Excerpt: The Flying Torpedo (Short Story)

A torpedo cloaked in smog floated across the sky, assisted by the hymns and hums of propellers drowning out the screams of the smog-slinging exhaust. That metal-cladded balloon roared across the sky, ripping clouds with a whale-like wail as the metal machination lowered. 

On the ground, soldiers ran from the barracks, disturbing the ash on the grass. The soldiers ran towards their artillery kicking up soot, masking their paths.  The rest stood starting ; watching raw metal pierce the clouds. The artillery cranks and clicks to it’s position, awaited for their cue. The metal amalgamation descended past the clouds, unveiling the flag plastered across its side—the Union Jack. The soldiers lowered their arms.

The torpedo rumbled and roared, rattling the bullets and artillery shells littered across the soil. Its legs hissed as it extends, squashing blackened trees and makeshift mounds. A gaggle of growls grew louder and louder, palled by dust and soot.  A volley of jeeps emerged from the cloud; most trackbeds were empty but some carried cages. 

The torpedo’s propellers’ hums and hums quelled. Its bottom basket unveiled, hissing as its metal-slope injecting itself in the soil. A myriad of men, stood at its bases as one man took the lead, heading towards the jeeps. Some men followed, others were running equipment down to the jeeps; most trackbeds were empty but some carried cages. 

The torpedo’s propellers quelled, as its bottom basket unveiled. Its metal-slope injecting itself in the soil. A gaggle of men stood at its bases as one man took the lead, heading towards the jeeps. Some men followed, others were running equipment down to the jeeps.

The foreman was quipped with a slim stash and cargo coat. He strode to the first jeep where a man stood wearing his camo garbs and his Colonel patch. The Cargo-Man approached the sergeant, “Good evening, you must be Colonel Shaw, I presume?”

“Correct, and you’re Captain Grimm?”

“In the flesh. We’ve got a couple of supplies for your troops.” Grimm waved in a lady from the back, “This is Julietta, our secretary. She’s like our sister, so don’t have your men rough her up.” Julietta was wearing her cargo garbs same as the men but instead wearing a black ankle-long skirt.

Shaw eyed Julieta’s scrawny build, “I see the draft got you. They didn’t deem you suitable as a medic, am I right?”

She spoke in a soft tone, “Yes sir. I ain’t good with blood, so I had to serve the queen’s empire another way.”

Shaw laughed “Like me guess you’re a city folk with a family farm!” Before she could respond, Shaw signed for some guards to come, “My men will guide you to our headquarters. You’ll fill out the paperwork there.”

Julietta followed the men; playing friendly with the overly too eager soldiers, and using her folders to cover up the men’s gazes.

Captain Grimm spoke up, “Without further of do, from what I was able to gather we’re just taking some personnel home, am I right?”

“More or less.”

“Very well then, we’ll be making sure your men will get home safe.” Grimm extends his hand.

Shaw shakes it, “F.Y.I., I’ll be on the ship too, so I’ll be keeping an eye on my men..” Grimm just grins along. 

“Well, depart in a few days. That should be more than enough time you get everyone on board. If you have any questions ask me or Julietta.”

Four days passed, The Captain and Julietta stood the loading-dock; through the fog eyeing the remaining jeeps rolled by hoisting: letters, mail, and other miscellaneous items the soldiers wanted to send to their loved ones. Behind all the jeeps, there was another headlight higher looming over; an alter convoy truck, with exposed cage at the back, with other jeeps following with an attached machine gun trained on the cage. Riding shotgun of the convoy truck was The Colonel.

Grimm picked up a walkie, “What’s the meaning of this, Colonel?! There was no mention of this!”

“Plans of changed buttercup, they’re goods like the rest. Your Secretary knows all about it, it’s accounted for.”

Grimm turned to Julie, “Is that true?”

“Yes sir, it’s accounted for. It was signed off by the Queen.”

Grimm picked up the walkie again “Alright, you can bring it on my ship, Colonel.”

“Glad to hear that you listen to reason.”

The truck convoy rode closer, with foreign prattle emitting from it. As they passed by, Shaw grinned at Grimm, maintaining eye contact till he fully passed by. Then the cage did, where men and women dressed in blackened tommy-uniforms, some of them were barely garbed just enough to cover their jewels. With a label brandished upon their cage “P.O.W.”

Grimm turned to Julietta, “Where are they putting them?”

“They’re bringing to England to integrate, some of them are political figures.”

“I didn’t mean that. Where are they going on my ship?”

“They’re going into storage. They’re going to stay in that cage.”

“There's got to be at least twenty of them, how are we going to feed them?”

“Don’t worry about that, we’ve got an extra shipment of food for them.” She showed Grimm the spread sheet, “You forget they’re prisoners, they don’t get fed much. Give them a smaller ration and the rest of us can have a greater meal.”

* * *

The hulking ironclad of the sky, heralding its lift off to all in earshot; stretching and screaming, metal bellowing as it vanishes into the fog. The rest of the men gather in the lounge, The crew mingling with the soldiers, over a game of crown and anchor.

The Banker wore the crews’ suit, with his shirt off exposing his oil stained A-shirt, which matched his oily hair. He sat in the middle, cheering on the grunts to join. Once they joined, he grinned, along with the other crewmates. The Banker waved in more and more, and with every new member he poured more oil in the lamp beside them. The swindle grew more and more till the Colonel was waved in.

The Colonel approached the Banker’s operation, “Seems there’s a good game here.”

“Yeah, it’s going great.”

Shaw looked at the game tin, which held many coins, “Seems like you’re making a huge profit.”

The Banker stuttered, “Oh that, yeah—we’ve made a lot. But it’s going to the first round of drinks, we’re almost there so—uh—why not join.”

Shaw grins, “Very well.” Placed ten pence on anchor.

The Banker was grinning as he rolled the dice, then it dropped; rolling three anchors. “You’re a lucky man.” The Banker gave Shaw his winnings: forty pence. The Banker collected the rest of his winnings. Which he then announced, “We made enough! Drinks ’s on me, Boys!”

Shaw grinned at the Banker, “Oh, why thank you. Shall I know the name of the man who bought me a drink?”

“Oh yes, I’m Henry. And yours sir?”

“Nice to meet you Henry, I’m assuming based upon your oily undergarment, that you’re a mechanic.”

“That’s right.”

“Oh pardon my manners, I’m Shaw, Colonel Shaw.”

Henry’s face dropped, “You mean the—the second in command?” 

“Correct private, you do listen to me swell as your captain.” Shaw paused, pointing at the game, “Are you aware, that what you’re doing is illegal gambling, that’s comes with a hefty fine by her majesty. I’m normally a cool guy, and don’t butt in. But! I won’t stand by as someone swindles my men. Do you understand Henry.”

Henry bit his tongue. “I’m sorry Colonel. Won’t happen again.”

Shaw leans in, whispering into his ear, “You see Henry, this can be water under the bridge, if, only if you give me half you earning. If you don’t, and I’ll know if you don’t, I would have to report this despicable scene. You understand, Henry?”

Henry nodded like a bobblehead, “Crystal clear Colonel.”

Shaw pats Henry’s shoulder, “Great! Now I’m going to get my free drink.”

Henry sighed, staring at the new ringleader. He slouched back, gazing upon the corridor, spotting The Captain. Henry shuffles his game away, and shooed away the men.

Captain Grimm, walked through the drunken soldiers and crew. Arriving at the center, announcing, “Seems like you guys are mingling well. I just want to run some house rules so everyone’s on the same page. I’m the captain of this ship, meaning I’ve full authority on this ship. Underneath me is Colonel Shaw,” Grimm pointed at Shaw—he stood up “Who’s still above everyone else, and can order you around. But he’s mainly dealing with diplomatic issues, and ordering his soldiers. And as you see his soldiers are in caring arms to deal with their mission—the rest of you don’t need to worry about. 

“Moving past that. We just reached altitude so it should be smooth sailing from here on out. We’ll arrive at our destination in a little over two weeks and a half. So in the meantime, enjoy yourselves. We’ve got enough food and booze for you all! Today spoil yourselves!”

The Crew and Soldiers lifted their glass yelling “Cheers!” and took a sip. 

The men resumed their festivities, with the chefs sling out dishes for the men. Grimm slithered through the crowd, making his rounds introducing himself to the new members; checking up on his crew. 

Grimm arrived upon an older overweight-man, Grimm placed his hand upon his shoulder, “Sorry Virgil, we didn’t get another janitor. There’s a lot more cleaning for you.”

“It's fine, it’s my job after all.”

“I didn’t mention it, but we do have some, extra guests, in cargo. So you’d’ve to clean up after them as well as your normal duties.” 

Virgil guest nodded, “By your tone, I’m assuming I’ve got to keep it under wraps?”

* * *

Virgil did his cleaning arounds in the zeppelin’s underbelly. Underneath the steel beams and metal sheets spanning the walls and roofs, all illuminated by dim oil-lamps or flickering electro-lights. The Janitor began his work, sweeping beneath the pipes, checking for leaks or cracks. Cleaning up dust and grime, while he investigated any animal droppings that may be on board. Spotting none, he headed to his new duty, the prisoners. He removed their toilet—a shared browned bucket—dumping it in the septic tank.  

Before wrapping up, he did another round. This time on the floor there was some: meat, vegetables, and MREs; scattered across the floor, half-consumed. Noticing a crate beside it, ajarred, nails ripped out, the wood partially marred. Virgil opened the crate, and inside, inside that crate of food was a void. Nothing remained besides scrap and crap. Virgil lifted his head up, watching shadows shift in the light, as each that passed, got extinguished. Virgil jumped back, waving his torch, illuminating what he could, but the shadow still moved. 

Metal clunked sporadically across the stage. Virgil’s hand shook, sweat poured from every gland. His breath became heavy, masking the creature’s breath. Virgil wiped his neck, clearing the sweat. Looking at his hand. It wasn’t sweat. He jerked back, flashing his torch behind him; seeing the creature’s face as it unleashes a crippling cackle. 

Virgil ran. The Monster followed on all fours, out pacing the man. Virgil arrived at the door, hearing the footfall throughout—taking a glance back, he saw nothing!

Virgil ran into the lounge, screaming monster! A crowd formed, he tried to explain but the soldiers all laughed, and so did his crewmates. Grimm was pulled to the commotion, calling Virgil into the bridge. It was filled with electronics, and analog steering, a small-few controlled their station. Shaw was within the bridge along with two of his men.

Grimm spoke first, “I’ve heard you saw something. What was it?

Virgil spoke but each word blended with the next.

Shaw snapped “What is it boy! Speak like a man, not a sissy!”

Virgil’s eyes dulled, his speech: quaking, “When I-I was cleaning up in the s-storage. I saw something, something I’ve never seen before.”

Grimm stepped closer to Virgil, placing his hand on his shoulder, “What was it my good friend.”

Virgil, slew down, trying to articulate what he saw, “It was a demon. I tell you!” Shaw scoffs. “You godda believe me! It was a creature of darkness! Running on all fours. It was one with the shadows. It wore a devilish grin, as it toyed with me!”

Grimm spoke up, “Where did you see this creature Virgil.”

“It was in storage, Captain. It ate our provisions. Nothin’s left in that crate. It must’ve stowed away within our food.” 

Shaw scoffed again, “You believe this bullshit, Grimm. This fat bastard is clearing making this up!” Shaw pushed into Virgil’s face, backing him away, “I bet you this is an excuse he devised so he could eat all our food!”

“Shaw! Leave him be.” Grimm pulled Shaw off Virgil “In any case we should investigate what happened. See if there’s any truth to what he was saying.”

“Very well. But if he’s lying, like I believe, we’re throwing him in confinement. We can’t keep a mad man onboard.”

Virgil jumped in, “I swear on my life, I’m telling you what I saw was real. If you still don’t believe me after I show you what happened, then feel free to lock me up!”

Shaw grinned “Very well than blubberbutt. I accept your bet.”

Grimm, Shaw, and Virgil looked around in the storage. Virgil led them to where he saw the monster and the rotting floor. There wasn’t a single speck of food on the floor. 

Virgil turned to Grimm “It was here I swear it. The monster must’ve ate the rest! That’s why it ain’t here! Check the-the food crate.”

Shaw and Grimm looked at the floor, not finding any vestiges. 

Virgil continued, “The wood should be busted, nails ripped out! And the food inside was gone!”

Shaw signed “You’re going to believe this guy, Grimm!”

“Get the crowbar Shaw. Even if it’s just a mouse, we need to check our rations—make sure it ain’t contaminated.”

Shaw went off cursing, grabbed and handed Grimm the crowbar. Grimm jammed it in, creaking the crate open, busting the nails. Popping it open, Grimm shoved the top aside, peering into the crate—perfectly pristine provisions.

Virgil’s eyes scattered across, searching the crate, “This Can’t Be!” Virgil lunged at the crate, sifting through the provisions, “This can’t Be!”

Grimm hoisted him off, “Quit it Virgil!”

“It can’t be.” Virgil jumps onto Grimm, “I saw it with my own eyes! You gotta believe me!”

“Calm down, mate. We’ll figure this out. But first take a rest, see your girl.”

Virgil ran out int the center of the storage, flailing his arms about, “‘ey! You shadowy cunt! Come get me, I’m right in the open! I know you’re here!” 

A few clicking rings out within earshot of Virgil. He shifts to the noise, seeing gleaming eyes in the abyss.

“I see you! You bitch! I’ve found him!” Virgil pointed towards the beast, “Shine the torch there!”

Shaw flicked his torch where Vigil pointed. Illuminating crates and pipes, and a layer of dust—undisturbed. 

“This can’t be! I saw it, swear it! I saw its eyes!”

Shaw mocked him, “Stare at the abysses long enough it’ll stare back.”

“That bastard was laughing at me! Didn’t you hear it!”

“You must be going mad, glutton. You heard the P.O.W.s.”

“I know what I saw!”

“Sure you did, chap.” Shaw’s hand crawled towards his revolver.

“Quit mocking me! I’m trying to save this ship!”

“And I’m doing the same.” Shaw ripped out his revolver, bashing Virgil’s head.

Grimm ran forth, catching Virgil before his head crashed, “The’s fucks wrong with you!”

“It’s the only way to shut up a mad man.” Shaw reholstered, “He’s a hazard, don’t want him stirring up troubles with his delusions.” He smirked, “Now, he’s easy to lock up. Surly, you don’t want chaos aboard your ship, Captain.”

* * *

Virgil awakens in a cage surrounded by crates blotting out the kerosene lamps. He ran to the bars, kicking over his bucket. “Fuck! Get me outta here! I’ll die down here! . . . Anyone!”

