October 12, 1937

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They ran into the wrong building.

I was tracking a pair of students from Miskatonic, and the sun had yet to burn off the morning fog.

I could hear their whispers reverberating against the trees, reaching my ears in snippets of disjointed conversation.

It didn’t matter what they were saying.

Or that they thought there was someplace to hide.

There wasn’t.

Not from me. Not in Cross.

I kept a steady pace, knowing the young men would tire sooner rather than later. I wondered what they had been told. What was used to convince them to join with their professors and peers to bring my mother back?

It might not have been anything more than the chance to do something extraordinary, which is what I’m sure it was phrased as.

Perhaps they were told they didn’t have a choice.

But if that was what they were told, it was a lie.

We all have choices to make, and then we live with those choices whether we want to or not.

I’ve killed men, women, and children in my long decades of life. Some of those deaths I carry with me still.

Others, well, they’re nothing more than water off a duck’s back.

I suspected killing the young men I was chasing would be much like the latter.

The fog burned off slowly, and I unslung the Garand I had taken from Bradley. It was a good, solid rifle, and I had plundered Bradley’s supply of ammunition. I stood off to one side of the road, loaded a clip into the rifle, took up a firing position, and waited.

As the last of the fog vanished beneath the sun, I saw the pair of students.

They were almost 400 yards away and close to a building on the Hollow side of North Road.

I pulled the trigger, and the student I was aiming at stumbled at the same time. The round that would have knocked him down struck him in the left shoulder, sending him spiraling into his friend.

They fell into the building together, and a horrific shriek pierced the air.

A heartbeat later, the god stepped out of the barn’s open door. In either hand, she held a heart.

Wordlessly, she turned around and disappeared once more into the building.

I slung the rifle and headed back the way I’d come, leaving the god to her meal.

#fear #horrorstories #paranormal

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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