Out of this World
By: Brent Rusinoski

A man by the name of Charlie Zawrin lifts his freshly poured beer in celebration of his father’s birthday. Gazing into his glass, his eyes reluctantly slip into the abyss. Without warning, he seems to be frozen in time. Total paralysis overtakes him, becoming a prisoner inside his own body. Little does anyone know; Charlie submerges into a time that wasn’t the present. To him, a few seconds gazing into the glass feels like a lifetime. His facial expressions gradually transform from cheerful to fearful. Moments later, he warps back to reality and his mind focuses. Charlie snaps his head back and forth looking around all dazed and confused, grasping at his chest, out of breath……

Charlie stands up screaming, demanding to know what year it is. In a high-pitched voice, he disturbingly shouts, “You’re all going to die!” Bursting out of the bar knocking people over in his path, Charlie seems to be running away from a nightmare. A few of his family members follow close behind, tracking his whereabouts deep into the forest. They find random articles of clothing every hundred feet or so. He’s eventually found resting upon a high tree branch, naked. His body steaming like a warm lake on a cold night. His family looks up at him, laughing.

The older sister sarcastically expresses herself, “A little dramatic, don’t you think, Charlie?” Seconds later, the father demands him to come down and to stop acting like a fool. Charlie jumps down from the tree, landing as softly as a cat, looking down at his body in amazement. Before tonight, he was never able to run fast or jump high. He was always the kid being picked last for a sports team. His mother, on the other hand, oddly smiles, knowing full well what’s unfolding in front of her eyes. She asks her son if he is ok, as all concerned mothers would in that situation. But the impatient and unimpressed father starts to walk away, barking over his shoulder: “Get some clothes on, we have a lot to catch you up on.”

The ride home feels ten times as long due to an awkward silence. By this time, Charlie is swarming with pent up questions which need answering. Bursting at the seams, he breaks the tension in the air with an interrogation worthy amount of inquiries. His father pulverizes his curiosity by yelling: “Calm down, breath, control yourself, all will be settled soon enough.”

Before turning into the driveway, Charlie’s older sister asks him a question, “You had your first vision tonight, didn’t you?” He looks at his sister sitting next to him in the back seat with a puzzling look on his face not knowing how to reply. After a moment to think things over in his head, Charlie responds: “How…. How do you know that?”
Charlie’s mother overhears the conversation unfolding in the back seat and decides to chime in, “Let’s finish this talk in the house, shall we?”

Charlie responds, “No, I want to talk right here, right now.” He continues to pry, “Mom, what the hell is going on?”

The car comes to a screeching halt.

Both parents exit with the sound of slamming car doors. The older sister leans over to enforce the parents’ wishes, “You better get your ass inside.” Charlie watches his parents walk and talk while going into the house.

The young man decides to get out of the car, methodically walking into the house. Formulating more questions before he sits down at the kitchen table, where his father is already waiting. “Where’s mom?” Charlie asks.

“She will be right back.” Father answers.

The older sister sits down at the table facing Charlie.

Mother walks in to the kitchen with a serious look on her face.

Mother: “Charlie what you’re about to see in the next few moments will be overwhelming; it will take some time to accept. Try not to overreact.”

By hearing this, Charlie starts to feel his pulse quicken. His veins saturate with anxiety.

The father tells him to shut his eyes and to keep them closed until instructed otherwise.

Before closing his eyes fully, Charlie notices his father tapping on the kitchen table as though typing on a keyboard. With his eyelids shut, the world is cast into darkness and uncertainty.

The older sister sounds off her opinion: “Whatever you hear or feel, hold back the urge to open your eyes at all costs, until father tells you to open them.” Suddenly, a deafening screech of gears startles Charlie, as the table jolts from side to side and slowly starts to descend into the unknown.

The temperature immediately starts to plummet. Over the next few minutes, Charlie is subjected to brutal cold winds. All varying ranges of metal shrieking tones, tapping, clinking, echoing, and groaning all around him as if a school of whales were communicating. These unknown sounds evoke unsettling and disturbing emotions. Then unexpectedly, the table stops descending, settling upon a crushed rock surface.

A powerful voice echoes around the room, “Charlie as you open your eyes, realize you’re looking upon your sister, mother, and father. Nothing more, nothing less. The beings who raised you, guided you, and love you unconditionally. If you don’t like what you see, blink and you’ll see familiar faces.”

The voice was different and unusual. “Dad?…… Is that you?” Charlie asks anxiously.

Dad: “Yes, son…… open your eyes when you’re ready.”

Charlie starts to open his eyes, not looking directly at his family. His senses experience a feast of blackness, dampness, and the hair on his body spikes up. Drops of water are heard splashing in puddles all around him. The only light in the middle of the kitchen table, dimly shutters. He looks up at a few unknown figures, barely illuminating their faces. Charlie’s eye’s flood with tears, his face goes pale, mouth drops, pulse quickens, fingers start to tremble. At first, he was unable to speak, gazing upon three bluish green humanoids with oversized eyes, elongated arms and legs. They appear to have three fingers instead of five.

After a few moments, Charlie forces out a few words of panic, “You’re …. You’re…. not human???? How…? How…? Who…? Who…?” His first reaction is to run.

Sensing this, the father expresses a few words: “I know you want to run. Stay seated! I knew you wouldn’t understand at first and we were prepared for this fact.”

Straps fly out of Charlie’s chair restraining him, forcing his senses to swallow anything that’s about to happen.

With a flick of a button, lights start to pop on from afar and gradually come closer to the kitchen table. Slowly, a massive spaceship is illuminated at the end of a long runway. It was of unimaginable proportions, an overwhelming visual display of overlapping layers of metal. The craft isn’t of this world, it is like nothing Charlie has ever seen before. Cocking his head like a confused dog trying to comprehend what is going on, Charlie quickly looks back at his family to express his opinion……

Mother grabs onto his hand and squeezes it, expressing words of encouragement, “Stay strong.”

Charlie: “You kept this from me for 18 yea….”

Charlie’s mother interrupts him: “You must hear the whole truth to understand…. Our home planet was overpopulated. Resources were scarce and we foresaw the demise of our home world. Endless conflict and pollution were inevitable. We decided to leave, wanting no part of that future. Our ship crashed landed here over 100 years ago. Not having a choice, your father and I decided to adapt and evolve to the human way of life. Both of us want to help humanity survive. We will do anything to ensure whatever happened on our planet will never happen on Earth. Over the years, it was our choice to allow some wars to occur to keep the overall population down. Realizing this is crucial to maintain the overall health of any planet.”

Charlie tries to stop his mother by raising his hand out of disgust, gesturing her to be quiet. His mother goes against his wishes, effectively telling him to sit and listen.

Mother enthusiastically continues: “Our ship was damaged beyond repair. Earth does not have the materials to fix our ship. Our distress beacon was obliterated during entry into Earth’s atmosphere. No help is coming. Our home planet, Valyor, is approximately 250 million light years away. Thankfully we have the technology to cloak our identity. Humans tend to destroy what they aren’t familiar with. It would be so much more efficient to learn from our species while we’re alive, but they’d rather dissect our dead bodies like animals. Wasteful. Careless. Anyways … Your father and I were outnumbered and cornered, so we chose to become what were hunting us rather than face certain death. Unfortunately, we lost several of our companions before we decided to cloak our identity. Our species have abilities that humans deem too powerful to possess. You, Charlie, experienced a sliver of it in the bar. We can foresee the future and use our powers to change the outcome of history. We can choose to intervene or let the premonitions play out. This ability has dire consequences and very rarely rewards. For example: We had the opportunity to stop World War I and II from ever occurring. As a family, we decided not to react. Some things have to run their course or humankind won’t learn from their mistakes and atrocities.”

Charlie attempts to gather his words.

Charlie: “Before you rudely interrupted me, mother…. or whatever you are … answer me this…. Has my whole life as I knew it, minutes ago…. been one big lie???? All I know and love…. I lived in that god forsaken house for 18 years thinking you guys were human…… being nothing but truthful…. genuine…. where do I go from here????” Charlie glares down at his hands with deep concern which quickly turns to curiosity.

Suspiciously looking around, Charlie asks, “So what does that make me…… wait …. wait…. am I like you guys???”

Mother turns to the father with a firm order: “Release him.” With a flick of a button, the straps fly off his arms and legs. She cautiously gestures to the mirror behind him, which holds the answer to his question.

Charlie briefly hesitates, blinking multiple times while studying the wood grain on the table. Mother’s words instantly apply a crippling weight to her son’s shoulders, a tidal wave of uncertainty holding him down. His legs feel utterly powerless. Somehow, he gathers enough strength to stand up. His whole life wrapped up into this one moment. He sluggishly turns around with mixed emotions and childhood memory flashbacks. Charlie soon realizes what is staring back at him…. a familiar face.

Charlie touches his cheeks, puzzled, wondering, questioning, and confused. “I’m…. I’m human?! ….. Why?”

Father speaks: “I abducted you from a hospital nursery. You’re a full-blooded human with the abilities of our kind. You were born human, but we raised you as one of our own. We’ve conducted experiments on you to make use of our time here on earth. These experiments consist of a series of injections attempting to link our DNA with your human DNA. In a desperate attempt to mend our two species together, we weren’t quite sure how you would respond or evolve. Now we know for certain, the vision you had in the bar confirms the DNA bonding process has been successful. I want you, Charlie, to realize these visions associate to your coming of age in our species. You’re now an adult. I know all of this may be quite overwhelming. Remember we consider you to be a part of this family, my son. With that said, I need to ask you what you saw and experienced in your vision. It’s really important……”

Charlie laughs in a crazed state. Still touching his face, trying to comprehend these profound revelations. Turning around with angry eyes he says, “You really think I should tell you anything? You three have been treating me like a lab rat for the last 18 years…… you stole me…. my real mother and father are out there somewhere…… why should I help you guys?”

