The Haunted Traveler Vol 1 Issue 2

31
like so many other sheep. I watch as he turns, surprised
at first, then his eyes fill with a strange recognition,
because he has seen me before, in his dreams, in
his nightmares. His eyes light up, all white, then the
world turns red--
I swing the hammer in a wide arch, and his
nose is nothing but pulp. I pull back again, and the
man is reeling, his nose shattered, eyes dull, and I
bring it down once again, this time striking his cheekbone,
shattering bone, eviscerating flesh. His blood
splatters me, hot, burning, and he is tensing as I bring
the hammer down, again, and again, each time erasing
his features and splattering them across the ground,
my hand tight on his shirt, keeping him close. The
woman is screaming now, but the pounding in my
ears is earth shattering. I can smell the blood on the
air, smell the fear, and I revel in it. I am the Butcher.
The man lashes out with one hand weakly, his fingers
aiming for my eyes, and I bite them, the flesh breaking
like a rotten grape, the metallic taste erupting into my
mouth as I tear a chunk of flesh away. I am the Butcher.
I spit the flesh out, and look up to see the woman,
stumbling away now, screaming.
The man is dead, so I leave him behind, sinking
a boot into the remains of his face as I give chase.
She is close still, so I lash out, the end of the hammer
meeting with her lower leg as she gets up to run. I hear
the crack, but she only falters, she is already running,
a scream tearing from her lips.
She is fast, and fear is haunting me. I am running,
wiping blood from my eyes, and, even with a
broken leg, she is fast, so very fast, and I am trailing