November 21, 1891

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The bastard met a bad end.

We’d had a solid snowfall last night, and there was a good, thick layer of it on the ground. That was how we knew someone had slipped out of the Hollow.

Horatio and I were walking along North Road, the two of us keeping a weather eye out for any sign of trouble. The month had been far too active, and it didn’t show any sign of slowing up.

We’d gotten to about the midway point when Horatio spotted the tracks. They were made by hobnailed boots, and they went in a straight line from the stonewall to my property. Given the distance between each step and the size of the damned boots themselves, well, I thought I’d need all twelve rounds from the Colts to put whomever it was down.

We left the road and followed the tracks into the forest. There was an unnatural stillness to it, once that set my teeth on edge and caused Horatio to grip my shoulder tighter. Despite the cold and the thinness of the air, there was a sharp, electrical charge to it. It reminded me more of a summer storm than a day in late November.

We went another hundred yards or so when Horatio hissed for me to stop. He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Do you smell it?”

I lifted my head a fraction of an inch, and I did.

Blood.

I drew the Colts and started along the path again.

Within moments, we found splatters of blood on the trees and claw marks as well. Tattered, dark blue cloth hung from the bark, and soon we entered a break in the trees. In the center of it lay a pile of steaming flesh and bloodied clothing; to the left sat one of the biggest brown bears I’d ever seen.

His snout was wet with blood, and what looked like a liver lay at his forepaws.

“Your Colts are useless on me, Duncan,” the bear grumbled, and he took a bite of the liver. “Holster them or be damned. Whichever you prefer.”

Horatio snickered, and I holstered the Colts.

“Who are you?” I asked, keeping my tone polite.

“Better to ask what, and the answer to that is tired and annoyed. I’ll sleep when I’m done eating.”

I nodded, turned, and left the bear to his meal.

Neither Horatio nor I saw reason to interrupt him any longer.

#fear #horrorstories #supernatural

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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