His sister expresses her feelings: “You’re one of us, Charlie. The four of us are a family. We raised you, fed you, and protected you. Doesn’t matter what we are or where we have come from. I am your sister, that is your father, and that is your mother. We’re on your side. Father and mother have given you a chance, to not be the typical miniscule mundane human being, but to be something greater. You’re a bridge between two species. Endless and unknown possibilities to tap into. Charlie, I don’t think you understand what is hidden in each cell of your body. I know you have been feeling it, you sense it, you hear it, coursing through your veins right now with every heartbeat and breath you take. The quicker you let us help you filter out the noise and channel your power, you will become something no one has ever seen before, even unfamiliar to us.”

Charlie claps in a mocking fashion. “Great speech sis……. Seriously how long have you been rehearsing that? You almost had me convinced until I remembered there’s a god damn UFO sitting next to me and my family are aliens. Enough words of wisdom from all of you. I’ll tell you what my vision was. Only if everyone sits down and listens to me, without interrupting, that includes you…… Dad.” This was the first time Charlie ordered his father to do anything, signifying a significant change in Charlie.

With no instruction, Charlie sits down, shuts his eyes, and instinctively taps into his vision. Charlie starts reminiscing: “He’s coursing through our veins without our knowledge. We lead such pathetic worthless lives while he owns us all. He’s holding us hostage and we don’t even know it. We can’t do anything about it. He’s everywhere. Yet he’s nowhere. I know who he is. I stole the blueprint of his plans.”

Charlie opens his eyes shouting: “Give me as much paper as you can find and a few pens!” Once paper arrives, Charlie shut his eyes and begins drawing the blueprints verbatim. “People start to boil from the inside out. Truly horrid smells, sights, and sounds. No normal human could un-see what I’ve seen. The oceans dry up to nothing, vast deserts form within days. All the world’s natural resources wither and perish. Birds drop from the sky; all the beauty life has to offer is stripped from existence. It’s a mass extinction event on so many levels. Humans stand no chance……”

While Charlie has his eyes shut telling the family about his vivid vision, the lights flicker with great intensity. The tension swells inside Charlie. Everyone at the table looks at the flickering lights in amazement. Light bulbs randomly pop and the shards fall to the ground.

All the while, Charlie continues scribbling on paper while spewing out words. “We have no idea how to counteract what is happening to us and the world. Everyone blames it on global warming. That couldn’t be further from the truth. In the end, our ignorance kills us. The solution was staring us right in the face, the blueprints I saw.”

Right as the father was going to ask a question, Charlie slams the last piece of the blueprint down on the table. What a sight it was! Over 700 pages, detailing every piece of the microchip’s abilities.

Amazed as he is, father still asks the question.

Father: “Who’s responsible?”

Charlie: “I go to high school with him, I know him as Tsarev Larken. 30 years from now, he will be the CEO of the largest technological company in the world, named Xeaqoom.

Mother: “Wait … Larken…. That’s our rival colony here on earth. They live relatively close. Their sole purpose is the destruction of Earth…… Charlie I warn you to not dive too deep into this matter just yet. Your human component is to unpredictable and unstable. We need to help you control your powers or you may hurt yourself or someone else.”

Charlie tilts his head and grins: “Maybe you need someone unpredictable and unstable.”

Without another word, Charlie explains what he knows about Tsarev’s plan. “Larken develops a diabolical plan to take over the world. Using mainly his head engineers, combined with his tenacity and relentlessness, Tsarev develops the capability to dissolve into trillions of nano microchips. These microchips learn and seamlessly send information regarding the cellular structure of everything on Earth to his headquarters servers in New York City. These server’s hold all the data that will someday be used to repopulate the world with living things to Larken’s liking. Making it possible for him to alter the genetic makeup of everything on Earth through the data collected by the microchips. Ultimately, Larken will have the ability to play GOD. Having the capability to destroy or create life at an accelerated rate, bypassing millions of years of evolution, if he so chooses. Tsarev will become the planet. When he activates the beacon at his headquarters, the microchips swiftly duplicate themselves leaving Tsarev in control of the planet. It possible for him to reassemble in human form in a matter of hours.”

With every vivid detail departing Charlie’s lips, the air in the room thickens with doubt and fear, like a room filled with cigarette smoke. To everyone’s surprise, the mirror behind Charlie cracks and falls to the floor. Everyone at the table looks in the direction of the mirror in disbelief besides Charlie. Something inside of Charlie starts bubbling over at an expediential rate. Charlie follows up the disbelief with a serious question: “Tell me how grandpa died? I feel it in my bones…. grandpa didn’t die in a plane crash. That was just one more frivolous lie spoon fed me, wasn’t it?”

An awkward silence drapes over the table. Mother looks at Charlie fearing what would happen if he heard the truth. Charlie shouts: “ENOUGH!!! Stop wasting my time. Stop babying me. Will one of you have the common decency to tell me the TRUTH for once in my life.”

“Fine…. you really want to know…. he died fighting Tsarev Larkin’s father!” Charlie’s sister shouts. Charlie’s face turns red with anger, his veins bulge from his neck and face, smashing his hands upon the wooden table. The anger starts to change him. The cave starts to tremble, rocks jostle loose and begin to fall all over the place. Charlie replies to his older sister grinding his teeth together, “How …. did…… he…. die?” Mother urges the older sister not to answer. Charlie jumps up demanding an answer, “TELL ME NOWW WWW!!!” The sister starts to cry, looking up at Charlie like a sad little puppy dog, “He was doused with kerosene and burned alive.”

Father stands up seeing what’s about to happen, urging Charlie to push his anger to its limits. Mother urges extreme caution, “There’s protocol to follow and tests to be run, we have no idea what you’re capable of, Charlie.” Without warning, he vanishes into thin air. In his place, three pieces of paper float down upon the table, each landing in front of a family member as if it was meant for them. They read their handwritten note aloud: “No time for tests and protocol, it’s time for action, time to stop being weak, time to settle the score once and for all.”

Charlie’s family runs outside having a slight hunch of where Charlie could have gone. Once outside, the family could hear screams of horror and chaos unfolding in the distance. Smoke billowing into the sky, it’s coming from the direction of the Larken compound. Sirens and horns echo from a far.

Charlie strategically teleports back in front of his father, startling him and the others. Intently staring into his fathers’ eyes. Covered in blood, out of breath, he has a furious look on his face. At first Charlie’s mother and sister believe his placement was by accident, but shortly thereafter it becomes abundantly clear. He saw something inside the Larken compound, something even more life altering than his parents not being of this world.

Charlie starts to passionately talk to his father: “I purposefully didn’t tell you everything I saw in my vision…. I needed evidence…. I didn’t want it to be true…. You’re my father…. How could you???”

Mother: “Charlie what are you talking about?”

Before Charlie responds he starts to cry, looking down at his hands watching the tears splash upon his hands washing the blood away.

Charlie speaks: “I saw you as the co-conspirator with Tsarev Larken in Earth’s demise, father. Come to find out, you were the main reason why your home planet fell to shambles.”

Mother’s mouth drops, speechless, with tears running down her cheek, not knowing how to handle the startling news.

Charlie: “What really connects everything is while tearing the Larken clan limb from limb, a certain portrait of you, father, hangs in the Larken lineage hallway. Can you tell us why you of all people, the person we’re supposed to love and trust above all, has a portrait in the Larken household?”

Father: “I am highly impressed, Charlie. I must say you cracked the code of my identity in a matter of minutes of knowing who you truly are.”

Ignoring his every word, Charlie kept speaking over his father.

Charlie: “This thing that stands in front of us is our enemy. You, my father, supplied information to the Larken family which ultimately led to grandpa’s death. Tell me I’m wrong? You gave his coordinates to your biological family, the Larkens.”

Older sister: “These treasonous acts cannot go unpunished.”

The mother is left speechless.

Charlie whispers into his father’s ear: “I also know the Larken’s have all the raw materials we need to fix our ship. You’re a traitor and you will die a traitorous death.”
Silence and stillness overtake the surrounding landscape. It seems time is standing still for this dramatic event. The trees, bushes, grass, ants, frogs, even the wild animals freeze to watch from afar.

Before father can respond, Charlie punches both of his hands inside his father’s chest cavity. His father spits up blood, his eyes widen with shock. Charlie rips out his father’s beating heart, holding it, watching it, and feeling it pulsate in his hand. Meanwhile, the father collapses to his knees in front of his son, muttering a few words: “I’m so sorry.” Charlie smirks and answers his father for all to hear: “You ripped this family’s heart out, so I ripped out yours…… You were never my father.”

Charlie turns his head slightly towards his mother and sister, “We don’t have to worry about the Larken’s anymore.”

THE END

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No Trust in Love and War: The Crusade to End All Crusades
By: Brent Rusinoski

Disclaimer: This is a historical fiction short story. All events that unfold are purely for entertainment purposes, some events may be true while others are not. The author only cares about producing engaging material to captivate his readers imagination. While the imagination runs untamed, expect your emotional entrails to be ripped out of your soul and be run through the wringer. Enjoy!

I want you to seriously sit down and ask yourself a few questions before reading this story. For instance, envision the most important person in your life. Someone you couldn’t live without. Could be a parent, sibling, wife, a relative, or even a child. How far would you be willing to go to avenge this loved one if they were viciously killed by the hands of a sworn enemy? Or what if the enemy turns out to be someone you trusted and/or loved? Would you chase that enemy to the ends of the earth, by any means necessary? How far are you willing to go? How much are you prepared to sacrifice? Let your imagination run wild for a few moments. Because once you finally corner this foe, what would you be ready to do? Don’t answer that last question just yet. I want you to hold onto those emotional thoughts coursing through your veins. Now place them into the palm of your right hand, close that hand, squeeze tightly throughout the story. Stay mindful of these emotions, do not loosen your grip. Only let go if and when you feel truly satisfied with the words you read……..

