1:10 AM January 1, 1931


She came armed with history.

It was shortly after my father had vanished into the Hollow. My mood was not pleasant, for although I lived for over a century, I had not been without my father before. His sudden disappearance and subsequent failure to return had left me shaken. I was alone on Blood Farm, fending for myself.

I was in town, buying more lead for bullets when one of the Jack Henry made the mistake of walking towards the woman.

In her hands, she held a large book, which she opened as he drew near.

Jack saw her, tried to steer clear, but didn’t do so in time.

She read from the book at the top of her lungs, howling out the words, describing a scene from a battle. And as she did so, Jack stumbled back, a large gash appearing down his left cheek. Blood exploded from the wound and then out of his back as an invisible blade was thrust through him.

Her voice rose to an impossible volume, and Jack fell to his knees, his chin dropping to his chest.

A heartbeat later, and his head bounced upon the road, blood spraying up from his neck as his body fell to the side.

The woman crowed with delight and snapped the book closed, and as she did so, I sprinted toward her.

She caught sight of me and scrambled to open the book once more, but it was too late.

I knocked the book from her hands and punched her in the chest, knocking her backward. She tripped over her own feet, and as she landed on her back, I snatched up Jack’s head by his hair. The woman yelled at me in Latin, and I snarled, replying in the same tongue.

“Jack has something to say.”

I smashed the severed head into her face, shattering her teeth and crushing her nose. Her cry of anger became one of anguish, but even that vanished a moment later as I brought head down again and again upon her.

She tried to crawl away, one eye hanging upon her cheek and the other pushed into her skull.

I planted one foot upon her back, pressed her down into the street, and beat her with Jack’s head until her own was nothing more than a smear.

I bound the book closed with a length of her hair.

The hair binds it still, the hair itself still joined to a clump of scalp.

#books #horrorstories

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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