October 16, 1937

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Her disdain was palpable.

I was in the Cross Train Station waiting on a shipment of ammunition. The Schlacter family out of Ledyard, Connecticut, had been selling me my supplies for over fifty years. They knew how I liked the loads and crafted perfect .44 slugs.

I had taken up a comfortable position leaning against the ticket counter and talking with Herschel, the station master, as the train from Norwich, Connecticut, pulled into the station. Within a few moments, the doors to the passenger cars opened and disgorged those few souls who had business in town.

A young woman, beautiful and well-put-together, stepped off the train, crossed the platform and entered the station with undeniable grace. Herschel stopped in midsentence to watch her as she approached us, her eyes flicking dismissively over me before settling on the station master.

I stepped aside, but not quick enough.

Her hand snapped out, and I caught sight of a slim knife a heartbeat before she plunged it into my belly. With a snarl, she twisted the blade, dragged it across my stomach and pulled it up. I smelled my blood, felt a wave of pain, and grabbed her hand with one of mine.

“Your mother says hello, Blood,” she spat and drew another knife with her free hand.

I let her punch it into my chest, my blood pumping out over her hands, and I drew a Colt.

“Didn’t she tell you I don’t die?” I asked between clenched teeth.

She tried to back away from me, eyes widening in confusion.

I grabbed hold of the front of her blouse, blood smearing across the white fabric spilling out at her throat, and then I jammed the muzzle of the Colt up into the soft underside of her chin.

“Tell me, girl,” I whispered. “Are you as unlucky as me?”

Before she could answer, I pulled the trigger and blew off the top of her head, brains and hair flying up. As I dropped her body to the floor, Herschel vomited behind me, and I couldn’t blame him.

Brains are always a hell of a mess to clean.

#fear #horrorstories #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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