The year is 1280, it’s been a turbulent two hundred years of periodic surges of blood shed between Christian fanatics and the united Muslim (Saracen/Arab) states. From every corner of Europe, peasants and lords alike endure the roughly two-thousand-mile pilgrimage to the Middle East in the name of God. At first it was believed the pilgrimage to the Holy Land was meant to conquer Jerusalem where Jesus Christ was crucified and resurrected by God. Then it was to halt the expansion of Muslim states and to recapture territories that had previously been Christian. As European motivation waivered, Pope Alexander IV used his tremendous power and propaganda machine, to keep swaying the minds of Christians to continue to travel to Jerusalem. His message was simple but effective, deeming the holy city of Jerusalem the center of the world for asking forgiveness. A place where you can erase your sins and the sins of your loved ones. Enticing. Truth of the matter is, a good percentage of the Christians who take the crusade perish before even reaching Jerusalem. The fortunate ones who reach the Holy Land eventually go penniless.

For the first time in history, every major city and castle on the coastline of the Mediterranean Sea is occupied by Christians. Europe finally has unencumbered trade routes and full control of the Mediterranean. Within the thick-walled city of Jerusalem, two twin male descendants of the Holy Roman Emperor Charlemagne are being born and bred for one purpose, to fight the Muslims. Prince Charles IV and Prince Friedrich have been inseparable since birth. All these boys know is the Holy Land, never stepping foot on European soil. By the age of sixteen, the twins are hurled to the mercy of the streets. It is never revealed when or if they will be summoned back to the palace. Is this all part of the training? Or are they banished for some untold reason? Alone and hopeless…. Subject to harsh living conditions, forced to beg, borrow, steal, and kill to survive. There’s no rest for the weary as the princes quickly discover to always have one eye open while they sleep or risk being swallowed up by the fiery depths of starvation, temptation, and torment. In order to fully comprehend and understand the enemy the boys must live as if they are the enemy. To be able to forecast the complexities of a Saracens rationale for decision making is to acquire a distinct advantage to defeat the Arabs at their own game. The princes have been forced to learn how to work together or suffer dire consequences.

After a few months, royal guards disguised as hobo’s appear out of the shadows when they least expect it, to bind and gag the waning princes. Carrying them to the palace with no idea what to anticipate or where they are going. Dropping both on the ground after a short journey, a deep unquestionable voice filled the room:
The King of Jerusalem: “Untie them! …..”
Both princes look at each other with squinty-blood shot eyes, looking around, stumbling to their feet, disoriented and shocked.
Charles looks up with angry eyes (oldest son and the future king): “Really, father you made us go through all of that? For what?”
King chuckles, stroking his beard, analyzing his boys then continues speaking: “Welcome back my sons. You both look famished….. exhausted….. and your pungent fragrance pierces the nostrils. How did the Jerusalem rat taste?…. Did you eat it raw, like the beasts you are? I hope you both learned some valuable lessons from the constant struggle, pain, and sacrifices you two had to endure and make, in order, to ensure your survival ….. My goal is to make you two into lions because out there, in the wild, you’re amongst hyenas…. Do you understand me?”

Both princes nod in agreement.

The King looks down and clenches his hands while leaning towards his sons saying, “Grasp onto those hardships you experienced, let them harden your soft outer shell my little cubs, strengthen your resolve to do the unthinkable, being a king will test every ounce of yourself. Charles when you become king, you will need to rely upon your younger brother, Friedrich. You must trust each other at all cost or risk the integrity of this Kingdom. Believe me when I tell you this boys, I went through the same gauntlet of hell when I was your age….. the only difference was…. I was alone…. Now go get cleaned up….”

The very next day from the time the boys wake up to the time they fall asleep, the princes resume training.

Throughout the two prince’s teenage years they have had many highly respected Muslim and Christian tutors teaching them everything from swordsmanship to mathematics. For the first sixteen years these boys learned how to protect themselves, the helpless, and to find any way conceivable to defeat their foes upon the battlefield by using their sharpened minds to outwit. Among the many mentors, the boys unknowingly were learning from Saladin, before attaining his rise to Sultan. The identity and royal status of the twin brothers is concealed from the mentors. This strategic move is to protect them from the hungry wolves who threaten their safety. Over time, a true long-lasting bond between teacher and his students form. Saladin’s teachings truly captivate the senses of these future rulers. Filling their minds with wisdom, chivalry, leadership skills, political tactics, and warfare strategy. The twins recall some of his most memorable words:

1) “I warn you against shedding blood, indulging in it and making a habit of it, for blood never sleeps.”
2) “It is not the custom of kings to kill kings.”
3) “European merchants supply the best weaponry, contributing to their own defeat.”

The twins soak up every ounce while in Saladin’s presence. Not because they are ordered to, but it felt as though a father was teaching his sons the ways of life. After each class the teenage boys play with Saladin’s son. Treating him as if a brother. The boys hardly see their biological father. Keeping the gears of Jerusalem turning is an overwhelming burden upon the kingship to maintain the peace. Unknowing at the time, these teachings would mold the foundation of how this story will eventually unravel to its bloody end.
Then one day, Saladin unexpectedly vanishes without a trace and resurfaces as the chosen commander of the Jihad to retake Jerusalem from Christian hands. The future King Charles IV and Prince Friedrich are sent away to Acre where they receive word several days later that Saladin savagely killed their father, the King of Jerusalem, along with their bedridden mother and all who were Christian. An extreme internal inferno of betrayal and anger consume the boys’ every thought. A decade passes before the boys use their internalized hatred for Saladin to become the most lethal fighting duo the world has ever seen. During their training, the two brothers defeat well over forty well-trained Saracen and Christian soldiers all at once. Fighting back to back with surgical precision and teamwork armed only with wooden practice swords. A force to be reckoned with.

For the last ten years in Acre, the twin brothers have been devising the perfect plan to retake the Holy Land. One day, the king surprisingly gives the order to retake Jerusalem, his queen unexpectedly starts to give birth. Not wanting to wait any longer, King Charles orders Prince Friedrich to march ahead with a sizeable portion of the army to establish a blockade around the city. The King would arrive several days later with the bulk of the army to finally unravel their plans to lay siege. Two days have passed since the prince left Acre. A courier arrives, interrupting the King’s council meeting with an unwelcome whisper and places a straw basket on the table. The King’s reaction to the message isn’t a pleasant one.

King Charles looks up at the messenger, puzzled…..stating: “Why would Saladin be sending a package?”

Charles stands up, weak kneed, mind racing with all the possibilities ….. he slowly lifts the baskets lid. When the king identifies the contents, he immediately collapses to the floor screaming with an earth-shattering tone. Uncontrollable bouts of crying, hyperventilation, and rage overwhelm the king. Whatever Charles can get his hands on is thrown and shattered across the room, as he falls into an acute state of remorse and guilt. All the advisors peer into the basket and reveal the head of the prince. Any shred of positive news in the King’s life soon results in death and destruction. The twin brothers until a day ago, have never split up, until the order was given to march by the king. Charles realizes what he needs to do so he mentally prepares himself to be able to summon enough strength and stamina for what he has to do:

I feel dead inside, feeling nothing, questioning my purpose, can’t sleep, eat, nor drink….. Only one thing is on my mind….. Revenge. Every ounce of my being is fully devoted to making Saladin pay for his traitorous crimes against my family.

A few minutes pass as the king lingers a bit longer, drowning himself further into madness while sitting upon his throne:

“It’s been clear to me now for some time, I wasn’t made to be happy in this world. I’m officially deeming myself the defiler, the ravager, and the desecrator of Saladin and all he loves. I curse that god forsaken place, Jerusalem, which has claimed so many innocent souls. All Jerusalem is filled with is back stabbing traitors concerned only with personal gain and ascension rather than being kind hearted and loyal…… to me they’re all cattle and it will become my slaughterhouse.

Suddenly, the King jumps up from his throne as if breaking the chains of depression. He demands his Generals to assemble the army and to call upon every Christian in the Holy Land to pick up the sword and end this fight once and for all. While putting his armor on, the king suffocates himself in further thought:
For now on, I rule myself, my thoughts and actions are my own. I will not consult a higher being, because there is no other higher being besides myself. I do not care for the commandments of god, I am no longer bound to them nor shall I be restricted by them. I call on you father, mother, and brother for strength, and I vow to you all I will see your death’s avenged.”

King cracks open his wife’s bed chamber door to assert his intentions: “All will be settled!”
Wife passionately responds: “Whatever it takes, Charles!”

Miraculously, several large armies are already in the vicinity of Acre when the king rises the marching banner. The march from Acre to Jerusalem takes a little less than two days. Saladin hardly has any time to celebrate. On his way to Jerusalem, the King witnesses the battlefield where his brother was beheaded, it was hard to miss with a rain storm of vultures engulfing the whole area. As the relentless circling, flapping of wings, prying of flesh from bone, and an earsplitting crowing and cawing cause the king to recall a childhood memory of his brother. For a fleeting moment as the army presses forward, the king’s worries, bottomless rage, and sense of revenge drains out of him. The king’s choices are weighing heavily upon his conscience with every step, as if this morale dilemma was linked to his armor slowly crushing his body.

