December 9, 1870


They tried to hunt me.

I made no attempt to hide my tracks after I left my cousin Patience in her unopenable cell. I confess my temper got the better of me, and I made certain to leave a trail easy to follow.

I wanted to vent my anger and my frustrations on my mother’s loyal sycophants.

When I’d left Patience, I spotted the troop of soldiers a fair distance away. Ahead and to the left of me was a bit of an outcropping occupied by snow, thin trees, and some rocks. A man who took the high ground and who was a fair shot with a pistol could do a bit of damage against an assaulting force.

I was such a man.

When I saw the troops, I fired off a few shots and shouted some unpleasant remarks about my mother.

There was no hesitation on their part.

I caught faint orders for the men to turn and give chase, and Patience laughed as I slipped away, dragging my sled with me.

By the time my mother’s men reached the base of the outcropping, I was well situated at the peak. The Colts were loaded and in my hands, the axe in front of me and the sled on its side.

In the cold snow, I waited.

The men came up the trail, calling out for me to surrender, to give up and face the consequences of being a disobedient child and a disappointing son.

I saved my breath, as they should have.

When the first man came into range, I put him down with a shot to his chest that sent him stumbling down the hill. He left a trail of compressed snow, broken branches and blood splatter until he came to a hard stop against a large stone.

Two of his comrades picked him up and continued toward me with their companions.

Soon, rifle fire filled the air, and I let several get close to the sled. I gunned them both down and took their rifles for my own.

It was then the soldiers realized their mistake.

An officer tried to rally them, and I shot him through the throat for his troubles.

A sergeant sounded a charge, and he went down with a hole in his belly.

In moments, they were a disorganized mob.

Some died charging me; others died running away.

None of them survived.

I put the hatchet to good use and left a pile of heads.

A greeting to my mother.

#paranormal #christmas

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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