Virgil slips down to the splintering floor, listening to the creaking and clicking trying to determine if it’s the ship or the beast. Through those creaks and clicks, clacking ermergies—approaching. Virgil scrams to the back, trying to hide in the shadows.  Virgile shuts his eyes, as the footfall grew louder and louder; till coming to a halt.

“Virgil is that you? Are you okay?" said a feminine voice.

Virgile opens one eye, spotting Julietta. He ran to the edge of the cage, “Yes, it is my dear. You don’t think I’m mad like the others right?”

Julietta paused, “Have you gotten anything to eat?”

“You too? I thought you’d believe me. I wouldn’t joke about this kind of thing.”

“It doesn’t strike me that you’ll joke about this kind of thing.”

“Then what is it? You think I’m on opium?”

“God, no!”

“Than please believe me. You know what comes in and out of this storage. Check all the provisions. They’re’s one missing. It’s been moved and cleaned, since last I’ve been there. It would be empty and moved. Please Julietta, I’m begging you.”

Julietta signs, heads to the cage, placing her hand upon his cheek, “I’ll check just for you my dear. But in the meantime hold out.”

“I don’t know if I can, without you Julietta.”

“What a hopeless romantic you are. I’ll visit you everyday, how does that sound.”

“Terrific.”

“In the meantime, forget what you saw. If you claim you where on opium, and how it’s out of your system, the might let you out sooner. That’s you best bet, my love.”

Few hours later, Julietta brought food to Virgil. Dropping it off, she made her rounds of the storage. Checking everything with her clipboard. First checking the provisions locale, nothing stood out. She looked at the paint numbers, checking off each one she saw. The crates themselves were out of order, but besides that nothing out of the ordinary jumped out. Except there’s one provision crate unchecked, so she peers around. ‘Maybe it’s been misplaced? Or I just missed the number?’ 

Looking for a while, Julietta couldn’t find the crate. She circles in on the checklist, and heads for the exit. When a scream rang out. A feminine scream. Julietta’s scream.

* * *

A day passed, Grimm heads to the lounge; checking in on Henry, asking for Julietta. She wasn’t there. He went and asked the Chef—nothing. Grimm headed to Shaw, asking the same question.

His response: “That gal? No, I haven’t, what does it matter to you? She’ll probably banging some bloke as we speak.”

“She wouldn’t! She’s important role: she does all the paperwork; keeping track of what comes in and out.”

Shaw scoffs, “I’m sure there’s something coming in and out of her.”

Grimm brushed him off, “Ask your men if they’ve seen her!” 

Grimm storms off resuming his search; asking around the ship: no luck. Grimm waltzed into the storage, asking the guards—nothing. 

  Stumbling upon Virgil, he asked “How’re ya feeling Virgil? Sorry that I’ve to do this to you.”

Virgil just sat in a fetal position facing the wall; saying nothing.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. When we land, we’ll let you out—It’s that shitty Colonel’s command.” Grimm walked around the cage, trying to get a better glimpse of his face, “Julietta has gone missing, have you seen her?”

Tears began to roll down his face “She’s dead! The monster got ‘er.”

“What?! You’ve see this with your own eyes?”

“No, but I’ve heard—heard her scream being cut short.”

“When was this?!”

“Yesterday, she came to give me food then wander around here.”

“What time!?”

“How am I suppose to know? I’ve been knocked out and  I don’t got a clock or sunlight to go off by.”

“We’ll get her back, Virgil.”

“There’s no getting her back. Just avenging her by killing that beast!”

Grimm erected, leaving Virgil to rot in his cell. Grimm did a quick look around, inspecting all that he could. Spotting no blood—excluding a few dibbles of Virgil’s blood.  

Grimm took a tangent, asking the guards posted by the P.O.W. holding, about Julietta. 

One guard spoke, “See nothin’ here mate. We’ve stayed here watching these vermin. But we do take shifts, I wasn’t present the whole time yesterday. If she was here it was during my lunch break.”

“What’s the other guard’s name!?”

“Wildes, sir.”

Grimm returned to Shaw who was extracting money from Henry, “‘ey! Shaw what’s going on here!?”

A smile slithered across his face “Just a friendly bet, no need to worry.” He turned to Henry, “Ain’t that right, Henry?”

“Yeah, lost a bet.”

Grimm took a pause eyeing them, waiting to see if they broke character, “Shaw, I need to know where’s Wildes?”

Shaw slipped off Henry, “Why’s that? Is he in trouble?”

“No, just need information.”

“Well, frankly, I don’t know. He has off today.”

“Well, ask one of your men to find him. Surely one of them knows.”

Shaw sighed, getting up; and walked away, “Very well then.”

Grimm turned his direction to Henry, “What’s going on here?”

“It’s nothing, like I said I lost the bet.”

“What was the bet about?”

Henry’s eyes darted around the lounge, “it was—uh—about, sorry I’m just trying to get the correct verbiage.” Henry’s eyes fell upon the half-fulled ashtrays “I betted him that the ashtray would be completely full by today—with his soldiers and all. And I’ve lost.”

* * *

Shaw rounded up his men in the barracks. They were all crowded around him; wherever there was space.

Shaw’s voice exploded, “Listen Men! I’m looking for an unattended man: Wildes. Who’s his battle buddy? And who has seen him last?” no-one spoke, “Speak up, Men! Or this cozy voyage home will be filled with training.”

A scuffed looking man exited the crowd, “I’ven’t seen him since he was off duty.” The man scratched his stubbled chin, “He told me that he was going to explore the ship.”

“Seems like you know him well enough,” Shaw squinted at the man’s nametag, “Private McGale, go find him and bring him to me.”

McGale slammed his boot together, saluting, “Yes! Sir!”

McGale departed. First he checked the commons, and every normal part a soldier might be. After finding nothing, he decided to check storage: nothing. He checked the upper deck—exposing himself to the helium. He let out a high-pitch yell—nothing. Nothing in the septics, nor water supplies, nor fuel room or any maintenance room. 

McGale roamed around again in the storage, this time checking behind the crates—and even jumping on top of them. From his vantage, he noticed a small gap encircled by crates. With the only entrance into the arena was through a small-parting facing the wall.

McGale dropped off the crates. Approaching the location he enters the earshot of mumbling prattle—like a fishing gasping for air mixed with a rat. 

Squirming through the enclosed crates’ gateway, his footfall became squishy and sloppy. McGale’s head shifted downwards, spotting thin puddle blood. McGale quit shimming through, and pushed the crates open. 

In his sight, was Wilde with his pants down surrounded by blood—missing a brain. In the back was Julietta, crying and praying simultaneously. Her clothes were disheveled and marred, exposing large amount of her skin. She used Wilde’s bloody jacket to cover up. By her side was Wilde’s revolver.

McGale cursed the sky, while snapping off Wilde’s dog tag. He looks towards Julietta, “What happened here!?”

Julietta didn’t answer, her eyes just stared off, completely disconnected to her surroundings. McGale shook her, repeating his question. She answered: “I-I d-don’t know?”

McGale snapped, saying while slinging spit, “What do you mean you don’t know!” 

“What happened w-was.” Julietta eye’s darts around. “T-that’s right! I-it was the monster. It came in from the sky, and with one swipe of its claw it went through his head in a second.” Julietta expanded her hands sizing up the claw, “its claw was two feet long, with its webbed arms like a bat swooping from above.”

McGale caressed his face, stretching and squishing his flesh. “Very well then. We’ll get a full write up later.” McGale spots the revolver near Julietta. He reaches over to grab it, only to be blocked by Julietta’s hand. McGale looks at her “Miss, you have to give me the revolver. Colonel’s rules.” 

Julietta’s hand retracts, and McGale grabs it. He inspects the revolver, opening up the cylinder, ejecting the rounds. The bullets clanked on the floor; with a few-higher pitch than the others. McGale crouches down and picks up two spent casings. He turned to Julietta “What’s the meaning of this miss?!”

“Oh uh—”

McGale glared at her “I know for a fact these were used on this ship. Don’t lie to me, Ms! Did you shoot Wildes!?”

“No! I didn’t! It was the monster I said, are you deaf!? The man was busy doing hor—” her body shivered and shutter “--doing horrid things to me. And when the monster got him, I grabbed the revolver quick and fired at the monster.”

McGale extends his hand to Julietta, “No matter what, you got to expand this to the higher ups.”

Julietta nods, taking his hand.

McGale hoists her up, guiding her out. As he does so, his eyes fell upon Wilde’s exposed cranium.

Excerpt: The Houdini Stuntman, The Immortal Stuntman, The Living Crash Dummy (Short Shory)

It was the world premiere of Maxwell Robinson’s new film “Zack Frost III, The Oozing Spear” he’d gathered all the actors, crew, stuntmen; along with critics/reviewers. They had everyone in production wear nice classy suits and dresses, like we’re in some-sort of Victorian Galla, for the ‘public’s appearance’. But no-one really cares about stuntmen, so I came in jeans, a tee, and the movie’s stunt-team’s jacket. 

I was in some world-famous cinema that had massage chairs. I couldn’t care less for the movie, it was some coming of age superhero movie, that was all the rage. Robinson had the narcissism to think his little character would beat out Superman or Spiderman. We were up to the final act, I couldn’t bear to watch. I couldn’t bear to see my dying corpse impaled on a spire on the big screen. I have not gotten over it, it still played in my head every waking moment since The Accident. I left the screening, climbed my way to the top of the theater, overlooking Hollywood. I sat there grasping at my heart, as the memory came back:

It was a simple stunt, jumping off the roof of a cathedral onto a crash-mat. It was at night for no distraction (on top of that was the only time we got), and we lit the crash-mat so I could see where I needed to land. It was a breeze, I simply jumped, I could do a thousand times, I’ve got the distance. I’ve done a few preps, testing the run up as the cameramen were setting up. They took a while so I started dancing a little, watching the lights of Budapest flickering under the moon. The cameras were set up, filming be dancing a bit; then Robinson yelled “Action!”. I ran full speed, onto the roof and slid down the other side, and once I got to the end of the roof, I jumped. The tile my foot pushed off from, slipped off, causing me to undershoot. Plummeting towards another roof, I bashed against it, my momentum threw me off. This time I didn’t have time to react, and fell chest first into a spiral spire. I could hear the gasps and screams, coexisting with the spire piercing my heart. With my speed and momentum, I was skewed, and the hole stretched. My vision blurred, as I saw my blood seep down the spire, and stared at the film crew, watching the horror in all their faces as my vision faded to black. 

A few minutes later, I hear the panic of Robinson, and the paramedic on set arguing about what to do. Then I felt the cold concrete floor. Then my eyes open, staring at the clouds that travel to the cathedral, where my blood disappeared. I sat up grasping at my heart, feeling for the wound, nada, no wound, no scars, nothing. Just ripped clothes. 

At this time, Robinson noticed me, “Thank God! You’re not dead! Ab you’re not dead, right?” Before I could even answer. “You look fine! Strange, I see no blood, no wound.”

“I feel fine, I just need to rest.”

“Okay, Okay. But before you do that, go with the paramedics and have them look at you.”

I said “okay” and was swiftly swept away by the paramedics. 

The paramedics took me aside, checking everything they could, in disbelief. In a few minutes they were done, I was fine, then they called in Robinson. 

They were talking outside, The head of the paramedics spoke first, “I don’t know what’s going on, but the, the medical-checks points to he’s healthy. In tip-top shape, in fact.”

“This can’t be! We watched him die, he had no pulse, he had no heart! We’ve got it on video!”

“Calm down. Like I said we don’t know what happened from his death to now. In that time he got his heart back, and pulse, and blood. But maybe it’s worth looking back at the recordings to find out. In the meantime, give him time to rest.”

They weren’t all that quiet, but again anything can be heard through a tent. They were wrapping up, and before the paramedics came back, I left. 

Wandering around everyone stared at me like a deadman walking. I felt the confusing stares, and heard the whispering-gossip. I stumbled my way into the film crew cabin, where the scene was playing over and over again. I saw my body pierce the spire, piercing my heart. I saw the blood dripping from my corpse, leaking from my mouth, leaking from my wound. I couldn’t bear to watch it. I know I live, but I died. I know it. I can still feel that spire in my chest, my clothes are a testament to that fact.

I was about to leave, I turned around and saw Robinson coming my way, waving.

“I thought you’d be resting, Ab!”

“What kind of stuntman would I be if a little pain stopped me from working!”

“A normal one!” Robinson caught up to me, “Have you seen the accident? If you want I can show you? I was just about to look at the footage.”

Before I could get a word in, Robinson turned me around, and nudged me into the film cabin.

“Sit, Ab, sit.”

I sat, Robinson pulled up the film, as I rewatched my accident, again, with that uncanny feeling of nausea tricking in my stomach. After the accident was over, they zoomed in on me hanging from the spire. We saw my blood, trickling back to my body. And once I was removed, via ladder. The camera from above caught more footage. The blood and bodily-matter wormed towards me. And this time one of the film crew mumbled to himself “It’s like the fucking scene from Iron Giant.” But then when everything got back into me, my wound began to heal. Then I woke. 

The footage paused, Robinson looked at me, with a puzzled yet mischievous face, “You came back to life, Ab.” A smile creeped on his face, “You’re immortal, Ab.”

I just stood there speechless, in a sea of silence. I don’t even want to know what they’re thinking, but their eyes said it all. Their eyes were dull and sharp, with an absence of compassion and humanity.

#

Two months later I sat on the that famous theater, looking at Hollywood’s lights flickering under the moon. Trying to repress the memory from Budapest again, I looked down at my dangling feet as men, women, and limousines passed. 

“Am I. Really, human?” slipped from my lips. Without thinking I responded to myself, “Of course I am. I get hurt, I live, I have compassion, I age. . . But, I can’t die.” 

I stood up on the ledge one foot ready to step off. “What if it was a fluke, what if I can die? Once is never right? So I never died. . . What if I don’t, die? If I don’t everyone would see, everyone would find out. And if word spreads, I’ll be experimented on. But word would spread already and it’s a matter of time before I’m taken.”

I backed away from the edge, pacing around the rooftop. Thinking of a plan, I placed my phone by a ventilation shaft, recording me. I lined myself up in the middle, and sent a double-backflip. Purposefully under-rotated so all my momentum snaps my neck. 

I woke up with a nagging pain in my neck. I got up and checked my phone. My double-back was perfect, I hit my neck in the right spot. An audible crack rang out, and my body flops. I died. A few moments later, I woke, got up and stopped the recording. 