Right as Saladin raises his first glass of wine to toast his victory, a guard anxiously sprints over to give pressing news. Several Mosque bells ring with vigor, gesturing incoming danger. As the last words leave the runners’ mouth, the palace starts to tremble like an earthquake. Saladin runs out onto the Palace balcony to only witness the whole of Christendom knocking at his front door. For as far as the eye can see, Christian soldiers from every European country swarm like locusts covering every inch of sand. An incalculable number of siege weapons of every make and kind fill the landscape. Horses barrel closer sounding the impending doom for all who remain within Jerusalem. A jaw dropping site indeed. Even the Muslim god, Allah, pisses himself in fear. From a distance, you could hear the echoes of soldiers shouting, metal grinding, ropes tightening, horses neighing, hammers clattering erecting thousands of tents and various siege devices. The gears of war are on full display feeding off the hunger of its king. Many of the soldiers believe the king is possessed by a demonic entity due to his unearthly aura. Soon after the arrival of the King’s army, a single arrow hits a wooden stockade upon the walls of Jerusalem with a message for Saladin:

“There will be no meeting. No terms. I will show you and your people no mercy. I, King Charles IV due solemnly swear with all my heart, to avenge my father, mother, and brother. I will not attack your walls with a single man. I will not lose another sole. You taught me too well Saladin, plus I have a few tricks up my sleeve. You know fully what I am capable of. Your memory will be reduced to dust. Mankind will forever know what happened here and will fear it. This place will not tempt anymore hopeless victims to their demise. I will end this war between our people once and for all. I don’t care if it takes one hundred days or until the end of time. The city of Jerusalem will be razed to the ground. If anyone attempts to flee or enter the city they will be killed without hesitation.”

As Saladin reads this letter, he daydreams halfway through envisioning his end with tremendous suffering. The letter continues:
“My only requirement of you and everyone within the walls of this forsaken city is to DIE!!!!! At this very moment your family members are being rounded up from all over the Middle East. Once they arrive, each one will be executed. Decapitation, burned at the stake, stretched and torn apart by horses, or to be crucified, the choice really depends on my mood. All this is possible, because I am working outside the bonds of God. Henceforth, I cast my soul down to hell where the devil will have his way with me. Do you think I care? I think not. No verse in that wretched Bible can explain this path of madness you have sent me on. After I am done laying waste to your family’s dead corpses, I will catapult their distorted bodies into the city. I care not for victory but your complete obliteration. Your likeness will never see another day of happiness for as long as I live. When I have your dead body in my possession, I will chop it up into little pieces, feed it to the pigs, collect the pig’s excrement, and then burn it because your worth is less than a pile of shit.”

As if a sixth sense by King Charles, a few seconds after the message is read, the relentless bombardment begins. A deafening pace of clanging, clattering, rattling, smashing of wood, and pure human will is assigned a dreadful task. A day after the siege began, knowledge is obtained that Saladin’s son is heading to Jerusalem from Damascus with a sizable relief army. A brief meeting of the war council proposes to send forces to wipe them out. The most likely route that the army will travel would be the shortest and quickest, by a narrow pass where most of the relief force will be bottlenecked within a ravine and otherwise vulnerable to high elevation missile barrages. Therefore, the plan is to send a trivial number of seasoned foot soldiers to block the passage long enough while thousands of bowmen rain down a hail storm of death. To capture Saladin’s son alive was the main objective. Several days after the war council dispatched troops to the ravine, no update was heard, and anxiety of the result ran ever so greater with every passing second. Then one night as the moon was at its highest, as the fierce onslaught rages on, the ambushing army arrives with over three hundred barrels full of decapitated heads along with the Sultan’s son. The great news swept the besieging camp, raising morale exponentially. The great slaughter occurs some thirty miles from the city. Most of the time was taken beheading and collecting the spoils. Soon after their arrival, it wasn’t long until all three hundred barrels were launched into the city.

The siege continues at a blistering pace for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and continues for almost a full year. Countless slaves are assigned to gather resources from the surrounding landscape. Nothing is off limits. The king knows, once all the stones are hurled over, he will turn to wooden projectiles, then lastly human and animal remains to spread disease. To finish the populace off, anything made from metal will be spun into freakish death instruments. The relentlessness of the siege is the key to breaking Saladin’s will. It is like feeding an insatiable beast with a bottomless appetite. If you stop feeding it, the beast will dismember and disembowel you for disobedience. A little over a year later, every resource for five hundred miles around Jerusalem is exhausted. A once thriving landscape, the king forces mother nature to miscarry her fertile land by abandoning it for a desolate godforsaken womb of death and ruin.
Every day as the siege rages on, the king is seen and heard time and time again cheering from his throne that overlooks the siege. Each projectile feels as though an extension of himself tearing down every building, section of wall, sparking fire, and billowing smoke. Screams of horror echo perpetually from the city. It is as if he was erasing his childhood memories brick by brick, person by person. Never relieving an ounce of his relentlessness to unburden himself of the overwhelming craving for revenge. Even during the hours of prayer, the bombardment only intensifies by the king’s command to constantly remind the defenders of their fate.

One night a travelling priest requests an audience with the king. It is arranged. The following conversation ensues as the priest approaches:

King: “Ahhhhh a man of God….. tell me priest if you believe in God and you pray to him for safety…. good fortune…. and overall good health…. then why is all death certain….. why does he let his creations suffer and eventually die?”

Priest: “I… I… I…. don’t know. May I have permission to ask you a question?”

King: “Of course.”

Priest: “Why have you not attacked yet? …. GOD WILLS IT!!! ….. An army bearing the cross of Jesus Christ cannot be beaten.”

King: “HA! ….. Shut your mouth Priest …. Are you blind? ….. Have you learned nothing from the past two hundred years? …….

The king smirks and calls for his guards to crucify the priest.

As the priest is being crucified the king verbalizes: “By the word of religion, I have seen the lunacy of every quality refer to the ‘Will of God.’ Where is your God now, priest??”

Blood splatters in the king’s face as the nails are hammered through bone and flesh. All the while, horrifying screams reverberate through the night sky.

King continues conversing as the cross is hoisted upwards and placed into the ground: “I have seen too much religion through the eyes of murderers…… when you meet your God, make sure to put in a good word for me because I hope you realize…..you have been given the greatest gift of all…… the chance to die how your Lord and Savior perished.”
King walks away laughing and cheering on the bombardment like the crucifixion didn’t even happen.

Bounty hunters periodically drag Saladin’s family members into camp wearing chains. The King decides their fate and executes them immediately, one by one in front of the ramparts. Afterword the defiled body parts are catapulted into the city. Each projectile has a different message attached for Saladin, while others are set ablaze to cause further terror, panic, and uncertainty. One night the bombardment stops for a grand spectacle. Saladin’s son is given the opportunity to run for his life towards the walls. The King picks up a spear and throws it with lethal accuracy. Saladin looks on in unreserved dismay as Charles drags the lifeless body, by the ankle, to one of his trebuchets. Here he cuts off a single limb at a time, all the while Charles is heard laughing and screaming profanity towards the walls as each body part is launched. Eventually, the head is accurately shot into the Sultan’s palace with his penis lodged and nailed into his own mouth. Once the spectacle concludes, the siege resumes. What a true nightmarish result. From that moment forward, Saladin doubts his every move – draining his courage and will to press on –swiftly a spider web of madness and grief drape over him.

After three hundred and fifty days of continuous bombardment, the city is almost destroyed and riddled with disease. Strategically, only the Sultan’s palace is left standing for a single purpose….. to setup an epic last meeting between the King and Saladin. All a part of the plan to make Saladin feel as though the world is crumbling around him, making him feel hopeless, lonely, vulnerable, and worthless. Many are afraid to experience the horrors of what lies within. Unlike everyone else, the king is itching to see the level of suffering.

As a raging lunatic would play on a massive church organ, (Listen to further understand: (https://youtu.be/uGIu6-WtwEs) hitting all of his notes perfectly, expressing every ounce of pain he’s endured in life. To be able to express it through music by creating a defining masterpiece for all to remember him by. The king’s heart resembles the beats as if the organ was playing inside of him, entering the destroyed city, against his adviser’s advice. A small determined band makes its way to the Sultan’s palace. As the group traverses the razed city street by street, every living thing that called Jerusalem home is either charred, mangled, crushed, starved, or diseased beyond recognition. There are even signs of cannibalism amongst the populace. Not even the pests survived the siege. Once a proud and prospering holy place where Jews, Muslims, and Christians alike could seek out a singular place to worship, now reduced to ruin. The king and his band of loyal followers make it to the palace entrance. King Charles enters the palace alone, yelling Saladin’s name repeatedly. The King’s yell gets closer and closer, as Saladin is found sitting upon his throne, riddled with disease, heart break, and starvation…… clinging to life. Each breath is a struggle.

AUTHORS INTERJECTION: “Are the emotions running high? Is that grip loosening yet? If not, it will be by the end of this story. I guarantee it!”

As Charles creeks open both throne room doors, Saladin slowly raises his head in disbelief to look upon a crazed king….. and yet he still sees a former student and a young child. In the king’s possession are three separate sacks dripping with blood. The king has waited ten years for this exact moment. He fantasized about it, has been consumed by it. It feels like one of the king’s dreams, the internal fire burns bright. Fantasy soon gives way to reality….. this is happening…… Charles tosses the bloody sacks at Saladin’s feet.

King Charles: “I figure you saw right through my families attempt to cloak our identities as young boys. Because you tried on multiple occasions to assassinate me over the years, without success. But you never attempted to kill Friedrich. I found this very odd…..”
Saladin coughs and slouches forward.

King Charles: “Don’t die on me yet…… I replay my time with you, like it was only yesterday. You meant everything to me, we instilled the ultimate trust in you, then you betrayed me and my family, (The king’s voice raises in extreme anger) ripping my heart out by killing my father…… my mother…… my brother…… I have nothing now…… I’m all alone in this world because of you!!!!”

