Hunting Mother Day 19


The earth and the darkness shook.

I’d left the god’s home and found myself in a war.

I don’t know whose war or why they were fighting, but it was a war, nonetheless.

Men and women spoke in English, and the sounds of their rifles and machine guns were familiar and foreign all in the same breath.

It didn’t matter. Not in the end.

I kept low to the ground and soon found myself in a system of trenches. I smelled overturned earth and caught a hint of poison gas. Blood and filth, offal and desperation hung in the air. The echo of last breaths filled the trenches and sent a real shiver of fear dancing along my spine.

I’d been in bad spots before, but this one was terrible.

Something wasn’t right.

I’d no sooner entered the trenches than I was confronted by a creature I’d never seen before.

He was gaunt and pale, black eyes wide and gray skin pulled too tight across his high cheekbones. He was clad in uniforms once worn during the Great War, and his head was protected by a helmet from the same time. In his long, thin hands, he held an unsheathed sword and a blackjack, and when he saw me, he let out a hideous squeal of joy.

He lunged forward, and I blew his brains out.

The thunderous roar of the Colt was distinct and recognizable in the cacophony, and it brought about an instant silence near me.

I heard running feet, the rattle of swords and the chambering of rounds, and in a moment, they were upon me, and they were damned quick with their swords.

In the confines of the trench, I fought them back. I fired the Colts until they were dry, and then I used them as clubs until I got hold of an old persuader. Whoever had made the weapon had done well. At one point, it had been an ax handle; now, it had an iron head with spikes driven through it.

And the damned thing worked fine.

I beat them to death as they came toward me. Jaws were smashed, and heads caved in. Ribs crushed and chests destroyed.

They continued to press on toward me until I was walking upon their won dead and driving them back.

As I slew my enemies, explosions rocked the battlefield, and I grinned.

At times, my chores are a pleasure.

#horrorstories #mother

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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