Shadow Killer

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Brandon sighed and stretched his legs out onto the fresh green grass. It was a cold, crisp morning on the 4th of July 1967. He was wearing his usual army greens and slouch hat, which was regulatory in wartime days. Whilst he stretched, he could faintly see a figure in the distance, but it wasn’t moving.

He sighed, got up, yelling “Piss off you fleabag!” Thinking it was the neighbor’s dog, a runaway mutt of about ten years old, completely blind, but still managing to find its way to the park and back next door, where it lived. However as Brandon walked closer, he shivered internally. It was not the dog but, if his eyes did not deceive him, which he was pretty sure they didn’t, it was something much worse…

As he looked up in the tree, he saw something which, if he wasn’t going to report to the cops then, he was going to do now. It was the dead body of a person which had been mutilated beyond recognition. For a minute, Brandon stood there, unable to believe what he’d just seen. He shivered, not because it was cold, but because of the atrocity which he saw in front of him.

He swore under his breath and turned to go back to his car. Before he could do so, a man, ragged in appearance and in his late teens, early twenties, shot out from the bushes and ran at him, his arms outstretched, malice in his eyes. Brandon turn in the opposite direction, intending to run away from his attacker, but before he could do so, he heard another voice, this time it sounded deep and husky. “Do not run. We’ll find you.”

Brandon was grabbed around the throat by the young man chasing him and was knocked to the ground. He felt the hands squeeze around his neck, choking him. The young man was directly on top of him now and Brandon could tell it was all over for himself. Just as he thought he was going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, Brandon felt a sharp pain run through his wrist. He then felt the pressure release from his neck as felt the sickening, wet feel of blood trickling from his right wrist. He felt the young man release him and he stood up, shaking.

The young man looked at him, his pale blue eyes, cold, merciless. Brandon held the young man’s icy, calculating glare, dreading what was coming next. He could still feel the blood dripping down his hand and as he looked down at his wrist, he could see the red, open gash that was bleeding severely. He looked back up, just in time to see that the young man had drawn out a Colt 45 firearm and had it pointed directly at Brandon’s head, right in the middle of his forehead. The young man spoke for the first time in a soft, but dangerous voice. “Kneel down soldier. On both knees.”Brandon shook his head, a definite and firm “No.” escaping his lips. He wasn’t going to die on his knees, begging for death.

The young man looked at his counterpart, who was casually leaning against a tree. He then looked back at Brandon, noting his slashed wrist. “We can do this two ways. The first way is that I shoot you in the head and you die instantly. The second is that you die from blood loss. That’s gonna take some time and I’ll watch you slowly fade away, loosing consciousness. What’s it gonna be soldier? Will you kneel for me or will I make you kneel?”

Brandon sighed, seeing no way out. All he knew was that the man before him was going to get his way, one way or another.

 


Submitted: October 21, 2021

© Copyright 2021 RegoinalChick95. All rights reserved.

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