In a deteriorating tone Saladin responds, “I should have never retaken the city. I knew one day you and your brother would be my end. How ironic. The student out maneuvers the teacher. You have been nothing short of relentless Charles. Everyone and everything I held dear is now dead. (King slowly starts to smile in satisfaction with what he hears.) I always knew you were the stronger one, Charles.“

The King interrupts: “Don’t flatter me with your slithery sly tongue. It will get you nowhere. Now open those sacks. I yearn to see your expression, the feeling will give me, such satisfaction. The pain it will give you will……”

The king pauses, smirking with extreme fulfillment at what he just said. He decides to expel his deepest darkest secret: “I hope you have enjoyed my acting skills….. it was a skill I learned from one of the Saracen tutors…… Some years ago, I overheard a conversation between you (Saladin) and Friedrich, planning to kill me so Friedrich could become King……. I always knew my brother had his aspirations to be king but never thought he would betray his own flesh and blood. With me alive he never would sit on the throne. His personal desire and greed got the best of him. Yes, I will always love my brother beyond compare and knew you were setting up an ambush to kill me. How do I know this you ask? Well, my agents intercepted correspondence from you intended for my brother. I decided to withhold the letter from my brother. This vital communication went into detail about the ambush and how you wanted Friedrich to come up with an excuse to be unable to travel with the army. To spare him. With carnal knowledge of future events, I condemned Friedrich to death because he jeopardized the safety of my wife and unborn child, my family’s honor, and the stability of the kingdom. It was a very hard choice to make but betrayal is unforgivable. In response, I had an “unexpected” circumstance with my wife going into labor which was a deliberate lie. So, you would never know the difference until it was too late. I’ll live with my decision for the rest of my life. Saladin!!!! ….. Look at me when I’m talking to you!!!! You will not rob me of this moment. After you figured it wasn’t me, you decided to cut my brother’s head off anyways, sent it to me to provoke a response. But you weren’t thinking I would respond so quickly in such great numbers. Sorry, I ruined the celebration.”

Saladin reluctantly continues: “You were always very smart Charles….. I can’t deny you outplayed me.”

Charles starts to pace back and forth in front of Saladin’s throne.

King: “Answer this, I know my mother was bedridden when you besieged Jerusalem some ten years ago. I heard from reliable witnesses that you plunged a dagger through her heart while she was still alive. Is this true???!!!!!!”
Saladin: “Yes, it is true.”

The king starts to emotionally breakdown but keeps his composure just enough to yell, “OPEN THE FUCKING SACKS!!!!” all the while moving forward toward the ever-weakening Saladin.

King: “I trusted you and loved you as a son would a father. I want you to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.”

Saladin struggles immensely to get to his feet. After a few moments he sluggishly walks over to the sacks, bends over to pick them up and open the sacks. Saladin falls to his knees in agony.

Saladin screams: “Oh my God, why?!!!! You….. you…. you…. decapitated my mother, my sister, and……..”

Saladin pulls the third sack closer in a shocked state. He unwillingly opens the sack, peers in to see the contents and howls in disgust and fear.

King: “Do you think me a monster?”

Saladin: “Yes.”

King: “Good. Because you created this monster.”

The king details the contents of the third bag: “I personally found your father’s grave, dug him up, and cut his head from his body. I thought you would like these gifts in person……. I know what you’re feeling at this very moment….. such hate and anger resonating through your veins……. Now you’re getting a small dose of what…….(King pauses to gather his composure)…..I felt for the last ten years before this moment.”

King Charles points to the ground with immense energy: “Now I want you to crawl to me.”

Saladin submits by crawling to the king’s feet.

King Charles wasn’t satisfied with Saladin’s gesture: “Lower!!!!”

Saladin lowers himself closer to the ground, sobbing immensely.

But the king still wasn’t satisfied with the Sultan’s posture: “That’s not low enough for a pompous coward like yourself!!!!”

Saladin labors greatly to lower himself even further, to an almost prone position.

King: “Now beg for forgiveness.”

Right as Saladin opens his mouth to speak, the king disrupts: “You should practice what you preach.” Suddenly, the king takes out his sword, cutting Saladin’s head off.

The king takes a moment to realize and examine what he instinctively just did. A few moments later, expelling a painful screeching howl, echoing off the palace walls where he once played as a child. The king drops to his knees, exhausted from a decade of overwhelming anger. Charles half-heartedly ponders:

For as long as I live, I will never have a quiet mind. I am truly a king.

There is one more thing that needs to be done to deem his crusade complete. Conjuring up enough emotional and physical will, Charles stands up, walks over to Saladin’s head and picks it up. Looking eye to eye with his former teacher the king utters: “Now all is forgiven.” Charles places the head on a spike and makes his way to the only existing section of wall facing his army outside of Jerusalem.

A range of emotions washes over the king while traversing back to face his army. He personally rejoices at such a great triumph, starts to laugh, and cries for the family he lost. He reminisces of the innocence of his childhood, running carelessly through these same streets. He remembers looking up at his father and holding his hand while his mother buys fresh produce from the market. Friedrich yelling for Charles to challenge him to a foot race to school. But all this recollection of ghostly figures falls by the wayside as the King thrusts outward to present the head of Saladin to his army. The prized trophy is well received with a deafening roar of relief and retribution.

THE END

AUTHOR: “I am emotionally spent and floating in a pool of creativity.”

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‘Tis the Season: Outcast Edition
by: Brent Rusinoski

Disclaimer: Due to possible copyright infringement, all claims and assumptions referencing a seasonal song is purely for entertainment purposes. The song has been heavily edited and altered to avoid infringing upon such a copyright. This story only contains fictional characters. Sorry to break it to you kiddos, Santa isn’t real. Merry Christmas and Enjoy!

Hidden inside a dark drafty cave smack dab in the middle of the North Pole, a devious creature hunches over a grindstone sharpening its claws while singing a twisted tune. A continuous unbearable screech fills the damp cave, sparks sporadically dance in all directions as if shooting stars illuminating the night sky. A deep profound voice fills the air. This creature bares the marks of a very unfortunate story. All year round the beast hones its craft of kidnapping, torturing, deceiving, killing, and devouring little children who decide to be naughty or not believe in the spirit of Christmas. The beast is deceivingly agile and excessively hostile. The cavern from top to bottom is littered with small statured bones left chained and bound with pools of flesh peppering the floor to serve as warning signs for all who dare to enter. An overwhelming stench of wet dog, sweat, rotting flesh, burnt wood, and bone soup saturates the senses. This beast is the one who creeps, crawls, lurks, and slithers into your nightmares as silent as his snake like tongue. So, you better not cry or pout because he’ll show you why………

His name is Krampus. His birth name was David Kringle, he’s the brother to Chris Kringle aka Santa Claus aka Saint Nicholas. As the first non-believer of Christmas, David was banished by his parents at a young age from Tinkertown. Since then, David’s life has been a perpetual struggle. While Chris was snuggled up warm and cozy being loved by family, David was all cold and lonely in the wild. Subjected to the elements and forgotten day after day, month after month, year after year. Darkness gradually crept into his soul. No one came to talk to him, play with him, love him, show him any affection, tuck him in at night, besides his brother Chris. Despite their brotherly bond, David still had to fend for himself. Resulting to hunting and eating squirrels, birds, rabbits, deer, and wrestling off bears. He was fostered by wolves until they also fell prey to his transgressions. Soon after, Krampus made the wolf den his base of operations to play out his madness. Resentment overflowed to fuel an unspeakable physical transformation. Many people theorize that David already housed such darkness prior to being expelled. An opportunity needed to present itself, so it could boil to the surface. Chris may well never fathom what his brother had to endure and overcome to survive. Several years after being banished, his parents past away from natural causes. He wasn’t invited to the funeral. Propelling David down a deeper and darker abyss, tormenting his soul, deformed by neglect and harshness.

All this life form identifies with is anger, heartlessness, cruelty, sadness, and the unrelenting cold. Through decades of neglect, David adopted the name Krampus, an anti-Kringle surname. It represent his acceptance of the abnormal physical and mental revolution he’s gone through while also pledging his allegiance to the dark arts. He rarely speaks. When he does speak, it has purpose and pierces the hearts of all who are near. Krampus uses his ability to survive in the harsh environment to his advantage by blossoming into a nightmarish predator. If Krampus can hold onto anything encouraging in his life, he can justly garner all his satisfaction by defying his father. David not only survived out in the wild, but he literally evolved to embody his hatred for him by transforming into something that no one could’ve ever predicted.

On the coldest of all nights, unfamiliar whispers of paralyzing seduction slowly echo through the cave and soon occupy the body of Krampus. A mysterious elemental spirit appears. This wraith proposes several tempting offers. Most intriguing of these terms are: “Untie your bonds to those you love, unlearn your past. Embrace your true nature, the will to punish. This is what you were born for, feed the insatiable burning hunger resonating deep inside of you, and in this you will be reborn. Submit to these terms and you’ll obtain unspeakable power.” Krampus without hesitation agrees upon selling his soul to become the embodiment of the devil himself. He vows to perform devious acts towards naughty children who receive coal in their stockings by his brother, Ol’ Saint Nicholas. Coal will signal to Krampus to unleash his wrath upon whomever receives such an undesirable gift. Sprinkling in a few parents here and there, those who look like his father will be severely punished as payback for casting him out and making him suffer. Too many outsiders this may seem to be a meagre existence, don’t let Krampus fool you – he doesn’t go without purpose. In this world, a moral compass is required to provide a balance to everything we say and do.

What Saint Nicholas doesn’t want the true Christmas spirit believers to know is, he too signed a similar contract with a demonic entity. By signing this contract, it forced the two brothers to work together. The two diabolical brothers had to collaborate to create a system of checks and balances to reward or punish children for their behavior. Unfortunately, for those that are typically good, evil thoughts and actions aren’t too far behind.