I chucked my phone across the roof, “Fuck! . . Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why, why me? Why can’t I die?”

I started doing my box breathing exercise, calming myself down. Once my heart settled and emotion calmed, I started thinking aloud:

“What if this isn’t a curse? What can I do with this? I know I won’t get hurt doing what I love, I can take more and more dangerous stunts, and be paid more for it. And even if I do die on-set, people won’t think it’s real if we claim it’s practical effects. But the film crew would know—”

My phone started going off, rang and rang, then stopped. It was Robinson, he left a voicemail, “Hey Ab, where are ya? Everyone here is commenting on your stunts, I want to give you the credit. Come down to the theater’s lobby.”

I got up, retraced my route back to the lounge. Robinson stood in the middle surrounded by suits. Robinson spotted me, and waved me in. I placed a smile, walking into the crowd.

Robinson pulled me in, and hung his arm around me. “This is the stuntman who has done all those amazing stunts, Abraham Grant.” 

The men around Robinson were complimenting me on all my stunts, and took real appeal to me dying on stage; saying how they loved the “practical effects”, “how it was done in one shot”, and “how real it looked.” I just stood there, nodding to the complements. 

Then Robinson jumped in, “And this fantastic stuntman has great work ahead of him, and I got him all to myself for the rest of my series.”

After the conversation died down, I turned to Robinson, “I need to talk to you.”

Robinson excused himself, and me and him moved to a quieter part of the lounge. “Yeah Ab, what’s the matter?”

“I love working for you, but I think we need to make a new contract.”

“Yeah I figured, with your new ability and all. I was planning on paying you more anyway.”

“Yes, I’d like a significant increase in my salary due to the more dangerous and ‘death-defying’ stunts I’ll be doing. But in the new contract I want confidentiality about my new ‘ability’ from you and everyone in the crew.”

“You do know there’s always a risk of someone blabbing off. But I think I can find a way around it.” Robinson reached out his hand.“I accept your new terms, we’ll finalize it later.” 

I shook his hand.

#

The years following I've been Robinson exclusive ground stuntman, for all his movies. And in that time: I’ve been hit by a speeding car. My head’s been flattened by a crowbar. I’ve been hacked to bits. And I’ve been mauled by a Spitz. I’ve been shot by a pistol. I’ve been hung in Bristol. I’ve drowned in a tub. I’ve been shanked in a pub. I’ve burnt alive in a shed. And I’ve been used as a human sled. I’ve fallen off the Empire State. And my intestines had been pulled straight. All on top of my normal stunts.

* * * 

It was the final stunt of “Zack Frost, VII”, I was jumping across a building, only to be shot off. Before the stunt, I acted how I used to, dancing and laughing at any semi-funny jokes. I knew what would happen, everyone cleared the stage, besides Robinson and a few of his trusted cameramen (the same who were there when I rewatched my first death). 

“Action” was yelled, I ran across the rooftop, leapt about fifteen feet, and dropped ten feet. As soon as my foot landed, the shotgun went off. Blasting me in the gut, killing me, then I fell about four stories. By the time I woke up, the set was cleared, and Robinson was there to greet me.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Ab. Great stunt, nasty stunt, are you okay?”

I gave him the stuntman’s thumbs up.

“Great. That’ll be all for today, why don’t you go home and rest.” Before I can say a word, “Don’t worry you’ll be paid in full.”

“That’s good. Guess I’ll be going now.”

#

Arriving home, my facade dropped. My first step in my house, I collapsed. The pain overwhelmed me, not just the gun shot but also the fall. My body healed, but the pain lingers, it always does. I’m able to suppress it normally, but as soon as I enter my house, the pain hits like a train. I crawled across the floor, kicked the door closed as I passed. I made it all the way to my bed, used the bed-leg as support to climb up on it. The moment I was comfortable on my bed, the tears came. I thought about the countless days of pain, of being killed every month, and the smile I have to put on. At this time, Liam called.

“Yo, Ab! How’s it going?”

“. . . Going good, just. Just contemplating life.”

 “Sweet. I’m back in town, and trying to get the parkour gang back together, you free?”

“No, no, I’m busy. I’ve got stunts to do.”

“New movie, right? But you gotta have time, I know it.”

“Like I said Liam I’m busy.”

“What about today? I hear no filming sounds through the call.”

“Yeah, because it’s break time and I climb up above the studio building to eat.”

“Ok, well then, let me know when you’re available, okay. I’ll only be in town for a month.”

“If there’s time I will.” I hung up.

I stayed in my bed, rotting away, waiting for the pain to leave. An hour later, the pain started going away but it was still a bitch, but I could walk and move. I headed to the fridge, down a bottle of ale, then lit a couple of cigarettes. With all that in my system it helps against the pain, and makes me feel something besides pain. It took a few more hours for it to fully go away, by that time it was dark. But that whole time I was thinking about Liam, I should’ve acted like that with him. So I picked up the phone and called, he picked up.

“I knew you’d call back.”

“Yeah, yeah. So It looks like I’ll be free tonight, you wanna hit up the old spots?”

“Sweet, I’ll meet you there.”

I got to the spot, it was near our old parkour gym, it was a fancy law firm tower, that had the perfect staircase with walls, railings, and gaps; perfect for precisions, ploys, and vault challenges. By the time I got there, Liam was warming up with rail precisions. Liam spotted me; webstered off the railing, greeting me: “You’re awfully late, you’re slowing down.”

“Just aching from my stunts.”

Liam, look closely at me, I’m sure he smelled cigarettes and alcohol, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I'm just here to jump around.”

“Yeah sure, you’ve been acting off all day. And what’s with the alcohol and cigarettes? What happened to o’ ’I won’t drink or smoke because it’ll affect my performance’. You can't fool me Ab, I’ve known for too long.”

“You won’t get it, now let's just jump around.”

“How about a bet.”

“What?”

“A bet, a game of HORSE, if I win you tell me what’s up and the full truth. And if you win, you get to mop around, and I won’t ever check in on you again.”

“Oh you think you can beat one of the biggest stuntmen?”

“Bring it, I know your moves, I’ve trained with you since we were ten. Ab, the ball’s in your court.”

I started with a running side-flip rail precision, Liam matched it, I got an H. Liam did a ghost-step A-twist, on flat ground, I slipped up, getting an O. Next I did a double-kong gainer, with a six-foot gap between the kong. Liam messed up, getting an H. This went on till we tied at match point and I was up. I settled a round-off triple-backflip, then right after a front-flip. Then I messed up on the front-flip, causing me to get HORSE. Game over.

We sat on the stairs, and as part of my deal I told Liam everything. My lips could barely move, they felt like they were sewn shut. And once I was able to move my lips, my tongue stopped working. We sat there for a solid few minutes with Liam waiting. I was able to start by mentioning the movie, and then my death (it helped that he saw it). Then from there I explain my deaths, and the toll mentally and physically that comes with it. You think a Spitz is cute till they maul you to death, then: new fear unlocked. Or how every time you grill a steak, the smell, the smell reminds you of the smell of your own body cooking. The whole time he just sat there, not saying a word, looking at me, with a deadpan face. 

Liam spoke, “Weren’t you the one who said ‘do work that you enjoy’. And, look at you now, you can barely even talk about it.”

“— I know, I know. I just have a contract with Robinson and I get paid almost as much as the lead actors.”

“Why don’t you just talk to him. Of course you might have to deal with that a bit longer till the movie is done. But it’s at least something.” 

“I could, but I know he loves his ‘Immortal Stuntman’.”

“But at this point you aren’t a stuntman, you’re a crash dummy. Go talk to him, and let me know what happens.”

#

A week later, we finished up the deadly stunts for the movie, and Robinson was overseeing the clean-up crew, right before they left. He was on top of some scaffolding where the spotlights are attached too. He was leaning on a railing. I climbed up the scaffolding on the opposite side of the ladder, and approached Robinson. 

“Hey, Mr. Robinson, can I have a word?”

He jumped, “Jeez, you scared me. And how many times do I gotta tell you to drop the formality, just call me Max or at the very least Maxwell.”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

“But anyways, what's the matter?”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the stunts.”

“You’ve done great and get paid handsomely, what is there to talk about?”

“The deaths. I was wondering if we can dial back the deaths? Since that’s taking a toll on me—”

“Sure, sure, no thing, we can take a break if you need it. We’re done with all those anyways.”

“Sorry, I phrased it wrong. I don’t want to be a crash dummy anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to be a gory practical effect.”

“But you’re the only one that can do that. You’ve signed up for it.” Robinson stopped, staring at me for a minute, “What other option do you have? Be a test subject for the scientist? Be a soldier of war? This is your best bet Abraham.”

“Yes, I know that. And I’m grateful for all you’ve done. But I’m a stuntman not a crash dummy! Do you know, I feel the pain, the aches, I get ptsd every time I look at a spitz.”

“Get over it, Ab. Go to therapy with the money you earn, and screw your head straight. As a stuntman you always get hurt, and you heal completely. No big deal, stop whining about it.”

“The pain is nothing compared to dying!” I walked away before Robinson could say a word. 

Robinson yelled down the scaffolding, “Ab, by contract you’re legally obligated to do any and all stunts I have for you!”

The next day work was normal, normal stunts, no deaths. I stayed like that for a while, Robinson eased up on it. But then the next movie; It was back to the same old shit! Getting killed, over and over again. But this time, this time, it was different. It wasn’t hidden anymore, more and more people came to watch me die, being told that it was one big practical effect, or being called the “Houdini Stuntman”, who can be blown to bits and be fine. And being told that the Houdini Stuntman next trick; “Surviving a shotgun blast, point blank.”

It seemed like a fucking circus, and I was the freak-show, The Houdini Stuntman, wait no no, The Immortal stuntman, no that’s not it, it’s the fucking living crash dummy. The crash dummy, legally bound to be killed over and over for the amusement for all, appearing in theaters near you, or at your local Maxwell Robinson’s movie shoot! What a fucking joke. A joke that I can only begin to laugh at after downing a bottle of Jack Daniels and smoking a pack of Marlboros. A day of being killed so why not kill my inside. I’ll be fine, sure!

Every time I brought it up to Robinson, he offered to increase my salary; and who in there right mind would turn down a five million, I could fucking retire with that money. Then he upped it more, per stunt, more per movie. Becoming the equivalent of one more smoke, one more smoke, and we all know it’s never one more. 

After being killed for fun, I went home, the bottles and cigarette butts were scattered across the floor. The bottle shattered under my feet, shoving shards up my foot. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t hurt compared to burning alive, drowning, or being stabbed twenty times. I just grabbed another bottle and just drank and drank, till my body forgets the pain. Jack Daniels clouded my judgment, and I called Liam. 

He answered, but I got a word in first, “Liam, Liam, ya gotta help me. I want out. Out of this life. I’d rather die, than die a thousand times.”

“Woah, calm down Ab, what’s wrong? Didn’t Robinson ease up on you?”

“Na-uh, he did not. He just offered more money, and it got worse. Now I ain’t human, just a living fleshly crash-dummy. I’m now a living freak-show.”

“Shit man, I’m sure drowning your sorrows away won’t help.”

“‘ey, this is the only thing that isn’t trying to kill me. . . I’m just pickin’ my poison.”

“Well guess that won’t kill you, but it can still ruin you. Come one man, snap out of it, get out of the job. Surely you can.”

“Nope. contract, forced ma hand.”

“Talk to him again! Quit, who cares if you get fined to oblivion, you’re immortal.”

“Nope, I still age. Baldin’ already shown, I’m taking after Uncle Jack.”

“You don’t have an uncle, Ab. Put down the bottle, I want to hear it clink!” 

The bottle clinked. “There ya ‘appy.”

“Talk to Maxwell Robinson, and quit! And while you’re at it, quit drinking!”

“Righty-o silver-ro!” I hung up.

The next day, after being executed in-front of a live audience. I walked into Robinson’s studio trailer. 

“Maxwell—”

“Finally, you got it right. What’s up?”

“I can’t keep doing this, I want to quit.”

“What!”

“I’m quitting.”

“No you can’t, you’re legally obligated to work for a few more years! I made you who you are, you wouldn't be successful if it wasn’t for me!”

“Yes, I’m aware. I’m willing to face the consequences.”

“Oh no, you’re going through with this contract Abraham Grant!”

“I won’t, surely what you’re doing is illegal and will violate the contract.”

“Nope, you signed it away, know the risk of any deadly harm associated with this job. And if you ever go through with this, the whole world will know! And if you stop working for me, quit all of a sudden, you’ll face the consequences and I’ll share your special ability with the Office of Science, or even worse the D.O.D.! I’m sure they’ll find your predicament fascinating.”

The room fell quiet, with the only thing in earshot was the construction and clean up outside.

“You’ve tainted everything we’ve done, and tainted every stuntman. If your whining is finished, get up and leave. I don’t want to see your face.” I started walking away, and Robinson blurted out, “Be back here tomorrow you got more stunts!”

I left without saying a word, as soon as I left the filming location, I called Liam, He didn’t pick up. I left a voice message.

“Hey, Liam, it’s me Ab, I need to talk to you about my situation. I need to get out of this job. Call me when you get a chance. I can do this, Liam! I can’t fucking do this anymore! I’m being blackmailed, and the contract is twisting my hand. I can’t get out. I’ve made a deal with the devil, Liam! . . . Liam. . . Liam? I-I need your help, real bad.”

Excerpt: Lázár The Lonesome Huszar (Short Story)

The summer-sun scorched the skin of a lonesome Huszar riding across the Sahara of Hungary; passing dunes and sand-suffocated corpses. The Huszar grasped his left rib, stretching the remaining green-garments, as the fabric flapped onto his exposed wounds—blistering and bungling, shaping the blood’s voyage. 

The Hun’s head shifted towards the screaming sandstorm, slithering closer and closer, consuming all.

“Damn you to hell! Sand Witch! Mark my words, you'll pay in blood!” 

With a crooked smile the sand erupted encompassing The Hun, blasting him off his steed, scattering his helm, blade and bow. The sand consumed the equipment, then the living, slowing layering upon skin and silk. 

A voice shot through the sand, circling The Hun, “I was willing to let you run. To flee like the coward you are. Letting your officer’s honor rot!”  A figure of a maidan pierces through the sand, dawning tan drapery and a youthful appearance. “But sadly. You claim to take my blood.” 

Sand started to swirl around The Hun, creating a tornado around him. The Sand Witch’s face punctured the sand, unveiling her horse-like hair and fair skin. Wrinkles split her face as she wears a grin, squinting at the Huszar. 

