He came at me screaming.
I was walking from the main barn back toward the house when he came running from around the side of the barn. He was clad in Federal blue and carrying a Drum Major’s mace. The way he held it in his hands told me it was no ceremonial weapon.
This man would know how to wield it.
I managed to duck as he swung the mace toward me, the heavy ball whistling overhead as I lashed out with my boot and caught him square in the knee, the joint snapping beneath my heel. His howl was more from anger than pain, and he spun the weapon back toward me, striking a glancing blow off my shoulder that sent bolts of agony shooting down my arm.
It wasn’t a wise decision on his part.
As he stumbled to remain upright, balancing precariously on one foot, I moved in.
He tried to attack again, but I struck the weapon out of his hands and sent it spinning into the dirt. The man tried to punch me, but I deflected his blows easily as I moved in closer.
The pain drained from my arm as I reached out, and he took hold of my wrist as I had hoped he would.
I grabbed his pinky and twisted it back, wrenching the finger off and throwing it aside.
His eyes widened for a split second, and then I had him by his face.
Digging my thumbs into his eyes, I pressed him down to the earth as he punched and clawed at my hands.
I merely pushed my thumbs in deeper, hooking them in on either side of the bridge of his nose. He let out a shriek, and I scooped each eye out, one at a time, casting them into the dirt of the yard.
The man writhed upon the ground as I stood up and wiped my thumbs off on his tunic. Then, as he shouted and wailed, I walked over to his mace and picked it up.
The weapon was heavy and as far from ceremonial as could be.
It was, I realized, well-balanced.
Standing over him, I took a firm grip upon the weapon and raised it over my head as the season’s first snow began to fall.
In the stillness of the day, I broke every damned one of his bones.
#fear #horrorstories #supernatural