As the Prince of Wickedness comes to grip with his powers, the greatest of sacrifices are yet to show themselves. Through the years to come, Krampus agonizingly transforms into an even more vile and sinister beast. Long curly horns eventually sprout. David was able to transform himself into a half goat, half demonic humanoid. A true abomination that symbolizes pain and suffering, making him almost unrecognizable. Soon after accepting the deal, Krampus sits down to think to himself:

Do I want to watch the world burn? Absolutely, for how the world has treated me. But I am beyond conflicted. Reluctant to admit. I’m desperate for love….. desperate for family….. longing to belong…… am I still capable to love?……yet I’m now in a deeply committed relationship with evil itself. It’s now my one true companion….. it’s what keeps me warm inside. All my plotting and scheming keeps my black heart beating. My brother and his family are apart of this world. However small and black my heart maybe, it’s still a heart. Even after their treachery of abandoning me to the wild, I am still bound by blood…… and by that facet alone I’ve protected them from various outside threats for many years. It’s enlightening living alone. Provides a different perspective. Being the outsider, looking from the outside in. You don’t just learn about yourself but who and what is important to you. I’m constantly thinking about how I want things to be and how things really are. Two vastly different realities. I’ve come to grips that one is truth and the other is pure fantasy. It took a while to realize this. No one can change what has already been written. Stop dwelling in the past. We must move forward.

Once the first snowflakes fall in December, an elf is tasked to summon Krampus to Tinkertown. The condemned soul, typically replies by letter in his own blood, which reads: “I look forward to seeing you brother.” Every year, Krampus is given a one-day pass to visit his former hometown where he’s able to walk freely and reunite with his brother to converse about the upcoming Christmas excursion they will partake together. A telltale sign of Krampus’s impending visit, a path of wilt and wither quickly infects the trees and flowers. While he passes by, a wake of decay spreads, leading up to the thick wooden gates of Tinkertown. As Krampus gazes upon these familiar gates, he can’t help himself but to reminisce in memory and bask in the palpable fear that lingers within its depths.

As Krampus enters the town, time seemingly stops. Shutters slam shut, cheerful music and merry making of every sort comes to a screeching halt. Residents attempt to flee far and wide, while some panic and freeze in fear. Countless eyes peer from every crevice to catch a glimpse while most are too frightened to simply reappear. A welcoming aroma of freshly made pies sitting out cooling on the window sills catches Krampus’s curiosity. He defiles most of them, leaving some half eaten or even smashed on the ground out of disgust. Soon enough, he arrives at the workshop, the front doors burst open and a frigid breeze explores the room with a spellbinding sensation which captivates the factory. With a mischievous smile Krampus piercingly shouts: “Brotherrrrrrrr! I’mmmmmm hommmmmme.” In response, the hair around everyone’s collars suddenly arose, toy making abruptly ceases, hammers and nails fall to the ground. Machinery comes to an abrupt pause, every set of eyes turn to monitor his every movement. All the lights in the room gradually dim with every step he takes. He strolls by, as though draping doubt over the entire room. Each elf’s worst fear unexpectedly washes over them, resulting in some passing out due to shock.

The Prince of Darkness proceeds with his stifling presence by dripping saliva all over the floor and some of the workers. A truly nightmarish figure. He extends his arms out to begin scraping his knife-like claws slowly upon the wooden work benches. This manufactures an unpleasant sound of nails on a chalkboard, leaving scars for all to remember him by. As darkness nears the end of the aisle, Chris Kringle appears from his second-floor balcony office to say: “Up here David! . . . . Come at once.” Krampus instantaneously scowls in disgust and looks in the direction of his brother’s voice acknowledging him, “Oh how stimulating it is to be in the presence of Daddy’s favorite little boy. Nice to see that you’re still alive and kicking. Look everyone it’s your master!”

Krampus turns around to face Santa’s helpers with extreme disdain: “GET BACK TO WORK…… MINIONS!!!!!!” Chris slowly walks back into his office shaking his head in a repulsed manner. Meanwhile, Krampus works his way over to the stairs and bumps into Mrs. Sharon Kringle (Wife of Chris Kringle), startling her:

A conversation ensues…….
Krampus: “Hello again Sharon. . . . always a pleasure to see you.” As Krampus looks her up and down. “My oh my . . . you get more beautiful by the year.”

Mrs. Kringle reluctantly replies as if she had severe reservations with her husband meeting his brother: “STOP IT!!! ….. I wish I could say the same to you, David. . . . but I would be lying…… and it’s Mrs. Kringle to you.”

Krampus reacts to Mrs. Kringle’s disrespect with a puzzled gaze. The pair stand and glare at one another for some time. This interaction sluggishly displays prior feelings for one another, but it seemed to have either ended badly or didn’t fully play out to expectation. A true mystery.

Krampus: “Oh so that’s how you want to play this….. I like playing games…… If we’re being frank with one another then you must know my name isn’t David.” Krampus gives a devious expression which sends a tremor up and down Mrs. Kringle’s spine.

Mrs. Kringle: “Well….. Krampusssssss!….. I wouldn’t leave your brother waiting any longer. Make sure you don’t linger after the meeting is over….. leave at once. Understood????”

Krampus: “Yes yes…… understood. By the way great snake impression…… Bravo.” As he claps several times in a sarcastic way. Krampus then snarls and continues the ascent up the stairs to meet his brother. Before Mrs. Kringle loses eye contact with Krampus, he provocatively gestures his slithery snake like tongue in her direction.

Finally, after all the theatrics, Chris and Krampus sit down face to face to go over the many details of how tomorrow, Christmas eve, will unfold. Hours go by with intense conversations and negotiations.

Picture: Chris Kringle sitting in his chair conversing with Krampus over what to
possibly expect while dealing with the naughty and nice lists this year.

Though deep in discussion, Krampus interrupts Chris with a warm-hearted gesture:
Krampus: “I truly admire you Chris.”

Chris: “Why do you admire me? I thought you….. despised me.”

Krampus: “Despise you???? ….” Overcome with confusion. “Why would I despise you???? …. No No No…… you’re the only one who doesn’t fear me. You and only you know who I truly am.” Krampus then flicks out a dirty piece of parchment. “Now you listen to my plans….. Enough about yours.”

Krampus then slams the parchment on Santa’s desk. Leaving nothing to question, his every thought and desire is spewed from his mouth and reinforced by his blueprint. This is where Krampus challenges himself year in and year out to become a better hunter, during the planning phase. The thrill of imagining keeps him motivated and dialed in. Details include how the Prince of Darkness will pursue his prey as if a wolf would, and how he will decide to deal with the children who receive coal by Santa. Only Krampus will be able to decide if he devours, tortures, torments with long lasting nightmares, or kidnaps. No one will be able to intervene with Krampus’s affairs and the same will go for Chris. Sniffing and tasting the outside of each household gives the bona fide signal to Krampus of if Santa appointed coal inside a child’s stocking. Krampus will find every child wherever they hide. He will contort their worst fears and formulate them into reality. All the while the naughty youngsters won’t even know judgement day is upon them until it’s too late. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, leaving no evidence behind. To the bad children, he will sound like a herd of elephants running on the roof. But to the decent tykes and their parents, they will be deeply unaware of such turbulence. His reign of destruction will be cloaked in silence. In case an occasional child escapes and decides to run down the street, minions will be dispatched to subdue such trivial efforts. The dark arts will truly be at work on Christmas Eve night.

Krampus stands up after the meeting and steadily works his way behind Christopher’s chair to apply his hands upon his brothers’ shoulders. Bending over to whisper a few words of truth: “You know what I’ve figured out?” A short dramatic pause commences – a standoff of sorts. Krampus sharpens his words then proclaims: “All this time I thought you were just including me because we’re brothers, but in fact you made a pact with that elemental as well didn’t you?” Ol’ Saint Nicholas suddenly went pale and wavered briefly to assert: “I….. I…… had to….. he gave me no choice. He threatened my wife and the safety of Tinke….” Krampus interrupts.

Krampus: “Shut up for one moment……What were the details of this deal you made with the elemental? I know when you lie so answer truthfully.”

Chris: “There were several things. But…. Can you get your hands off me first please and sit down? You’re making me nervous.” Krampus walks back to his chair to sit down. “Well first off, to create some sort of collaboration between you and I. Second, I always wished it was me that dad cast out instead of you. That’s why I try to go see you more often than not. With that said, the deal consisted of a curse…… this curse enables me to feel as you feel at any given point. If you feel sad, cold, angry, pain, miserable….. I feel it all when you do. I’ve had many sleepless nights. It’s a burden but it should speak volumes to how strong our connection really is. We have been connected ever since you were cast out of Tinkertown. I didn’t want to tell you this little brother, because I wanted to be in your shoes. To understand your trials and tribulations. At times it was overwhelming. But I would do it all over again, David.”

Krampus: Jumping out of his chair in anger: “GOD DAMN IT, MY NAME ISN’T DAVID!” Both brothers decide to cool off and take a breather. “I think it’s pathetic that you wanted to be closer to me. It shows weakness. But we’re getting side tracked with petty circumstances.”

A minute goes by without anyone talking.

Krampus: “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you. What powers did you gain from this deal? Because all I’m gathering is that you are able to fit down any chimney in a blink of an eye, levitate up a chimney by touching your nose, place presents under a tree, eat cookies, shout HO-HO-HO like a fool, and ride a magical sleigh with flying reindeer. If you put it all together it’s a pretty bizarre combination. . . . am I right or am I missing something? You should have asked for flying rhino’s that spit fire.”