“But Mr, Officer Huszar, I’ll be merciful, and allow you to eat your words and beg for your life.”

The Hun wiped off the sand from his eyes, stash, and mouth. He erected, strode up to The Witch; staring into her grave eyes, he said “I will take back what I said, and as the Officer of the 13th Huszar Scout, I speak for Zoltan, Miklóa, Zsigmond, Laszlo, Attila, and the rest.” The Hun paused, clenching and releasing his fists. “And!” He sprung forward clutching the fiend’s head, bashing her skull against his knee, “For each of my mens’ blood you spilled, I’ll drain from your body! And then once I’m done, only then you’ll die by my blade!” The Hun pulls The Witch’s hair back to eye level, scoffing at her bloodied mug “Look’s like I’ve got a good start.”

The Witch began to chuckle. The Hun planted his hairy fist into her jaw, knocking out teeth. The Witch’s chuckles transformed into laughter. The sand rushed towards The Hun, consuming him and his sight. He punched The Witch again, planting his fist firming into a sand figure. 

“I was really going to grant you freedom, but with that manly fit, death is too sweet of an option for you. So hark me now Hun!” Sand shot from the figure burrowing itself deep into The Hun’s lungs, “I shall place a curse upon you! A curse of death, where if you don’t kill a man every morrow, you’ll die in his stead.”  The Witch chuckled again, swirling around the sand casting her incantation.

The sand consuming the Huszar, he tried to cough it up, trying every option to remove and halt any sand in his lungs. It was futile, the sand weaseled its way into his lungs filling them entirely, overflowing out of his mouth. Once full The Witch halted her incantation; the sand glowed purple–absorbing into The Hun.

The sandstorm slowly dissipated, along with The Witch’s figure. The Witch spoke and with each word got softer and softer “So ol’ noble Huszar what shall it be, killing an innocent man everyday to enact your revenge? Oh! How many lives you’ll take to find me, is truly romantic!”  The Witch’s voice was now but a whispering wind, “So what shall it be Hun!”

The sand fully set, unmasking the dusk sky. The Hun noticed the sky, and rushed around searching for his steed. He ran to his horse, checked its pulse, hopped on its back, and rode southwest—ignoring the saddle suffocating in the sand alongside his weapons.

The horse strode into a forest, The sun barely peeking over the horizon, illuminating the path between forest's alleys. The Hun drooped over his horse, his flesh dulled to a decaying hue, with purple veins bulging—like ivy spreading ‘neath his skin, slithering its way to his eyes. Hun’s purple eyes, spotted hooves prints—newly embedded—diverging away. The Hun heeled his horse, sparking a sprint track-wards. 

The horse carried onwards trampling upon every speck of foliage in its path, till it reached a camp, filled with sleeping horses, and men. The Hun slipped off the horse, crashing on his back, then crawled towards the men. There were ten men sleeping in little makeshift tents of leaves and fabric, all huddled around the dead campfire. The Huszar pulled himself up into a hunchback stance, with one hand on his knee keeping him upright. He wobbled towards the campfire’s edge where a stack of crescent scimitar laid. He picked up a saber dazzled in gems and gold. Using the saber as a cane, The Hun walked up to a slumbering soldier. Removed the sheath, Under-griped the blade, rose it high. Halted, staring at the man below. A man with a dark Turkish complexion, dawning a great stash, chain and steel. A dagger was belted on his side. Sleeping unworried, untaint, unprovoked, innocent. 

The Hun hands began to shake, swaying the saber above the Turk’s head. The Hun coughed up sand, as the veins bulged more and more, and his knees buckled, collapsing The Hun to the floor along with the saber. The Hun collapsed. His vision disappeared. His breathing came close to a halt.  

Moments later The Hun awakens, regaining his vision and a normal complexion. The Hun surveyed his location: slumbering turks. The Turk next to him, sullied in blood. The saber split the Turk’s skull in two, hitting the small black target in the eye, vertically separating the upper right sector from the rest of the skull. The Hun rose, escaping the pool of turk blood–soiling his garments.

The Huszar ripped out the saber, sling blood about. Grabbed the dagger, strapping it to his side. Then peels off the Turkish armor: plates, mail, and helm; with a few rattle of mail—blending with the clinking of an armored footfall. An axe swung smashing into the Turkish helm in The Hun hands, deflecting it leftwards. The Turk—stood merely a foot away—claded in: mail and plates across his chest and limbs. The only exposed flesh was his neck and face—which a helm partially covered.

 The Hun ripped the dagger out of its sleeve, driving it towards the Turk’s neck. The Turk dodged, making the dagger only nick his neck. Reverse gripping, The Turk swung up his axe skywards, stripping mail, leaving the Hun’s chest bare. The Hun jerked a couple feet back, regaining his footing and drew his saber.

Stepped forth The Turk swung. The trajectory caught the Huszar’s saber, hooking ‘neath the axe’s bottom swoop. Jerking the axe skywards, The Huszar pulled the Turk closer, opening him up. The Hun unhooked his saber, slashing at the Turk at the wrist, severing his axe hand. The axe nicked the dirt, and his head followed. 

The Hun sheathed his blade, then stripped the armor off the corpses. The Huszar’s eyes fell upon the slumbering camp, noticing the war-fitted Turks and their freshly stained blood. The Hun gifted the Turks' armour with a fresh coat of Turkish blood. A few of which put up a meager struggle but without a weapon their end was nigh. The Hun explored the other equipment, clue-searching. In a tent he stumbled upon a map of the Kingdom of Hungary with a multitude of arrows emerging from the Ottoman-Empire’s newly seized nation: Serbia, pointing into Hungary with the small town Kalocsa circled. With another arrow pushing forth, where The Hun stood.

The Huszar fidgeted with his stash, “You Damned Turks! You got all cocky because you won the battle of Belgrade and Mohács! It took you seventy years to claim Belgrade! And, Kalocsa ain’t going to be the next edition of your greedy empire!” The Hun shoved the map into his breast plate and exited the tent, scrounging around for more equipment.

The Huszar dawned new garments, mail, chest plate, scimitar, dagger, and recurved bow and a quiver of arrows belted to his waist. His steed also dawned some new mail and saddle. All of which had its classic Turkish embellishment of gold accents upon a sand-yellow fabric. The Hun hopped on his steed and rode off southwest towards Kalocsa. Leaving the Turkish camp consumed by flames.

Among the bushes and foliage of the forest a scimitar thrusted into a Turkish throat. The corpse’s flung into foliage as the Huszar emerged in his stead, overviewing a quaint village–That was adequately sectioned farmland and living quarters. The yellowing crops circled the town, tramped back into the ground by hooves and fallen corpses—of men and horses. The closer the crops got to the houses the more and more decayed and destroyed they are. While some houses stood untouched others turned to soot—caking onto other structures, horses, corpses, and turks. The vestiges of carnage still remained; bleeding outwards from the city’s heart—desicrating the land. The only thing untainted by the turks was the town’s chapel which loomed over all the chaos and carnage.

The Hun reentered the forest. Then exited with his steed, sprinting straight towards the town’s heart passing by severed Hungarian and Ottoman corpses. A couple of Turks were scattered about, looting the spoils, and collecting the corpses for disposal. The Hun nodded at each passing Turk; none minded the Hun dawning ottoman garbs.  

Entering the town’s dying heart, a swarm of Turks rushed by; one of them spoke to the Hun and waved him on. The Hun, not speaking Turkish, followed the crowd with his steed. The swarm held a score of turks and a huszar in a Turkish-guise. The Hun hung towards the back of the masses with one hand hovering near his saber, anticipating an attack.

 They approached a vendor market, surrounded by small wooden stalls smashed, burned, and flipped. With every stall standing or flipped, seated many a turks; as the rest, stood about creating a circle. Chatter and prattle filled the masses, drowning the footfall of decadent soldiers and horses, shutting the soldiers up. The Turks all removed their helms to the walking figures—the Hun mimicked them. The figures were cladded in heavy steel and chain, surrounding a figure dawning a crimson coat and golden turban. His white beard shifted and spoke to his men, riling them up. 

The Noble Turk placed one hand on his golden pala-scimitar—consumed by engraving and intricate gems. The Noble waved at the men following him. A row of heavily-cladded men strode into the center of the crowd, yanking a chain hoisting a line of disheveled huns. Two huns per one turk. The huns were all bruised maidens, their clothes: ripped rags. The huns were yelling “No!” “Stop!” or they cursed the turks; anything longer was flooded by Turkish prattle. At the sight of the huns, the Huszar’s eyes flared, shooting his hand to his blade. But if he pulled his saber out, he wouldn’t escape alive. 

The Noble Turk thrusted his pala into the air, its aggressive curved shot skywards, splitting the sun with its sharp edge. He shouted and mocked, putting on a show, enticing cheers. He pointed at a hun duo, their guard pulled them closer to the Noble. He hopped off his horse, and chopped off the first head with a single slash. The second’s head was severed vertically. The Huszar gritted his teeth, wanted to scream, to curse them, but he had a guise to play. The Huszar turned away from the execution, angling his horse away. The Huszar rode off, with the Noble in earshot shouting “Let the Hun blood run!”

The Huszar rode a couple blocks down, where a house stood of stone looming a bit over the other buildings. Equipping a bow and quiver, The Hun climbed the stone. Once in position the Hun spotted a few more women turned-corpses. He drew his bow crowd-ward, marked his target, and fired. The arrow didn’t fly straight, but hitting its mark nonetheless; pricing that Noble Turk’s temple. The Noble’s corpse fell with The Hun grinning ear-to-ear. The Turks flushed to cover, the ones on the booths used it for cover. Others ran to the alley and streets. The heavy armored turks dropped the chains and drew their scimitars, scanning for the assassin. The rest were either in shock or tried to bring back the dead. The women ran to cover, dodging any men who tried to attack. The attackers who tried to attack the ladies, were swiftly gifted an arrow. 

The women fled into the streets and alleys. Two dozen turks littered the centre. The scores alive, pinpointed the Huszar. The Huszar continued firing upon any Turk in sight, depleting his arrows to a half dozen. 

The Hun drew another arrow, eyeing a heavily-cladded Turk in tan; who’s waving his hand and shaking his head at the other turks. The Tan Turk vaulted over his booth, charging towards the Hun. The Hun drew the bow to its climax, gaining power to penetrate the armour. The arrow flew piercing the Tan Turk’s helm. Another arrow whistled, planting itself into The Hun’s shoulder.  The Hun dropped to the roof, gazing at the plaza, the Turks were advancing and the archer provided cover. One of the Turks ran past The Tan Turk’s body, fleeing the battlefield through the alley. As the coward got past the tipped booth, a scimitar gleamed and danced, decapitating the coward. 

The scimitar planted itself into the soil, hoisting up its wielder, The Tan Turk. An arrow protruded from his helm, puncturing his left eye through the top of his brow. The Turk unclipped his mail veil. He then broke off the protruding arrow to remove his helm. The arrow traveled through his brow, eye, and the tip poked out of his cheek. The Tan Turk felt the tip of the arrow, pinched it, and stripped it out. His hand was coated in blood, holding the foot long arrow, unlogged. With all that pain converting to commands and threats towards the other turks re-energized them. He walked over to the turk he slain, ripped up his garments, patching his wounds with a wrap covering the left of his head.

Arrows still flew over the Hun’s head, narrowly missing. But every few moments there was a gap in the cover fire. There was five archers, scattered about—all differing distances. And with every gap he dwindled the archers one by one. By the time he killed the last archer, the turks were only about a block and a half away. The Huszar had his last arrow drawn, pointing it at the One-Eyed Turk again, and fired. The arrow flew straight towards his head again. It’s path was met by steel, severing it in two.  The Turk looked up at The Hun, with a crooked grin ordering his subordinates to close in on The Hun. The turks charged towards The Hun’s hideout.

Discarding his bow and quiver, The Hun  ran and leapt to the roof of the adjacent house. Upon impact he plummeted through the straw roof and rotting wood; crashing on top of a dining table. He rolled off the table spotting the back window. Getting up, The Hun fled through the window, breaking the shudders in the process. Upon exiting turks were shouting, The Hun looked back seeing three turks flanking from the rear. They were mildly armored, brandishing their sabers. They rushed The Hun, drawing his saber The Hun waited for their attacks. 

The turks attacked in a v-formation. The first began to swing his scimitar round his head converting to a horizontal slash; as soon as The Turk passed the swing’s climax, The Hun threw his dagger. The first turk jerked out of the way, barely missing him. But the dagger continued to its target, the second turk’s gullet. The First Turk head jolted towards his fallen comrade, only to be gutted by The Hun. The last turk bolted away, trying to escape. The Hun knelt down to the First Turk, picked up his sword, and speared it to the Fleeing Turk, punching his calf. The Turk was whaling, cursing, and praying simultaneously, still trying to escape, crawling inch by inch, hearing the footfall creeping faster than he could crawl. The footfall arrived. The Turk spun on his back, staring into the dull eyes of his killer. He drew his dagger trying to keep The Hun away. The scimitar split the air, then The Turk’s skull. The Huszar removed his blade and took the turk’s dagger, before fleeing into the alleys.

Excerpt: Lake Of Coprses (Short Story)

It was supposed to be a simple job, just chasing corpses. The past couple months, corpses have been going missing in Fort Hill. As soon as I got into that small hillside town, Commissioner Burns summoned me.

We’re standing on the edge of a crater-lake which was smack-dapped in the middle of the hill. Burns was in his usual get-up, an char-tone trench coat and a fag glued to his lips. A few feet besides him was a corpse, soaked and ghastly bloated.

“I suppose we ain’t sightseeing.” I said, pulling out my flask.

A sleazy grin creeped on his face, “Last time I went sightseeing with you, I got lead stuck in my ass.”

I pointed at the wet corpse, “Found a corpse already.”

Burns nudged the corpse with his foot, “Yeah this guy. Well, he ain’t like the other corpses. He’s special, freshly murdered, your favorite.”

“You’re lucky Hank, if this ain’t a favor, your price would’ve tripled.” I took a swig of whiskey.

Taking a closer look at the fella. He was no older than twenty-five, and built like a cigarette, all the way down to the pale-paper skin and tobacco-toned hair. Wearing disheveled rags. Around the cigarette-man’s ankle was a piece of rope that snapped a few feet from the knot.

I stood up, “You know what done him in?”

Hank’s foot flips over the corpse, “Take a look for yourself.”

On the back of the corpse's head was a dent a few centimeters deep. The dent

wasn’t perfect, had many scratches, cuts, and smaller dents that blessed the noggin. Some of the dents were more flat with a curve to them.

