1931: First Floor

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I went hunting.

There was no time to waste. I’d seen what awaited the women among the scholars of the university, and it did not please me.

The anger filling me demanded I race from room to room to butcher each and every member of that organization. But the rational part of me won out. Rage and butchery would do nothing but forewarn my adversaries and allow them to possibly move her as well as any victims who might yet survive.

Before leaving the room, I locked the door and covered the remains of the patient whose head had imploded. Then, stepping over the nurse’s corpse, I exited the room through another door off in the corner.

It opened to a narrow passage lit by bare bulbs and stank of old blood and fear.

The passage opened into a laboratory where a man bent over a microscope, focused on the slide before him.

As I stepped into the room, knife in hand, he looked up. A quizzical expression flitted across his face as he asked, “And who might you be, sir?”

I shook my head. “Where are the girls?”

He raised an eyebrow, glanced at my knife and snorted with derision before he returned his attention to the microscope. “I’ve no time for some country bumpkin. Be on your way, sir, and make sure my coffee is sent up to me post haste. I’ve waited long enough for it.”

I don’t know if he was brave, cocky, or just stupid. Either way, his response to me didn’t bode well for his future.

I moved towards him, and he stood up, anger plain on his face.

“I will not have my work disturbed,” he snapped, and I punched him in the mouth.

The blow caught him flatfooted, and he went down on his ass. An ‘oomph’ of surprise escaped his lips and then a whimper as I took hold of him by an ear and twisted.

“Where are the girls?”

He swallowed and looked to the ceiling. “Fifth floor. Barracks are on the fourth.”

“How many are still alive?”

“Twenty-two.”

“How many have a chance to live?”

He looked away, and I scooped his eye out with the tip of my knife.

As he shrieked, I held the eye in front of him.

“Tell me, or you’ll eat this and your other eye too.”

“Three,” he moaned.

“They’ll all live longer than you.”

He choked to death on his eye.

#paranormal #mystery

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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