Chris: “No. I can do a lot more than that. I can alter my appearance or other objects or beings, teleport myself and others across the world, generate snow and determine who has been naughty or nice. Do you want me to go on? Oh, don’t forget how much people count on me to spread Christmas cheer.”

Krampus: “WOW!” Out of spite Krampus puts his feet up on Santa’s desk. “Color me impressed. You can manipulate the weather? Guess what? I don’t care.” At this point Krampus steadily stands up and slowly moves forward with intense purpose, questioning his brothers’ motives: “Don’t you realize your lining the pockets of countless disrespectful, unappreciative, self-centered, entitled, annoying, pompous, self-absorbed, greedy, lazy little bastards?” Krampus continues until he was nose to nose with Chris. He delivers some delicate words of advice: “I think you were given the short end of the stick, brother. What an awful deal you’ve made for yourself. I would ask for a refund if I were you.” Krampus bursts into a hysterical laugh over his own joke. Chris looks not at all amused. Eventually, both brothers agree to put their differences aside for the great task ahead.

When the journey kicks off both brothers typically get along nicely. After about four to five hours, half the world is completed with no issues. But as the night drags on, Krampus and Santa ritualistically start making bets to see who does their job the quickest. Both play games with one another by either leaving something sharp or stinky on the others seat inside the sleigh or laying booby traps to slow down one another. Cooperation between the brothers starts to breakdown and it turns into competition. A little sibling rivalry bubbles up to the surface. When Krampus speeds up his process to keep up with Santa’s blistering speed, he usually converts torturing’s into instant devourings or kills. He bypasses the predetermined naughty list of who would be punished and how. No mercy is given. Santa on occasion sits to eat the cookies laid out for him so he’s able to watch his brothers viciousness unfold. Some unfortunate children are stuffed into a basket to be a tasty snack for the long ride home. The Prince of Darkness becomes progressively more brutal and savage to hasten his pace. Once the smoke settles and all judgements have been carried out, both brothers lay in utter exhaustion, out of breath, sweaty, and laughing at one another, reminiscing over the night’s events.

At the end of the trip, Santa decides to play a nasty little trick on his brother. He conjures up a snow storm while travelling back to Krampus’s cave. The storm moves into their location quickly. Visibility becomes zero to none. Unexpected turbulence rocks the sleigh almost sending Krampus flying off the sleigh. Sirens, whistles, and flashing lights go off, the sleigh has a mechanical failure of some sorts and has to crash land at Krampus’s lair. All of this is part of Santa’s elaborate plan to scare his brother half to death. At this point, Krampus decides to vigorously eject himself out of the sleigh. As Krampus hits the ground, the sleigh magically returns to normal operating status. Santa starts to laugh hysterically, eventually settles down to state: “I got you good this time brother!” Krampus slowly turns around to cheerfully mumble: “It’s been fun, brother! Same time next year?” Santa acknowledges with an accepting nod and a chuckle. Soon after, Krampus dashes into the heart of the storm and out of sight.

What was the unfamiliar tune Krampus was singing in the beginning of this story you ask? (read to the tune of silent night: https://youtu.be/iFlHXB9qVro)

You better be quiet
You better not shout
Better stay out of sight
Or he’ll give you quite the fright

If you were naughty
He’s going to be paying you a visit
You’ll either be stuffed in a basket, killed, or be eaten like a biscuit
But first he must teach you a lesson
And the thought leaves you trembling

O! He’s checking his list
You will be caught
His smile bursts with bliss
With that thought
His teeth as sharp as knives
Kids are like sheep ripe to slaughter
He lurks in the shadows
With such a watchful eye
A heart filled with ice
His soul as black as tar
Make sure you look around every corner

You’d better write your letter now
And mail it right away
You’d better plead your case
Cause he’s laboring away
He will crush your soul to dust
So come to terms with your fate
You can try and move away

It doesn’t really matter
Because your scent will give you away
He sweats, he moans, he may even howl too
He prays on your misbehavior
If you receive coal
Kiss your life goodbye
Your life is the toll
So if you kick, cry, and put up a fight
He might speed up the process just out of spite

Children are all nestled snug in their beds
When out in the hallway there arose a mysterious clatter
They spring from their beds to see what was the matter
It’s a diversion of sorts
He’s actually under your bed
So If you try and scatter
O! For goodness sake
You’ll eventually hear his clatter

He’s Santa Clauses evil twin brother
This man, is no man at all
He is in no way good
But he is no way truly evil
Where Santa travels with light
Soon after he blinds it with darkness to drain all your might

He has devious minions
Same as Claus too
Running ramped in the streets
If he can’t find you right away
He’ll torch all you hold dear
And possibly hold true
It’s only a matter of time til’ he finds you
You hear his foot steps
You think you’ve outsmarted him
But you feel is warm breath right behind you
So he puts out the light
Like he already found you

Once Santa is in Town
Krampus isn’t too far behind
Every child is an apple
So juicy, so plump, so ripe for the picking
Judgement day has finally arrived

He smothers you in darkness
Puts a stain upon your soul
He wants you to struggle
More often than not
This only empowers him more
So keep it up
Because he’s ready to shed his pleasure
Which only gives you pain
In the end you’re truly alone
Something only his parents would truly be despised for

Merry Christmas to all and to all a horrible night

 

BIGGEST COVER-UP IN CHRISTMAS HISTORY:
Post Script Comment: ONLY YOU CAN DECIDE!!!!!! Think about it, Santa is oddly close to the spelling of Satan – coincidence???? I think not. Who is truly the devil at work here???? What do you believe?????

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The Clarity Letter
Disclaimer: The following letter is by a fictional character which is purely for entertainment purposes only. This letter does not represent nor reflect the views of the author. Reader discretion highly advised.

August 23rd, 1998

To:
Detective Donald Baldwin
Seattle Police Department
9708 Main Street
Seattle, OR
98101

Dear Detective Baldwin,

I need your full undivided attention. Prepare yourself. I’m going to finally take the blindfold off you, Detective. Block everything else out. Sit your ass down before you strap yourself into this rollercoaster ride. Concentrate. You know exactly who I am. I’ve been a very busy little bee. All of this may be quite overwhelming at first. Take it in stride. There will be quite a few hard pills to swallow. So, pour yourself some scotch (your favorite beverage) to help wash them down. This will all make sense as you continue to read.
I must confess, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but for the last decade you’ve been imprisoning the wrong people for a slew of murders. Am I raining on your parade? I laugh at you for believing the evidence you’ve found over the years. It was soooooo easy yet sooooo much fun framing so many people and ruining their lives. I planted various DNA evidence at the scenes. Hair, skin, blood, saliva, etc. What would life be without surprises? Such a boring and dull existence it would be. Plus, I know you’re going to look for fingerprints on this document. Don’t even try. You may find semen but that’s about it…… you’re making me aroused at just the thought of you scrambling…… as you suddenly realize how bad you fucked up. What will your colleagues think of you? Will your reputation go down the shitter? Oh, the sorrow. Don’t forget the innocent soul you charged for the “Silent Killer” Murders. I am truly flattered you thought you caught me all those years ago. How’s your ego feeling right about now? Battered and bruised, I hope. Will you try and find me, again? You were so committed when you were younger. So much energy. But wasteful. So easy to manipulate. So gullible. It amazes me how our bodies fade over time. Must be extremely frustrating wasting your life thinking you succeeded, not knowing a ghost was tagging along for the ride and helping you every step of the way. How am I always at least a dozen steps ahead of you? Boggles my mind.
Before I continue, I want to prove who I am. If you’re having any doubts, I left a little memento upon your fireplace mantel. Only you, Donald, will know the significance. I command fear and respect buddy boy. Go to the mantel and see for yourself……. I’ll wait……… Do I have your full attention now? Good.

You’ve had countless sleepless nights trying to figure out your cases. It’s truly inspiring. Don’t quit on me Donald. You will never find me. I’m just an ordinary man who blends in perfectly. Yet, I am a very successful and accomplished killer. I’ve evolved. Thanks to you. If you do find me, it’s only when I’m good and ready to give myself up. But that will never happen. I have too many responsibilities in life to give you the satisfaction of locking me up or will I give you the evidence to find me? Only time will tell.
All I can think about are all those cases you solved, or should I say…… I solved? Why do you think you were so successful? I made you into who you are today. So much fame. The most successful and well-known detective outside of the infamous English detective Sherlock Holmes. But, evidence is evidence. Tricking the system has become so easy for me. Are you telling me in the back of your head, you had no idea I was behind any of this? In actuality, all of those murders were mine, Donald. Well almost all of them. Why do you think I clean the crime scenes? So, no evidence is left behind? Only what I want to be found is left behind. This could have a very bad ending for you Donald. We live in such a treacherous world. Filled with horror and deceit. No wonder people don’t trust one another. I’m no lab rat – you won’t be able to study me. Pick and prod at me whenever you want. You have a sickness Donald. Why do you drink so much? I’m guessing the same reason why I kill…… to muffle out all that you’ve seen and have done to people over the years. To temporarily stop seeing the wake of destruction you’ve caused. I’m guessing you’ll be drinking more for now on, especially after reading this letter. Such a guilty conscious you must have.

Just so you know, I was never abused as a kid. At a ripe age of thirteen, I wanted to engage in experimenting with my fantasies. My upbringing was normal. Loving parents. I never wet the bed or set fires…….. but animals intrigued me. I started out by mutilating barbie and ken dolls then eventually graduating to torturing and killing small animals. Refining and molding my vocation. I don’t care to be recognized for my passion. I crave to be at the top of the food chain. Once you perform your first violent act and get caught by a parent figure……. It’s always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. I acted out as a kid. Who doesn’t? I’m very anti-social. Some kids cope with a hard upbringing while some result to killing. Everyone keeps asking if someone is born a criminal or is a criminal made over time? In my experience, criminals are made over time. Being exposed to the elements of varying types of abuse or neglect by people they should be able to trust. Did you know that about me?