I looked at Hank “Gotta clue who he is?”

“Don’t know the mug. But probably the grave-watcher that gone missin’.”

I peered into the lake where the depths turned into an abyss “Who runs this lake?”

Hank yanked out his fag, “He’s outta town, but his dame isn’t. Talk to her.”

Hank told me the dame’s name ‘Terra Woods’ and pointed me in her direction. So

I headed off. Passed the hillside cluttered with wooden cabins. And over yonder there was the mansion. It was a modest mansion, that’s newer than some of the townies. It’s the type of house you’d expect one of wealthy senators to own.

I made my way up the porch. The tunes of wind chimes masked the creaking floorboards. Before I could even make it to the door, the door flew open, banging into the outside wall. Trusting out the door was a man, clothed like a Chesterfield pin-up boy. The man was silent outside the stomping of his feet, and the coins jittering around in his pockets as he scrammed towards the hill.

In the wake of the chaos, I knocked on the door, as I peered in. The inside was

nice, with all custom furniture paired with a speakeasies feel. A few feet away was the dame, downing a bottle of bourbon while laying on the couch. I knocked again, she didn’t notice. 

I walked in. “I hope I ain’t bothering you. Might you be Terra Woods?”

She plopped down the bourbon, and adjusted herself like some actress right before a play. She spoke in an up-beat voice, “Yes I am, whom does it may concern?”

“Hello, I wish to ask you a few questions, I’m helping out Commissioner Burns.”

She sagged back into the couch, mumbling to herself “Great, first an ex-lover

then a dick, what’s next?” Then looked at me with her puffed-up eyes, “Come on in, and close the door.”

I closed the door. Grabbed a seat across from the dame. Before my ass could even hit the chair, she said “What do ya wanna know?!”

“I’ve came to ask about the corpse in the lake, since from what I’ve been told you run the lake.”

“I don’t know who told ya that, but you’re dead wrong. Ian runs it, not me. I got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Very well. Then enlighten me on the situation of the lake, and if he has any enemies.”

“I haven’t been with Ian for long—only a month or so. He’s fairly well liked, not many enemies. But the situation with the lake’s discovery was relatively recently through a landslide, and Ian’s been working with the city to make it safe and free to drink.”

“So where have you guys been getting your water before?”

“Imported from a river town nearby, ‘Fair Water’. Run by the Fairman family for

generations now. We’d an agreement with them to import water, we've been one of there cash cows since this city’s founding.” Terra pointed towards the door, “The man that’s suppose to be supervisin’ this agreement, Garett Fairman the third, just stormed outta here. If ya hurry you can still catch him.”

I got up, thanked her and left. Hoping to catch up to Fairman, before he’s lost in

the city. The city was fairly empty, outside some kids scattered across, and the

occasional mothers taking a drag.

It was dusk by the time I saw him. He was hanging outside a rundown church playing with a velvet box, as his cigar signed his lips. He started cursing as his smoke hits the ground.

I walked up to him, “Lost in thought?”

“Any man would be in my shoes.” he looked up, spotting me “Don’t recognize you, ya new around town?”

“Lester Collin, been here a hot minute, we crossed paths not too long ago.”

“Sorry, forget me, I have been in the clouds lately.”

“I figured a man of your stature would be happy since all the money we’d be racking in soon.”

Fairman pulls out another cigar, “Money doesn’t matter if you got no one to spend it on. . . Well I better get going.” Fairman waves goodbye and walks off into the distance. 

As soon as he vanished, I entered the church and questioned the pastor. Flashing my badge, he answered: “Fairman was calling off our wedding service.” He elaborated no further, no matter how much I pestered him. So I thanked him and left.

The moon creeped overhead, as i entered the graveyard where the corpse-snatchers were. The graveyard gates were empty, no grave-watchers nor coppers. On the gate, by the handle, was a week-old flier: “Now Hiring, Graveyard Guard. Requirements: self-defense, firearm, and firearm proficiency.” in a finer print “A firearm won’t be provided”

The graveyard was vacant besides the feasting maggots. There were gravel

graves and more modern graves. The upkeep of these graves was as clean as the rotting corpses buried beneath it. Moss suffocated the gravestones, making it unreadable, however it stood over fresh dirt. There’s other identical graves with rope webbing around a six-foot hole. Inside the hole was an open coffin. Empty.

In the silence of night, where a sober scent of the deceased lingered,carried along by a chilling wisp.  Only to be interrupted by the growling of a car, then chatter. I scattered behind a monument dedicated to the buffalo hunters, watching. Two men, a bruno and a rat-face punk. They both were carrying shovels, while the Rat-Face was acting like a Pack-mule.

The Rat pointed at a grave near me, and spoke like he just smoked some helium, “How ‘bout that grave? we’ven’t touched it yet.”

The Bruno grunted like a caveman, and hurled himself towards the grave.

The Bruno’s shovel split the grave, and spoke like a neanderthal “wat ‘bout da die garve-watch? Ain’t he found?”

Rat-Face pitched in his shovel, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll do what we did last time.”

“But don’t you should go watch?”

Rat-Face showed his crooked smile, “Yeah, yeah. You do the diggin’ then.” 

Rat-Face pranced around the graveyard, matching the thumping of The Bruno’s shovel. It wouldn’t take long for him to find me, so I creep like a panther from tombstone to tombstone. Rat-Face was turning towards my direction, so I slid behind a crummy tombstone. And pressed by back against it, knocking it over. It flopped over in an echoing thud, creating a cloud of dirt.

Without skipping a beat, Rat-Face screeched, “Looks like we got a vermin!

Quit diggin’, and Fight!”

The Bruno perks up, watching Rat-Face charging towards me. I picked up one of

the tombstone chunk, and chucked it at Rat-Face. Slowing him down. While making my way

towards the vacant grave.

As soon as I turn around, I’m met with a right hook to the nose. Rat-Face was ready

to scrap. Rat swung again, missed, so I returned the favor. Got his gut, causing him to collapse. Falling to his knees, he was still swinging. I caught a stray to the knee, causing me to jerk, kicking him in the chin. Knocking him stiff.

The Bruno watched, let out a war-scream, then threw the shovel like a javelin. Clipping the tip of my shoulder, rendering it useless. The Bruno was closing the distance, I couldn’t fight him with my busted shoulder. So I did what anyone would’ve done in my shoes, pulled out my revolver, pointed it at Rat-Face. The Bruno spotted in his tracks.

“If you want your pal here to live, raise your hands and back up.”

The Bruno grunted and complied. 

“So are you the corpse-snatchers? What’re ya doing with the corpses?”

He didn’t answer, but he did with the encouragement of a cocking revolver, “We get bodies, and put bodies in lake.”

“Why the lake? What’s there to gain?”

He looked at Rat-Face, as his speech moved at a snail's pace, “Brother said we’ll get paid, if we do.”

“Who’s paying you?”

As soon as those words left my lips, my wrist was slit. And the revolver barked, right before it fell. The Bruno screamed, and charged me. I grabbed the gun off of Rat-Face with my left hand and fired it at The Bruno. My adrenaline spiked, making my hands quake; causing me to miss most of my shots, but managed to hit two in the knee, and he collapsed like an ox. Bashing his head against a tombstone on the way down.

Catching my breath, I took a swig of whiskey, and looked at Rat-Face. He was brandishing a switchblade, but didn’t have a face no more. I ‘relocated’ the switchblade to

my pocket while I hosteled my revolver.

I met back up with The Bruno, still breathing, just knocked out. I shoved

some dirt in his wound and left. There’d be someone soon, who’ll investigate the gunshots and find the two. In the meantime, I headed to my room and patched myself up.

With some makeshift stitches, I talked to Hank at the ‘local’ big house. The Bruno was locked up in a bird in a cage. Hank was finishing up a report of the incident, and over the clacking of the typewriter, The Bruno shouted “He did it! He killed brother!”

Hank looked up from his typewriter, staring at me. “I wouldn’t be surprised. What was it this time?”

I sat down across him and plopped my feet on the desk, “Well, they attacked me, I

protected myself. Faceless slit my wrist making me fire my revolver. Plain and simple.”

The Bruno bang against the steel bars, “No! He lying! He put brother as hostage! He killed brother!”

Hank glared at me, “Is this true?”

“No, of course not. You’d really take a criminal’s word over mine?”

“You’re not exactly Mr. Truthful but if you did you’d be locked up with him.”

“Well, I brought you your corpse snatcher. And if I wanted to I could’ve killed him too.”

The Bruno screamed again, “No! Not true! You didn’t kill me because you hurt and had no bullets!”

“And this’s comin’ from the guy who threw a shovel at me.” I looked at Hank, “I’ve

got the scars to prove it.”

Hank lit another fag, “Anyways, we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we.” Hank ripped

the paper out of the typewriter, handing it to me. “I’m guessing you’re here for this?”

I took a look at the notes, The Bruno and Rat-Face were brothers from the town over. They aren’t new to prison, they practically have a cell reserved for them. They just do petty crime, and sometimes backed by someone.

I handed it back to Hank, “I wouldn't call murder a petty crime.”

“Ain’t their normal memo, but wouldn’t put it pass them.”

“Who do ya think who hired them?”

“Aren’t you the detective? I should be asking you that.”

“Is this in the paper, and is he?” I pointed at The Bruno, “Also have you found any more bodies in the lake?”

“Yup it’s in the paper, and he’s not in it. As for the lake it looked like the titanic

sunk there. They’ll’d typewriters tied to their ankles.”

I was able to convince Hank to hand over some forty-five. I thanked him and left. But before I left Hank gave me directions to the nearest hospital. Which was the city over,

Rivington, the home of Fair Water. 

The Lost Lynchée (Poem)

Lo! Listen, listen!

I’ll loosen ma lips!

Of a loathsome lyric!

A lyric of a lonesome Lynchmen

And his lost Lynchee, Lawkmen:

The Lieutenant of the Light Lancers.

In the living-lanes’ lacuna

Lawkmen lynching came to light

Unleashing his last light-lyrics,

Lost In the loud litter of loosen lips.

A lone listener heard: the Lord!

The leathermen to his left, levitated

Like a lantern—lynched.

The Lynchmen’s legs lobbed to the lever and,

Lipped “The Lord listen least to

loathsome lycanthrope, Lieutenant!”

The lever leapt, the lookers lipped

Lawkmen’s lynching was the least lengthy,

Little to low levity of life

Little to low lunging legs

Little to low loosen lungs

Just unlinking ligaments,

and lunging life-liquids.

Leaving a lonesome loop,

Looming over Lawkmen’s

limp ligaments and life-lake,

As onlooker lear into his larynx.

The onlookers loud-litters lulled,

Leering at Lawkmens ligaments,

Locating, latching, linking

to other lively ligaments.

The Onlookers’ lids limpid,

Lucidly leering at the Lich!

As linking ligaments latch to Lawkmen’s larynx,

Lumination leeches through his life-lanes,

Lawkmen’s legs lead, leveling him

And lunged and leapt,

His lighten limbs levitated,

Lynchmen leapt to the lynching’s ledge,

Lipping “Lawkmen, Listen! You Lich! Your lynching isn’t lulled!

A lychee never lives! The low-lord has a lacuna for you!”

Lawkmen left lipping “Lich? No.

Just the lates Lazarus!”

A lizard’s-lifetime lost.

In the laps of light;

Lawkmen’s-leather lullied to lion’s hue,

As he levitated low and lightly over

A load of logs, littered across a lagoon.

His lugging-limbs, latched to a log,

Launching a lime lumination,

Lobotomizing a log into a lance.

Leering lightwards, he lipped

“So, I’m, located.“

“Lo Lychenthrop!” Lipped a lonesome lurker:

“You can’t lose a Lynchmen!”

A light-licked lasso lilted, Lich-wards

Latching his leg, locking his life-lanes.

Lawkmen levitated Lordwards,

Leashing The Lynchmen, like a lantern-lynched.

The Lynchmen laddered the lasso,

Latching onto Lawkmen’s leg.

Lawkmen lobbed his lance,

Unlinking Lynchmen’s legs.

lunging life-liquids, lilting in loops,

As limped legs litter the lagoon.

Lawkmen lilted his lasso,

Latching to The Lich’s larynx,

The Lynchmen unlatched from Lich’s leg,

Leading Lawkmen lagoon-wards,

Looping, lulling, and lilting.

The lagoon licked and lathered them.

The lagoon luminated lime,

Limbs lunged from the luminated liquid:

Lone limb of the Lyncher

Lone limb of the Lynchee

A lonesome larynx lipped;

Lazarus, the Lynchee.

Lo! listeners!

If ye locate that lime lagoon,

You’ll listen to a lyric, The lyric of

The Lynchmen lynched-locked

Launched to life by that lime-liquid

Lilting in that loop.

Captain Toll, The Pirate King: 1: The Key (Poem, excerpt)

Snow fell sideways,

Shimmering across the purple days, 

Collidings into the sea of flames,

Containing abyssal stars and their void-ful stains.

Soaring across these stains are ships of steel,

With pirates ready to steal.

Armed with muskets and vigor,

With their fingers on the trigger.

Under the rule of Captain Toll,

Ships cast sunlight upon the Capitol.

With the spread of sunny doom,

Met with cannons screeching, “Boom”

Skyscrapers of glass crashed upon its citizens,

As those pirates rub their bearded chins,

Looking out into the distance,

With the Capitol arming a resistance,

The Capitol's sky fleet deployed,

Firing upon Toll’s ship, as the ship gets partially destroyed.

Yet with a well placed ball,

The sky naval ship falls.

One by one the sky navy’s ships explodes,

Leaving rainbow clouds shaped like toads.

With the pirates untouched like a specters,

Piloting the flying dutchman across the sky’s seven sectors.

The Pirates landed on the Capitol’s ground with their blood stained boots,

scouring the land for all its loot.

Finding the mythical key of the Sea King’s treasure chest,

That contains riches and wealth, only achieved by the best.

The pirates celebrated their new riches with rum,

And toasts to new adventures to come!

During their celebration their bounties increased,

Which warranted a greater feast.

Toll proposed a quest to find the Sea King’s treasure,

Which will grant a life of leisure and pleasure.

 At first with it was met great highs,

But upon pondering it was met with many neighs.

The celebration returned to their new prizes,

And in the morning, they said their goodbyes.

With every pirate abandoned the team,

Leaving Captain Toll, blowing off steam, 

By setting sail west,

Embarking on his quest.

To Be Continued . . .

