ll harvest your heart.”

She drew her hand out of the filing cabinet, a small, snub-nose pistol in her grip, and my Colts roared.

The slugs from the .44s tore through her belly and knocked her backward, spreading her guts across the paneled wall. Her eyes were wide with disbelief as she slid down the wall and sat in her own intestines.

I kicked the gun away from her hand, squatted down and looked at her.

She blinked, focused on my face and tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

I holstered one of the Colts, leaned forward and whispered, “I don’t need garlic or onions, girl.”

Without another word, I thrust my hand up through the wound, found her heart, and pulled it free.

#horror #fear #paranormal

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

2 thoughts on “July 2, 1938”

  1. I have to admit, Duncan’s propensity for cannibalism is one of his most off-putting traits. Is there a reason for it? As in, is it connected to his blood/Blood?

  2. Yes, it is, isn’t it? The thought process behind it is his experiences as a child and a young man. He grew up during the early colonial period, and he fought in the French and Indian War. He would be intimately familiar with the way that certain Native American tribes ate the flesh of their enemies both as a taunt and as a way to gain strength. Sorry, it’s the historian in me.

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