November 12, 1891

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They tended to their wounded, and it cost them.

They opened fire from the Hollow when I went past it this morning, and it was a poor decision on their part.

I was in none too good a mood, and the audacity of the attack irked me further.

Hunkering down behind the stonewall, I drew the Colts and opened fire. It didn’t take long for the sound of gunfire to roll and reverberate across the land. I could hear men yelling, some calling out orders while their comrades screamed for their mothers.

Death had told me there was a storm coming and that Fate would not be kind to me.

I was more worried about the storm than I was of Fate. She would do what she wanted.

She always had before.

The bastards in the Hollow, though, they were stopping me from getting in some supplies. According to Death, a nor’easter was fixing to blow, and I had an order of brandy waiting for me in town. Oh, I had a goodly amount set in, but one can never have too much.

Especially since Horatio could drink his weight in brandy.

After half an hour, the fight slowed down some, and I took a few minutes to reload and get my bearings. From what I could see, the better part of a platoon was down. A few men crawled here and there, but they’d be dead soon enough. As I watched, a pair of Red Cross men stole out from behind a boulder, and when I didn’t shoot them, they hastened on to a nearby fighting hole. They slipped in and helped a wounded man sit up, and with furtive glances toward North Road, they set about treating his wounds.

They did solid work, from what I could see, and they treated their patient with a kindness that comes from a depth of emotion and consideration.

I killed the Red Cross man on the left first.

The .44 slug tore through his neck and buried itself in the wounded man’s belly, knocking him backward.

As the remaining Red Cross man panicked and scrambled out of the fighting hole, I put a round in the small of his back. Then, as his cries of pain filled the Hollow, I waited to see if anyone would come and assist him.

When none did, I stood up and headed into town.

There was brandy to fetch.

#fear #horrorstories #supernatural

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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