A Detective’s Drink (Play)

Int. local party at the town bar –dusk

AUSTIN is sitting in the corner table of the bar, away from the party, near a big window

ROBERT enters into the bar, and plots down across from AUSTIN

ROBERT

So how ya holding up?

AUSTIN

Fine.

ROBERT

That’s good. (ROBERT flags a waiter)

Have you heard anything about May? She’s been missing awhile

AUSTIN

Nope. But I'm sure she can handle herself.

ROBERT 

*chuckles*

Yah, she’s beaten up more people than I can count. But you should check-in on her soon, with all the murders and all.

AUSTIN

I’m sure–

(ROBERT’s phone rings)

ROBERT

(ROBERT pulls up a finger, as he checks his phone)

One second it’s work

ROBERT stands up,  leaves, answering his phone

ROBERT

*Whisper* (the whole convo)

You’ve got an idea of the suspect?

. . .

Yeah, I've just been talking to him.

. . .

I don’t think he’ll confess, but I’ll see what I can get

ROBERT ends the call and sits back down with AUSTIN

ROBERT

My work wants me to dress up as a lunatic at another kid’s party, like there ain’t enough loonies in this town

AUSTIN

Yup, more than we know. (looks down at his drink). So was there something you wanted?

ROBERT

Can’t I check-in with my neighbor?

AUSTIN

We aren't neighbors, we live on separate ends of the town

ROBERT

In a little town like this, we’re all neighbors. Well, unless you’re that psycho

AUSTIN eye’s sharpen

AUSTIN

What are you implying? You think I'd kill my own girlfriend?

ROBERT

I’m implying nothing, it’s just that no-one likes a murder. 

Anyways, what happened to May, I thought she was missing, not dead.

AUSTIN

(eyes wide, and pause) 

Well, she could be for all we know. She can hold herself against any guy in this town, but a bullet can kill anyone.

(Pause)

Oh yeah, i’ve got you a drink (points to the drink in front of ROBERT)

ROBERT

Thank you, but I must refuse. 

AUSTIN

One drink won’t hurt

ROBERT

If the misses would kill me if she found out. And we’ll have two psychos in this town.

AUSTIN

 That won’t be good. Maybe the psychos could take each other out.

ROBERT

Well if you were the psycho, my wife can definitely take you out.

(Pause)

But anyways I have to get going. It was good talking to you.

ROBERT get’s up and walks towards the door

AUSTIN

Yeah see you around. And be careful, you might have a target on your back.

ROBERT

Turns around towards AUSTIN

I’d say the same to you, but I have a feeling the murder won’t go after you.

ROBERT exits the bar and makes a call on his phone

ROBERT

. . .

I think it’s him, I’ve backed off for now, but i’ll do some digging later.

. . .

So far I think he’d shot May. I don’t know where, but possibly when she first got missing is when he died. You might be able to get a warrant but you need to find more evidence on your own.

. . .

ROBERT

Okay, sounds good.

ROBERT hangs up the phone, And makes another call (dail on the phone)

ROBERT

. . .

Hey Taylor, I’d like to cash in that favor.

. . .

Great. I’d like you meet up with Austin, I’ve a sneaking suspicion 

that he has done something that caused your sister's disappearance.

. . .

Call him, say something along the lines of ‘I've been killing to meet with you’ 

And make something reason up, maybe tie it in with your sister.

. . .

You shouldn’t be worried. Wherever you meet, let me know and I'll be there if anything bad happens. 

. . . 

Yeah that sounds good. Make the call now. 

And text me what you guys are doing

ROBERT ends the call and sits down at another table outside of the bar where he can watch AUSTIN through the glass from a distance

Austin’s phone rings

AUSTIN

Hello?

. . .

Oh, Hi Taylor. Is there something you want?

. . .

You’ve been ‘dying to meet me’? What for?

. . .

Yeah sure, we can meet at my place and

 I’ll tell you want i know about your sister before she left

. . .

Yeah 10:30’s good. See you then. Bye

AUSTIN hangs up

ROBERT gets up and leaves again. His phone dings and he starts Dialing a number

ROBERT

*Whisper* (the whole convo)

. . .

I’ve just set up something with Taylor Hawthorn and Austin,

I’ll send you the details, just in case this gets ugly.

. . .

A few cops will do and I’d also be there too.

. . .

They’ll be meeting at Austin’s place at 10:30 tomorrow.

. . .

Okay sounds good.

ROBERT hangs up the phone and leaves the bar completely

Draft Final:

Int. local party at the town bar –dusk

AUSTIN is sitting in the corner table of the bar, away from the party, near a big window

ROBERT enters into the bar, and plots down across from AUSTIN

ROBERT

So how ya holding up?

AUSTIN

Fine.

ROBERT

That’s good. (ROBERT flags a waiter)

Have you heard anything about May? She’s been missing awhile

AUSTIN

Nope. But I'm sure she can handle herself.

ROBERT 

*chuckles*

Yah, she’s beaten up more people than I can count. But you should check-in on her soon, with all the murders and all.

AUSTIN

I’m sure–

(ROBERT’s phone rings)

ROBERT

(ROBERT pulls up a finger, as he checks his phone)

One second it’s work

ROBERT stands up,  leaves, answering his phone

ROBERT

*Whisper* (the whole convo)

You’ve got an idea of the suspect?

. . .

Yeah, I've just been talking to him.

. . .

I don’t think he’ll confess, but I’ll see what I can get

ROBERT ends the call and sits back down with AUSTIN

ROBERT

My work wants me to dress up as a lunatic at another kid’s party, like there ain’t enough loonies in this town

AUSTIN

Yup, more than we know. (looks down at his drink). So was there something you wanted?

ROBERT

Can’t I check-in with my neighbor?

AUSTIN

We aren't neighbors, we live on separate ends of the town

ROBERT

In a little town like this, we’re all neighbors. Well, unless you’re that psycho

AUSTIN eye’s sharpen

AUSTIN

What are you implying? You think I'd kill my own girlfriend?

ROBERT

I’m implying nothing, it’s just that no-one likes a murder. 

Anyways, what happened to May, I thought she was missing, not dead.

AUSTIN

(eyes wide, and pause) 

Well, she could be for all we know. She can hold herself against any guy in this town, but a bullet can kill anyone.

(Pause)

Oh yeah, i’ve got you a drink (points to the drink in front of ROBERT)

ROBERT

ROBERT picks up the glass, swirling it in his hand. Then sniffs it, and places back where it was

What posion did you pick?

AUSTIN

The good kind. (Puase) Don’t you like bourbon?

ROBERT

I do, but I must refuse. Thanks anyways

AUSTIN

One drink won’t hurt

ROBERT

If the misses found out she’d kill me. And we’ll have two psychos in this town.

AUSTIN

 That won’t be good. Maybe the psychos could take each other out.

ROBERT

Well if you were the psycho, my wife can definitely take you out.

AUSTIN

So, . . . what kid’s party do you have to go to this time?

ROBERT

Pual’s kid. My ears ’ll be bleeding weeks because of that kid.

AUSTIN

That’s interesting. I though they’ll be out of town for his birthday.

ROBERT

(Pauses and rubs his neck)

It’ll be one hell of a drive. But i’m sure you know how that is.

AUSTIN

Yup had my fair share of long drives.

ROBERT 

So do you know any short cuts, hidden roads, or 

spots here I might want to hide away from the town?

AUSTIN

Yeah I know of a really good spot where no one can hear you scream,

Or even hear gunshots. It’s the perfect place to kill something.

(AUSTIN leans forwards towards ROBERT)

We can head out and i’ll show you it?

ROBERT

Maybe another day. Where is this place anyways? 

It might be a good place to hunt somethin’.

AUSTIN

You drive a good while down the creek and there’ll be a huge tree

 where you’ll make a left and follow that for a good while.

ROBERT

How often do you go up there?

AUSTIN

Not often. Haven't been there for a few months. 

It’s a bit creepy this time of season, nothing’s out there.

ROBERT

I’ll check it out for myself. There’s always something out there, 

you just gotta find some tracks and some displaced dirt.

ROBERT

But anyways I have to get going. It was good talking to you.

ROBERT get’s up and walks towards the door

AUSTIN

Yeah see you around. And be careful, you might have a target on your back.

ROBERT

Turns around towards AUSTIN

I’d say the same to you, but I have a feeling the murder won’t go after you.

ROBERT exits the bar and enters into the parking lot. 

Ext. the parking lot is full with various trucks and cars

ROBERT heads to a white truck, with mud caked on the sides. ROBERT drags his fingers around the caked dirt and under and then wedgies his finger between the tire’s rigs. Which covers his finger in mud and dirt 

ROBERT makes a call on his phone

ROBERT

. . .

I think it’s him, I’ve backed off for now, but I'll got some info.

. . .

So far I think he’d shot May. I don’t know exactly where but it’s some place around a huge tree near the creek. You might want to investigate there

. . .

ROBERT

Okay, sounds good.

A special Tip (Short Story)

The rain amplified the neon signs, and smothered the sounds of the prostitutes lining the street. With a singular taxi driving with smoke bleeding from every gap of the car. Mainly due to the fact that the Taxi driver had lungs of a whale and more cigarettes than a smoke shop. The smoke made it hard to see, but it looked like the red-light-district faded into the distance, as the residential area came into view. 

Taking another peek at the tip–written on a dinner’s paper napkin– it said: “Meet me at 1672 5th avenue, 1:30pm, alone.” The note’s penmanship made chicken-scratch look like calligraphy. However you can figure out what it said; you just need to bribe a toddler to read it. But anyways, the address was to a ruin-down house that clearly took inspiration from the gothics and victorian era, but still had it’s american ranch charm–that can't be shaken off even if they tried. 

After paying the taxi driver, and plunging into the rain, the building looked as if it grew, looming and bending over anyone who comes near (it’d be great if it bent anymore over it could’ve blocked the rain). But luckily the porch held up nicely with its grim gray wood, but at least it stopped the rain. Guess that works out for the owner since his newspaper and letters were scattered across the porch and was only slightly wet. But at least the newspaper and junk was swept to the side so there’s a pathway to the door. The door was the same grim gray wood as the porch; and it creaked open, with the lightest push of the pinky. Beyond the door, a coat rack stood with the essence of a hanging-tree paired with jackets that hung like men on the gallows, yet there was a jacket and a hat missing. The missing hat was on the floor like a decapitated head, leaning on the tan wall. Interestingly, the hat didn’t match the other black fedoras–this one was a leather-brown with a crimson ribbon; along with being drenched by the rain, leaving a puddle where it was lying on the floor. The wall the hat was leaning on had  scratches and scars scattered upon its skin. 

Upon walking into the living room, furniture was flipped and pushed, creating scratches on the oak floor. Located in the center of the room, where the dining table and chairs were flipped to its side, with all its components littered on the floor: a cracked plate, a fork, a knife, a steak, and a shattered cup.  The steak wasn’t touched, not a cut nor slice, no blood on the fork, yet the knife was bloodied. Right next to the steak was a drop of blood, leading to the bathroom. The blood on the floor seemed sporadic, some big splotches here and there, and big gaps of nothing. But something that was fairly constant was the smeared blood on the floor, like something was dragged through it. The blood path pivoted into the bathroom. In there was a man (who wrote the note) bloodied and bruised, hanging from a pure white ceiling fan, illuminating the corpse, with the puddle of blood reflecting the scene of its owner.

Peeking from the hanging man’s pocket was another note. The note was a half-hazardly folded paper–with no blood stains. After unfolding it, it read: “This is the fate of anyone who stands against us, even if they’re one of our own.” The penmanship was messy, but manufactured messy, too keen and consistent to be natural. However there was another sentence about to be started but stopped quickly leaving a line as the writing instrument graze across the page, and the start of sentence was: “That includes you dec—”

Looking around some more, there was a footprint left in the blood puddle. It was a boot print, size 12, the culprit probably, male–just going off of the shoe size. But the boot-print was fairly fresh, and left a bit of a trail. Following the trail, the bloody boot-print started to dwindle after each step, then stopped. It stopped right under the quant window–not big enough for a man to fit through. But strangely there was some blood splatter on the mirror underneath the window–it’s too far do splatter from the hanged man. Moving a chair over, and peering through the small window, where the boots can be spotted outside. They were a couple of feet apart and one shoe was a few feet further than the other. They also weren't standing either, they were flopped on their sides–as if someone chucked them through the window, but didn’t retrieve them. Why would someone chuck their shoes through a window? Why not retrieve them? Why leave evidence at the scene?  Maybe it’s a red-herring? Or maybe they’re still here?

Snooping around the house some more near the muder–with a revolver in hand. Trying to figure out where the culprit is hiding. There weren't many hiding places due to the worn-down nature of the house, so the only places to hide were either in a room, under something, or they climbed something. It took about three minutes to get from the front door to the murderscene, so the murder would only get about three-ish minutes to find a hiding spot. Walking around for a while, as the floor panels creaked after each step. A few minutes of searching another creak echoes from another room. Rushing towards that room, as the creaking of the floor increases in intervals tenfold, sounding like a chicago typewriter. 

Catching up with the culprit. He looked like your average joe you’d find walking the street; and was wearing a leather-brown trench coat covered in blood, wearing no shoes. He was running around like a headless chicken, as the distance between us dwindled and dwindled. Then the revolver was pressed to his head as he reached a dead end. The man’s face didn’t look scared; he closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling almost begging for his death. But it wasn’t his time. The revolver bashes his temple, knocking him out cold. A few moments later the police arrived, cuffing the murder and taking him away.

Episode 12: The Lure - V3 (script)

EXT. EERIE WOODS OUTSKIRTS - EVENING   1

The eerie woods are characterized by a maze-like layout of trees and a thick layer of mist. Every so often when the wind blows the leaves rustle in the trees, and there is a random array of owl and crow calls in earshot, echoing through the otherwise silent air.  

The crew enters the forest, tired from the day’s journey. The only people talking are Lola and Aiden, bickering profusely as everyone else is forced to listen. 

LOLA

No, you’re wrong!

AIDEN

Am not!

LOLA

(challengingly stares at Aiden)

Are too!

AIDEN

(reciprocates the stare)

Am no--

NADIA

(exasperatedly waves her hand between them)

Okay! Does it really matter if he’s right? 

LOLA

Yes! He’s lying--

Aiden attempts to argue again, but Nadia quickly sends a withering glare at him, warning him to drop it.

LOLA (CONT’D)

He said he saw a raven. That’s a crow!

AIDEN

You’re insane! How could you possibly think that’s a crow! It was clearly bigger with a curved beak--

Aiden points behind him at where he saw the bird.

