Day 36

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“I hate you.”

It was a phrase I was well familiar with.

I stood in a large library, the stink of the wyrm heavy in the air.

The Colts were reloaded and in my hands. I’d not waste any time drawing them as I knew the wyrm would be waiting.

I was not wrong.

The wyrm’s voice echoed from the shadows of the shelves, difficult to pinpoint as they raised the fine hairs on the nape of my neck.

“You’re in good company,” I replied, squaring my shoulders and waiting. “There’re a great many who feel the same.”

A book tumbled off to the left, but I paid it no mind. This was the wyrm’s home, after all, and who knows what he was capable of.

“Oh, I know,” the wyrm snapped. “Your mother is one of your finest detractors.”

“No real surprise there,” I remarked.

The wyrm snarled, and the soft hissing of his body as it undulated across the floor filled the library.

“Do you know why I hate you?” the wyrm asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

“If it’ll set your mind at ease before I kill you, then speak.”

The wyrm chuckled. “Such bravado, Blood.”

I did not offer a reply.

“I hate you because I am blind,” the wyrm snapped. “Had you simply died, my eyes would not have been taken from me.”

“I don’t see as that’s my fault. Of course, at least I can see that it’s not my fault.”

The wyrm howled and struck a bookcase, knocking its contents onto the floor.

“Tell me, wyrm,” I said, bringing the Colts up and bracing myself. “Would you like me to stay a while and read to you?”

The wyrm exploded through a shelf, books and torn pages raining down upon the ravaged head of the beast. I could see the flames boiling in its mouth, and the Colts thundered.

One round passed through his open mouth and exited through the left eye while the second destroyed its jaw. Blood sprayed outward as the wyrm slammed into a wall. It struck the floor, rolled, and gathered its coils beneath it, but the revolvers filled the air with the sounds of death.

Slug after slug tore into the great beast, the .44s carving out huge chunks of flesh. Our blood and our hatred as dangerous as the lead itself.

I put 48 rounds into the bastard, and I only wish my mother had gotten her share too.

#Denmark #supernatural #monsters #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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