Second Saturday Stories

“When I understood what was happening, when the scope of my misery was truly appreciated, I tried everything to end my life. The cuts to my wrist, the bullets to my brain, the car accidents. I walked away from them all. A medical miracle, it would seem. But I know the truth. I know that this is the fate dealt to me from that bloody Shaman."

After running afoul with a Shaman he has had to endure the horrors of the Black Chapel until a final showdown with the Shaman offers him a way of escape.

The squealing and screaming of the bats was overpowering. My ears rang and vision began to blur. The way ahead split, went out of focus, back in. My legs buckled as I was crushed under the mass growing from my back and shoulders like some damnable tumour. The stench and sound was maddening. Desperate for relief I began colliding with the walls on either side of me trying in vain to shed the growth of bats.

Legend had breathed mythos into the creature. I saw myself, as I did with all my hunts, as taking on a herculean task. Man vs. beast, but beasts of great prowess. Not the defeated caricature of the trophy I watched through my rifle scope. Putting a bullet through it would surely be a mercy kill. 

When he finally catches a glimpse of his prey, the very elements themselves seem to turn against him, and he must overcome new horrors to get out alive. Will his hunt be successful, or will he have to save the last bullet for himself?

When the spark wheel caught the sight that I beheld caused my screams to join those of the damned around me.  Dozens of those creatures were massing the pulpit, screeching and clawing at one another trying to reach me. The smell emanating from them was one of sickness and flu, a yellow smell of ancient pestilence.  Out of instinct I fired my rifle.

Harmon finds that he has become the prey, and it is the white wolf that has been goading him towards confrontation since he descended into the pit.

The centre wolf had a white patch of fur dyed red and matted with gore and ice. Its grinning lips wore the same shade of crimson. The footfalls sounded like a horse's gallop as they gave chase, andI had no choice but to retreat towards the beckoning shadows of the black chapel.  I would spend the next 2 days encamped within its hellish madness. 

Readers will learn the conditions of the Blood Feud Harmon has entered into, and come to realize that even underground death looms around every corner. 

They plunged home made weapons, crude metal blades on the ends of long poles, into the Bristol. The wind carried their groans of satisfaction down the mountainside. When the blowing snow cleared from my vision I saw the area surrounding the helicopter stained red. Villagers lay in crumpled heaps where Henderson had dropped them with his M1911. My heart sank as I spied his panic stricken face through the fogged glass of the cockpit. Panic gripped me at the sight of the rotors firing.