LOLA

You just described a crow, dipshit!

AIDEN (CONT’D)

(ignoring Lola)

--Which means that it’s a raven!

LOLA

You’re just factually incorrect. I mean--

(turns to Pala)

You saw the crow, right? What d’you think?

PALA

(Hesitantly)

I didn’t see it…

Lola glares at Pala.

LOLA

You’re not helping.

Pala, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the argument, turns away. 

PALA

It’s getting dark. I believe there’s a town at the end of these woods, but that’s a couple days' journey. 

Nadia sighs. 

NADIA

We’ll just have to set up camp for the night, then.

LOLA

(pointedly)

We would’ve been there if someone hadn’t slowed us down.

AIDEN

I’m not slowing you guys down, I’m just thinking. 

Aiden moves to face Lola. 

LOLA

You? Thinking? With that puny brain?

AIDEN

At least I have a brain! 

LOLA

Oh yeah? At least I have a—

Nadia rushes to stand between the two just as Lola starts stalking over to Aiden. 

NADIA

Alright! Let's calm down.

AIDEN

She started it.

Lola

Nuh-uh. You’re the one who started it with your ravens.

The two start incisively talking over one another, trying to get the other to admit that they started the argument, and refusing to admit it themselves. 

RYUJI

(assertively)

Quit your bickering. Do I need to sit you two down?

Aiden vehemently shakes his head while Lola lowers her head, though briefly sending a scathing glare at Aiden. 

Ryuji redirects his attention to the whole crew. 

RYUJI (CONT’D)

Now, let’s find that shelter——my feet are aching. 

The crew trudge slowly, with Lola the only one not really trying to search for shelter. Pala squints and steps ahead of the group as Nadia gives Ryuji a look of gratitude. 

PALA

(calling out) 

Hey, I see a cave over there.

Pala points to the cave off screen. The camera pans over to the small cave, the height and width about the size of a small van. 

Lola rushes past everyone running towards the cave, intentionally stepping on Aiden’s foot in the process.

AIDEN (O.S)

Ow! my bloody foot... (whispers) you bastard.

LOLA 

(unapologetically) 

Oops. Didn’t see your foot there, Assden.

Aiden chases Lola off screen. Pala reluctantly follows to scout the cave as a possible shelter.

NADIA 

(groans)

One day… we’ll get peace and quiet around here. 

Cut to Aiden holding a canteen of water above his head, out of Lola’s reach. 

AIDEN

Aw, is little ol’ Lola too short? Whatever will she do next?

LOLA

I’ll kick your sorry-ass! That’s what I’ll do. 

AIDEN

You’re in the same boat as me, dumbarse!

LOLA

(scoffs)

That doesn’t matter to me. I’ll beat you anyway! (pulls up fists)

NADIA

(nervously)

Hey, reel it back.

AIDEN

(pulls up fists)

Bring it on, Rakefire.

The two ignore Nadia and move closer, stance ready to spar.

NADIA

Stop it!

They pull apart and their eyes widen at Nadia.

NADIA (CONT’D)

(stuttering)

I- I didn’t mean to yell.

Nadia rushes off, as everyone else is silent in a moment of awkwardness.

RYUJI

Well, uh, why don't you two get some firewood.

Aiden and Lola walk out of the cave as they faintly argue. Pala slowly creeps out of the cave behind them.

Ryuji walks up to Nadia as she sits down on the floor playing with Poulp in her hands. Ryuji sits right beside Nadia.

Fade in:

EXT. DEEPER IN THE EERIE WOODS - DUSK   2

Aiden and Lola are searching through the forest trying to find some firewood. Aiden is taking charge, collecting firewood as Lola is dilly-dallying with a handful of damp sticks and picking up small leaves that look interesting. 

There is sparse wind, and sporadic crow and owl calls in the background.  A thin layer of fog is in the air, concealing the forest beyond 50 feet. 

LOLA

Hey dunce, we’ve already collected enough sticks.

Aiden briefly turns to look at the small pile in Lola’s hand. Glaring at her, he turns back around and continues searching. 

LOLA

Well?

AIDEN

(scoffs)

Is there moss in your brain?

That wood ain’t gonna light. 

Lola stares at Aiden. Aiden rolls his eyes.

AIDEN

It’s damp.

LOLA

(exasperated)

How was I supposed to know that?

AIDEN

It’s common knowledge. That is if you’re not some pampered princess. 

(under his breath) 

Like you.

Lola throws her sticks on the ground and marches up to Aiden.

LOLA

I ain’t no damn princess, Assdien!

AIDEN

Well, you’re oblivious to the world.

LOLA

At least I do shit in battles! Unlike you with that sharpened stick you call a knife. 

AIDEN

Your shit gets us into battles! 

LOLA

Battles are what we signed up for!

AIDEN

I didn’t sign up to be picking up feckin’ sticks with you! I bet you’ve  never had to work a day in your privileged little life! 

LOLA

You don't know shit about what I've been through and you don't know shit about me!

The crows and owls stop making noise and can be seen in the background flying away.

AIDEN

Judging by how you carry yourself I know damn bloody hell who you are. You’re a spoiled princess, babied by your family, then ran away when life became too hard.

Lola’s eyes go wide for a moment before furrowing quickly to glare daggers at Aiden. 

AIDEN

(smugly)

Ooh, I struck a nerve. Was that too accurate for you?

LOLA

I-

A loud crack of a branch is heard among their heavy breathing, making them freeze. Their eyes widen as they quickly look around them.

LOLA

(whispering)

That wasn’t you, was it.

AIDEN

I thought it was you.

The shadow of a large wendigo slowly lurks over the two of them. 

Cut to:  

EXT. CAMP - DUSK   3

Ryuji and Nadia are sitting next to each other. Nadia fiddles with a gold locket, as Poulp climbs back onto Nadia’s head.

NADIA

I still remember them, all of them. 

She opens the locket briefly, but not shown to the camera, then closes it shakily. 

NADIA (CONT’D)

(sardonic chuckle)

And I still remember when they left.

Nadia takes a deep breath, though it’s shaky on the exhale.

NADIA (CONT’D)

D’you think we’ll still be together. Even after it all ends?

RYUJI

They’ll figure out how to work together. Have some faith in them.

A loud shot echoes through the forest, causing the two to jump in their seats.

NADIA

(shakily)

That was Lola, wasn’t it.

RYUJI

Breath… I’m sure she’s fine. Aiden too. 

Gunshots echo 4 more times in quick succession. The two quickly stand up. 

NADIA

They’re in trouble! We need to find them. 

Nadia starts running in their direction. Ryuji motions to Pala off screen and the two run after Nadia.

Fade into:

The clearing where Aiden and Lola were in is now empty, only covered in trampled leaves and various sticks scattered. Footsteps fade into the low level fog and the camera’s low angle reveals Lola’s hat on the ground. 

The group appears in the background. 

NADIA

There! That’s Lola’s hat!

The group rushes over to the hat on the ground. Nadia picks up the hat, with the camera following it and pans out on the group.  Ryuji inspects the ground near Lola’s hat.

RYUJI

(murmurs to himself)

There’s bullet shells on the floor.

Pala walks ahead of Nadia, looking for tracks on the ground. He squats down when he finds one of Lola and Aiden’s bootprints.

PALA

Hey, I found some prints.

Nadia leans back on a tree with her hands on her head.

NADIA

They’re… gone. The-the monster got them. 

(pause)

I- I failed.

RYUJI

The monster didn’t get them—

WENDIGO (O.S)

(mimicking Aiden cutting of Ryuji)

-almost cost us our lives.

NADIA

It’s them, I gotta go.

Nadia bolts off towards the wendigo.

RYUJI

(muttered)

Oh , no.

Ryuji rushes after Nadia, leaving Pala behind.

Fade in:

EXT. IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE - DUSK   4

Nadia is alone, walking frantically in the woods. She nervously fiddles with her locket and shivers with anxiousness. Ryuji catches up to her                                                    

NADIA

It’s my fault. I shouldn’t’ve let them go alone, not when they’re fighting like that.                                                                               

RYUJI

No-no-no it’s not your fault, I was the one who told them to collect some wood.

NADIA

But I could've told them to stay or could’ve gone with them!

Nadia sighs, clutches her locket, and holds it to her heart.

NADIA (CONT’D)

(wistfully)

There’s always something I could’ve done. Always something. I don’t know.. Maybe I should’ve talked to them more. Focused on their issues instead of mine. But it’s hard, you know. 

RYUJI

That doesn’t mean that their fighting is your fault, though.

NADIA

Maybe. But it would’ve saved them. My other crew. 

(wistfully laughs) 

Who knows… 

Nadia opens the locket, briefly looking down at the picture of her old crew inside. 

NADIA

You know, I so badly wanted them to like me. All of them. And we had a blast, don’t get me wrong.

Nadia closes the locket.

NADIA

But I could never get them to stay. No matter how friendly I was. 

RYUJI

Maybe that’s the problem.

NADIA

What do you mean?

RYUJI

I think you focus so much on making sure you were liked, that you were afraid of becoming hated.

NADIA

But-

WENDIGO (O.S)

(mimicking Lola)

At least I do shit. . . 

NADIA

It’s Lola! I gotta go.  

Nadia’s eyes widen and she frantically searches for “Lola,” her head jolting around.  

Ryuji grabs Nadia’s arm.

RYUJI

I don’t know what you’re hearing, but somethings off.

Nadia breaks out of Ryuji’s grasp.

NADIA

I can’t fail them again.

Nadia starts to wander in the direction of the last mimicry. Ryuji walks beside her trying to snap her out of the trance. 

Fade In:

EXT. NEXT TO A CLIFF - TWILIGHT   5

Lola and Aiden are out of breath and slow down near a cliff. The fog has risen slightly and there is minimal lighting. The two of them take their time to catch their breaths before intensely glaring at each other. The arguments pick back up.

LOLA

I think– 

Aiden covers her mouth, and Lola’s glares. Aiden puts a finger over his mouth to get her to be quiet, then peers around the tree from where they came. 

The camera follows Aiden’s line of sight, and hangs there for an earlier second, zooming in slowly into the woods as the fog is more noticeable and not a single sound in earshot, before cutting back to Aiden.

AIDEN

(whispering) 

You gotta be quiet; it’s still lurking around.

Aiden removes his hand from Lola’s mouth. She scoffs.                               

LOLA

(whispering) 

Do that again, and you won't have a hand.   

Aiden rolls his eyes. Lola shivers in disgust, before trying to walk back into the direction they came.

AIDEN

(whisper-yelling)

What are you doing? 

LOLA

(whispering) 

That’s the thing I fought before! I was really close; I think I could beat it now.

AIDEN

You can’t just walk up to it and expect to shoot it to pieces!

LOLA

Why not?

AIDEN

(sighs)

It can’t see well, so it relies on its hearing to pinpoint your gunshots. And then you’ll be dead. 

LOLA

So what? You want us to be sitting ducks out here?

AIDEN

We’ll be dead ducks if we go back!

Aiden points in the direction from whence they came. The camera quickly pans to follow, revealing Pala standing there. 

PALA

Oh, there you guys are.

Aiden and Lola jump at the sight, with Aiden yelping and Lola merely gasping at the jumpscare. 

PALA (CONT’D)

Come on, we gotta meet up with the others.

AIDEN

(shakes his head adamantly)

There’s no way I’m going back with that thing still out there.

LOLA

(chuckling)

You scared?

AIDEN

What? No. I just refuse to be eaten tonight.

(grumbles to self)

Of course it had to be nighttime when it’s hunting. 

PALA

(shaking their head)

Fine, I’ll just go back and tell them I found you.

PALA quickly looks around and finds a small cave opening, hidden behind some vines and branches. He ushers the two into the cave.

PALA (CONT’D)

Just stay here. And try not to kill each other.

Pala exits the cave, leaving the two glaring at each other.

Cut To:                   

EXT. IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE - NIGHT   6

The fog has reached knee-height. Nadia is visibly shaking as she starts to speed up her pace. Ryuji tries to keep up with Nadia as she mumbles.

RYUJI

Please, listen to me. They’re not there. 

Ryuji quickly looks around at the trees, all of which look the same. 

RYUJI (CONT’D)

We’re getting more lost.

NADIA

I heard them and I need to check to see if it’s them.

RYUJI

But their footprints went the other way.

WENDIGO                                                                                                    

(mimicking Lola)

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

Nadia visibly jumps and Ryuji’s eyes widen when he finally hears the Wendigo’s mimicry.  Nadia turns back to face Ryuji.

NADIA

(distraught)

I know you don’t believe it, but if there’s any chance that it’s them, I’ll do whatever it takes to save them.

Nadia sprints off into the forest, disappearing into the rising fog. Ryuji, shaken from the realization, takes a second to realize that Nadia is gone again.

Ryuji takes off into the fog, but quickly realizes that he’s lost Nadia, and slows down to a brisk walk. He calls out to Nadia several times, but there’s no reply. He tries to keep his calm, yet his eyes dart quickly around the forest. 

WENDIGO (O.S)

(mimicking Nadia)

It’s them.

He turns around to look behind him at the direction of the sound, and when he turns back, runs right into Pala.

On instinct, Ryuji pulls out his sword, but eases when he realizes it’s Pala.

RYUJI

(Relieved)

Oh, it’s just you.

PALA

(confused)

Yeah… I found Aiden and Lola.

RYUJI

Well, I lost Nadia.

The camera pans to the vast, foggy forest. Ryuji finds Nadia’s footprints, only to find that they abruptly end with no sign of Nadia anywhere.

RYUJI (CONT’D)

And I have no clue where she is.

Cut To:

INT. CAVE TUNNEL - NIGHT   7

The cave is near pitch-black. The only sounds are Lola and Aiden’s footsteps and water dripping in the background. The two are awkwardly pacing around in the entrance of the cave tunnel. Lola, getting more fidgety and tired of the awkwardness, scoffs and walks further into the cave. 

AIDEN

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

LOLA

Looking for the creature, obviously. 

Aiden looks at Lola in disbelief.

LOLA

Ok, you said that it can’t see well and that it hunts at night.

AIDEN

Yeah, so?

LOLA

That means it has to stay somewhere when it’s light outside. Therefore, it spends time in dark areas, like a cave. 

Aiden rolls his eyes and moves to block Lola’s path.

AIDEN

No, we’re supposed to stay here, not wander off.

LOLA

Stop being such a worrywart. I’ll just check it out and come right back. 

AIDEN

But—

LOLA

Do what you want, I’m going.

Lola starts to head off into the cave, unperturbed by the darkness.

AIDEN

(To himself)

Fecken Hell.

Aiden storms off after Lola, reaching into his pocket to grab a lighter. It barely lights up the walls of the small cave, but he quickly catches up to Lola, who is strolling casually. Lola notices Aiden, and smugly smiles at him

LOLA

Couldn’t handle being alone?

(chuckles)

This is fun though, isn’t it? Going on an adventure, possibly finding treasure…

AIDEN

No! We have to get back now!

LOLA

Oh, relax.

Aiden grabs her arm and pulls her to a stop, facing him.

AIDEN

No. Everywhere we go, you wander off. Everytime! 

LOLA

It’s not that big of a deal.

AIDEN

It is if you get hurt. Or die.

LOLA

(wryly)

Well, I’m still here and kicking.

AIDEN

Yeah, but what happens if Pala or Nadia get hurt looking for us? You always jump ahead and get yourself in trouble, and then we have to suffer the consequences. 

Lola weakly scoffs, but listens more intently to what Aiden is saying at the mention of their friends.

AIDEN (CONT’D)

And you always get away with it, getting reassurance instead of a scolding. No matter what you do. And all because you’re the baby of the group. 

LOLA

Well, you just sit there and scoff at everything I do, everything I stand for. At least everyone else makes me feel like a part of the team. You never let me do anything! It’s like you don’t trust me to do even the simplest of tasks.

AIDEN

That’s ‘cause I don’t trust you! How can I trust you if you always let the team down! Always. 

LOLA

I-

AIDEN

(quieter, but punctuated and forceful)

You never take any criticism, you never change, you never even realize that you’re the one to bring the team down. You only care about yourself, regardless of if you hurt others. 

(throws arms out in frustration)

And here we are, probably lost in some bloody cave, ‘cause you didn’t think about the consequences. 

Aiden takes a deep breath to calm his anger. 

AIDEN (CONT’D)

Whatever…let’s just get back.

LOLA

(softly)

Okay.

They start heading back, walking into a different, larger cave tunnel. As they continue walking, they pass by more and more bones and partial skeletons scattered around. 

LOLA

(looking at a skeleton)

I don’t remember this.

Lola leans down and picks up a human femur covered in teeth marks.

LOLA (CONT’D)

Are you sure this is the right way?

AIDEN

What? I was following you.

LOLA

Shit.

They start speeding up their walking as the realization of being lost dawns upon them. They pass more piles of bones and skeletons, ignoring them completely.

Eventually, they spot light coming from a small hole in the cave wall, about half the size of Lola. They crawl through, with Lola having to pull Aiden through. 

They breathe out, and look out to see a large cavity filled with skeletons and various vines and leaves. Their eyes widen as they hear a large being approach the cave. They quickly duck behind a large boulder. 

The wendigo walks past Aiden and Lola with Nadia’s unconscious body draped over its shoulder, then placed on the ground before making its way towards a pile of bones. 

LOLA

(slightly panicked)

When did she get captured?

Aiden gives Lola a look, to which she becomes sheepish.

AIDEN

We have to get her out of there.

(trails off)

We need a plan… 

Aiden fidgets around trying to come up with a plan as Lola watches in horror at the Wendigo approaching Nadia again.

LOlA

We have no time. 

Lola grabs Aiden by his shoulder, forcing him to look at her.

LOLA (CONT’D)

I know I haven’t proven myself to you, but right now Nadia is in danger and we have to trust our instincts. I have an idea, but you have to trust me.

Aiden takes a breath and nods. Lola reaches over to a nearby bone. She grabs Aiden’s arm and jumps up from behind the boulder, quickly throwing the bone as far away from Nadia as possible. The bone clatters against the far cave wall, a thundering echo grabbing the Wendigo’s attention. 

They sprint at the opportunity.  Aiden grabs Nadia, shaking her awake; She only stirs. Lola looks back at the Wendigo, who’s crudely investigating the noise. 

LOLA

(to herself)

Come on, Nadia. Wake up.

Realizing there’s no time to spare, Lola starts trying to lift Nadia up, Aiden quickly helping. They get Nadia on her feet, which causes her to stir back into consciousness. 

The wendigo finishes its search and turns back around to see the three at the opposite wall. Lola picks up a bone.

AIDEN

Run!

Nadia stumbles a little, but the three manage to sprint out of the cave. Lola tosses the bone at a pile of loose boulders, partially covering the cave exit.

Continuous:

EXT. JUST OUTSIDE THE  CAVE - NIGHT   8

The camera shakily follows the three running away from the cave. They are pushing any loose trees and foliage behind them as they run. The Fog is thigh-high at this point with the moonlight being the only light source. They spot Pala and Ryuji, grabbing their sleeves to urge them to run with them. 

LOLA

Guys, run!

PALA

What are we running from?

AIDEN

It’s called a Wendigo.

RYUJI

(realization)

I bet it’s the one that was making the sounds.

LOLA

Well, it’s the same cryptid we’re after. I fought it a while ago.

PALA

(looks behind them)

Wait, slow down.

The team slows down, catching their breaths behind a large tree.

PALA (CONT’D)

So, explain everything because it seems like I’m the only one out of the loop.

LOLA

So we found Nadia in this weird cave lair after exploring it—

AIDEN

• Unwillingly -

LOLA

Yeah, whatever, but I chucked a bone to distract it and we sprinted out. 

PALA

(to the team)

Oh…this gives me an idea…

The team, though sullen, nods in readiness and agreement. Ryuji notices that Nadia is shaken.

RYUJI

(softly)

What’s wrong?

NADIA

(remorseful)

I- I messed up.

RYUJI

It’s ok. 

NADIA

No, I could’ve hurt them.

RYUJI

(emphasized) 

It’ll be ok.

PALA

Are you ready?

NADIA

Yeah. Let’s do this.

Cut To:

EXT. DEEP IN THE WOODS - NIGHT   9

Nadia is alone surrounded by foliage and waist-high fog. She hums a song to herself as the ruffle of surrounding leaves become louder and more erratic.

NADIA 

(to herself)

Here goes nothing.

(to Poulp)

Hold-on little guy.

Nadia goes through some bushes making noise to attract the wendigo. It catches the wendigo's attention and chases after Nadia as she runs away.

Pala puts a thumbs up. Aiden and Pala start to make loud noises of boulders, wood, and water colliding with each other making so much noise you can't focus on any noise.

The wendigo stops for a second then it continues to follow Nadia, who is still running.

Nadia starts to slow down as she’s losing her stamina, the wendigo starts to catch up to her. But as the wendigo does, Lola’s revolver goes off, and the bullet wizzes by the wendigo.

The wendigo looks at where the bullet came from, and sees Lola. Then, the wendigo looks back for Nadia, but Nadia is gone, hiding behind a rock, so it runs after Lola.

Lola runs toward the meeting point, and after a couple of moments, she fires her revolver back towards the wendigo, slowing it down.

Cuts to Pala and Aiden moving from their location where they were making noise.

Lola catches up to the spot where she’s supposed to. There is a huge cliffside with no way to escape.

Once the wendigo gets into position, Ryuji pops out of his hiding area roughly between the wendigo and lola. Nadia comes out with her blunderbuss aimed at it, Pala with his bow aimed, and Aiden approaches Ryuji’s opposite side, leaving the wendigo at the center of the team.

Ryuji and Aiden start attacking the wendigo aiming for a non-lethal blow as Pala sinks a couple arrows into it, Lola fires her revolver at the wendigo’s arms when it’s mid attack. Nadia deals another blow as the mini cannonball flies into the wendigo square in the chest, knocking the wind out of the wendigo.

Ryuji is unable to get a good capture as the wendigo flails its arm chaotically. He tosses the amulet to Aiden and jumps onto the wendigo to hold it down.

RYUJI

I can’t hold it for much longer!

Aiden rushes to the wendigo and activating the amulet, captures it as Ryuji lets go.

AIDEN

Gotcha! 

Fade to:

EXT. 10

The group is walking with Nadia a little behind. They’re exhausted, but in great spirits. 

LOLA

That was crazy! I mean, throwing the bone - which was disgusting by the way - and even collapsing the cave.

She laughs heartily.

LOLA (CONT’D)

I definitely knew what I was doing.

Lola jokingly nods as the others laugh alongside her. The camera shifts to Nadia wistfully watching the crew. 

AIDEN

(semi-sarcastically)

Well, you couldn’t have done it without me.

LOLA

(teasingly)

Oh yeah, well you didn’t come up with the plan.

Nadia jumps in worry and clutches onto her locket, anxious that another fight will break out, but Aiden laughs. Her shoulders release some tension.

AIDEN

That’s fair. 

(pause)

We did good.

Lola beams and continues on another tirade. As her voice fades, Nadia realizes that she’s accidentally clicked open the locket. She looks at the picture inside, then looks up at the mirror image of the team compared to her old crew. She smiles and closes the locket, placing it inside her shirt before rejoining the team.

The Missionary Marauder (Poem)

The Marauder of mythical monsters,

A mercenary of man,

A missionary of misery for myths and malevolent men.

Masquerading as a mortal man,

Meandering around the masses,

Massacring a myriad of men and monsters.

The missionary's mission: to mar the murderous mage of madness.

The eyes of the Marauder and the magnificent mage met,

High up in the mounds, where the mage maintains his minaret,

amidst the inner margin is a mess with a myriad of mutated mangled monsters bits,

Mended together making a mortal monstrosity.

The Marauder marches ever closer to the mage’s minaret,

the mage manding malignant mob of mercenaries,

the Marauder is marked for murder.

A myriad of mercenaries mobilized,

They melee the Marauder in masses.

the Marauader raises his martyr mace,

in a single swing, maiming, marring, mangling , and mutilating a multitude of mercenaries.

masking everything in muddled blood, muscles, and meat.

In mere moments the mercenaries were massacred, reduced to the meaty mush of former men who mourned, married, and experienced malice and merry

Now as their meaty mush melts in the mound’s mead.

A measly mercenary is molten in place, Mystified as a man mercilessly massacred a myriad of militaristic mercenaries in mere moments.

The Marauder meets eyes with the measly mercenary,

The mercenary tries to maneuver,

The Marauder already  mounts his mace in the misty air menacingly,

Before maliciously murdering the man,

The mace mutilates everything as it migrates from the mind to the mouth,

As the mouthpiece wavers with the mistral winds.

The Mage’s meticulous eye, molds the muck and marl around the Marauder,

In a maze-like morass with murderous machinations,

Where a model mortal-man has no chance at survival.

The Marauder mains his mace and maims the maze’s walls leaving a massive gapping mouth,

The marauder marches through,

meeting the mage’s monstrosity.

The monster was a meat amalgamation with a mania of mutated monsters marred and mended back together,

Multiple hands melted into one single meat machine,

The Monster’s mass measured about a massive mast.

The monster mauled towards the Marauder, missing him,

as the it’s mutated fist mares the mount getting it mired.

The Marauder using his mace,

Mutilating the Monster’s wrist making it mere meat.

The monster lets out a monstrous mutated miserable moan,

its moan’s mimic all the monsters, as if all the moans merge into a monstrous one.

In its moment of misery,

the Marauder maims the Monster’s ankle,

as the malformed ankle gives-way,

the monster meets its master in the minaret,

milling everything underneath the monster.

the Mage malingers like a mirage,

murmurs a few words to the Monster as its wounds mend.

the Marauder swings his mace at the Mage,

as the Mage's merry mug mutilates,

the bloody brainy muck merges with the mace.

the mortified Monster mustering the materialistic body of its master,

moving her into the middle of the mort minaret.

manumit for its mitigated master,

the monster monopolized on it’s madness,

unleashing a mania of mauling, towards the Marauder.

the madness of maltreated muscles matting the Marauder in place.

Standing is the mist is him,

The Marauder merely maneuver out of the monster's madness,

without a mark on him like a mirage in a mortal model.

The Marauder mounts the monster's mane, Morning his mace,

He maims the majority monster's mass.

Right before the Murauder murders the monster,

the Murauder is mawed as the monster makes a meal out of him.

the Marauder matching the strength of the monster's mandible,

maintaining himself from not becoming a meal.

the Marauder swings his mace mutilating the monster's maxilla,

making an exit along with a memento and monument.

the Marauder mounds its mace for the mortal blow,

marring the monster's marrow.

the mission is completed: murdering the mercenary militia, mutated monster, and mage.

the mettled missionary marauder maintained mankind’s amity for another million years.

the Soldier-of-sorrows (Poem)

A silver-toned serpent slithered across the seven seas,

scouring through the season of snow.

In search of a sin-filled souls,

to satisfy its insatiable stomach.

Spotting a single straggler,

strolling along the sea-side.

The serpent shrouded by shadows,

swooped in snatching the stupendous soul,

the stand-alone survivor.

Speedily subduing her in a single second,

Its sabertooth fangs stabbed her in the stomach,

splitting her into two sectors,

swallowing her in the sights of none.

She is now subsiding in Satan's sector,

spiritual flames spouting simultaneously

searing skin from skeletons.

she's sent to the spire of suffering,

selling her soul to the sire of the sadists. 

To slay the silver-serpent, single-handedly.

Supporting her success, Satan spares the Saber of Sorrows.

Sending her back as a specter,

She slays every single soul she sees.

With every soul slain, the saber gets substantially stronger.

She stormed across the solidified sea,

searching for six seasons till she sees it on the seashore.

The serpent's silhouette stands straight with its staggering stature, surveying its surrounding.

Satan's slave secures her saber and sets her sight on the serpent.

The setting sun sends the shrouds land in shadows,

setting the stage suitable for a surprise strike.

she strikes in silence, shrouded shadows, slashing the serpent's spine as its sticky blood spurts out.

She splits the skin further straight down the spine as its skeleton’s shown.

The suffering serpent startled sending it to the sea,

staining it in red for several seasons to come.

The spiteful specter stabs her saber into its spine.

The serpent splits the sea as it swims with the speed of sound,

She staggers at the speed of the serpent, slipping downwards, splitting the serpent as she slid.

Then she sticks the sharp saber into its spine's support.

Satan's specter stands strong, sticking to the serpent as its steadily speeds up every single second for the span of several suns.

The serpent soliciting a sully success,

It spun and seized its spine, where the She-specter stood.

She unsheathed the saber for the serpent's spine,

slanting the sword toward the serpent's skull.

The serpent's skull slamming into the saber's sharp edge,

severing the serpent down its spine,

slaying the serpent, single-handedly.

Satan's soldier of sorrow serves the serpent's role, striking down sinful souls, sending them to Satan's sector.