This letter is as close to catching me as your ever going to get. Once you accept that fact, life will be worth living and you’ll be able to sleep with a clear conscious again. I wanted to extend an olive branch and help you fill in the blanks. You have so many glaring weaknesses in my case……. I’m guessing my case is reopened now???? You’re probably asking yourself how does he know all of this? Well, you’ve been a great help to me by keeping your case records on your kitchen table for the whole world to read. I love talking to you Donald. My mask can finally come off when we have such great conversions together. Even if you’re sound asleep. You look so vulnerable but you’re such a great listener. By the way, your wife needs a new scented shampoo, her hair has smelt like lavender for over a year now, don’t be cheap Donald, spend a little money before she leaves you for a less tormented soul.

You know what makes me tick? What makes the blood course through my veins and arteries? Being in complete control and power over a human life. I can’t say enough about your family photo album, I’m guessing you had a child, but he recently passed away at a very young age. Ohhhhh how I mourn for you. I pray for him every night before going to bed. Is there anything I can do? See I have you right where I want you. On the ropes. Toying with your emotions. Your questioning everything now. Your next move, overthinking and trying to interpret what I just told you. You wouldn’t even realize if I was behind you right now. You can’t do two things at a time. I can do several. This is one reason why I outthink you, Donald. I think clearly while your mind is a jumbled mess. Guess what? This is why I always win. Oh, before I forget, I took one of your wife’s panties for safe keeping. I’m not a pervert or anything. I never take a whiff or anything, I find that disturbing and unsettling. It’s also rude not to have any coffee in the house when you have guests over while you sleep. Not a good impression. Very disappointed. Can’t wait to visit you guys during the upcoming holidays. You wanted to be a detective….. well this is the price you pay. You reap what you sow, Donald. Deal with it.

See we’re basically best friends already. I know so much about you and you know so much about me. I’ve never told anyone this… it feels like I have a deep connection with you Donald. Feels like I can tell you anything……. Well here it goes…… My dark side manifests itself into a conscious form that guides my every thought and action when it’s time to kill again. Like a devil on my shoulder, it’s an extension of myself giving a voice and bringing my internal madness to life. What do you think? I think it’s a stroke of brilliance on my part. My two minds working together are greater than one (yours, Donald). Just for clarity, what I’m telling you is, I conjure up an unexpected but familiar visitor. He typically has deadly intentions as he manipulates and influences me to unleash my true nature…… Its highly welcomed. He gives me such a rush. Last time he was around he whispered this into my ear: “You’ve been a good boy for such a long time (enter my real name – I can’t tell you this – its private), you deserve to have a treat……. Please…..pretty please…… you deserve to have some fun.”

You know what really grinds my gears, my given name, “The Silent” Killer (SK). Pathetic. Yes, I know, I know …… I paralyze my victims before gradually killing them. Use a little imagination for heaven sake. Do you ever wake up and your body is unable to move but your eyes and mind are fully aware of your surroundings? That’s the feeling I want my victims to have. An extreme sense of death sets in. I get soooooo much pleasure and such an explosion of euphoria when my victims start to hyperventilate, their faces don high levels of fear, panic, and helplessness. The inability to scream for help, sob, plead for mercy, all while the sense of their impending demise sets in – it becomes oddly sexually gratifying. For me to create my prey’s deepest and darkest nightmare and bring it to life, I start to feel more connected with reality and what life has to offer. It’s almost like I provide a balance to the universe. Only the strong should survive.

Why do we as a species protect and preserve the weak? It makes no sense……. My victims ground me, make me feel human, make me feel emotion. It’s an orchestra performing the various levels of what I do, with different stages of gratification. When the climax shows its beautiful face, when I kill my victim, an orgasmic crescendo overtakes my body. I tend to go into a deep outer body trance of self-reflection while simultaneously losing control of who and what I am for at least a few minutes. I’m captivated by this physical and mental high. At the stem of it all, the thrill of my victims knowing they’re going to die and can’t do anything about it is what really gets my rocks off. Donald…… don’t judge me….. I can feel you judging me. With those beady little eyes of yours. We’re supposed to be friends remember. I didn’t choose you as a friend, unfortunately you chose me……. I guess it was meant to be. Fate. We’re stuck together.
The proof is in the pudding. Toying with my prey is like a cat playing with a mouse. You should try it sometime…….. taking a life…… it’s such a primal act. Maybe that’s why I connect to the primitive nature of it. Anyways…… You know what I hate? How the media has painted me as a monstrous psychopath. I see myself as an artist who’s creating masterpieces with every victim. These people don’t even know me and they’re already judging me…… Maybe I should teach these dumbass reporters and journalists a lesson……. Before you ask yourself…….It’s not a hobby, it’s more than that, the stakes are high, I don’t choose the victims, the victims choose me. Sound familiar, Donald? It should……. (insert devious smile and chuckle) ……When I feel my heart beat pounding through my chest, the hair sticking up on the back of my neck, the sensation of being in love over takes me, being fascinated, captivated, and drawn to my prey is crucial. I must have an intense connection, so my actions have meaning. If there is no meaning, there’s no purpose. But once I latch onto someone, I can’t let go. Like a heat seeking missile, locking on to that living breathing organism has already punched their one-way ticket to hell on earth.

Unlike the rest of the degenerates out there, I do feel remorse and regret after killing. I can’t help myself. I won’t tell you everything Donald, I’ll still leave some small tidbits for you to figure out on your own. I want to keep it interesting between us. Spicy. Spontaneous. Finger licking good. You know what I love? It’s such a primal instinct…. I don’t know why but I thrive by meticulously stalking my prey. I have a tendency to be attracted to young couples. Love the raw unrefined emotions they possess, I thirst for a little look n’ see of them having sex so I can take pictures of them. I learn their daily routines down to the minute. I never go after people I know. Too risky. Sooner or later, the couple will be just another notch on my belt. Then the process starts all over again and its onto the next unfortunate.

CONFESSION TIME: Guess what my evil side just told me……..“Oh, I love what you’re thinking – wonderfully twisted, you’re a genius.” You’ll understand. Keep reading. I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’ve been dying……. Itching….. ohhhh soooo eager to spill the beans…….Why are you cheating on your wife? In my case, I like to stay invincible within a society of attention whores. You, Donald, are one of these whores. You bring unwanted attention to yourself. I have such juicy photos of you and some random bartender in Oklahoma going at each other like wild animals roughly five months ago. While you were on a “business” trip. HA! Is your wife not satisfying you anymore? Do you have an open relationship? If so, I want a piece of that ass, your wife’s ass of course, not yours, Donald. I may or may not know a little something about your wife. She could be cheating on you as well. But you’ll never know. Is she not tickling your fancy? Why are humans such destructive creatures? I should be one to talk, I’m a walking contradiction. I always have one eye on you buddy boy. No one can escape their past. It catches up to us all eventually.

I HAVE MORE TO REVEAL. I’m sooooo excited to ask you this.
I want you to start thinking about something buddy boy because it’s super important. Are you thinking about who I could be? It’s most certainly possible, I could be your next-door neighbor, lifelong best friend, a former or current police officer you may know, a routine UPS delivery guy, a random stranger who accidently bumped into you at the airport, or I could be an old ex-boyfriend of your wife. Its entirely immeasurable who I could be. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder. Which electrifies me. It makes my day.

Now……. I MUST COME CLEAN: I’m not misleading you when I tell you this….. I’m retiring from doing wrong. I teased you in the beginning. Dangled a lot of useful information in front of your face. So relax. I’m tired and I have arthritis in my hands and back. Even before I was a killer, I hunted people like myself. Why do you think law enforcement was able to find Ted Bundy, Jeffery Dahmer, John Wayne Gacy? And the list goes on and on. I am the one who gave the proper authorities the precise evidence to find these sickos. I’m not the enemy. I don’t want to be on the payroll. I’ll do this bullshit pro-bono. It all started because I wanted to understand them better….. be closer to them….. feel what they feel…… see what they see…. think how they think……and good god did I like it. I fell in love with it. The urge to kill grew inside me like an insatiable hunger feeding an aggressive cancer. There is always going to be collateral damage along the way in this trade. I realized this. I accepted it. People had to die to get inside these killer’s minds. True sacrificial lambs for a greater cause. I began to know my enemy better than I knew myself. True madness set in. Death comes to us all, Donald. Regardless of what we do to prevent it. I’m not the run of the mill average killer, I genuinely want to bring these people to justice, so they can rot inside a cell waiting to be fried. I take pride in hunting the hunters. But I had to stoop to their level, in order to track them down. It’s unfortunate but It had to be done.

I feel like I’ll go to heaven. I’m doing God’s work. I had to get my hands dirty for a reason to combat evil. God chose me to be his hammer upon the anvil. In order to defeat fire you must fight it with more fire. I’m a necessary evil in this world of evil people. You’re probably thinking I’m delusional. I don’t blame you. If I was normal, I would think the same thing, but I’m not. Think of me as a simple man to please but very complex to figure out, almost like peeling back layers of an onion. There’s a code I learned between serial killers….. we respect, admire, and adore each other’s work. With all those words you can probably estimate my age. Yes, If you already haven’t figured it out, I am a pretty old man. Don’t always judge a book by its cover, Donald. Age is only a number, it doesn’t dictate everything. I still have a lot of miles left on these wheels. I’ve gained the knowledge. I applied it. Now it’s time to walk away.

I was never really envious of any other serial killer. Not enough energy and so little time. At this time, I already solved….. oh wait “you” solved roughly fifteen murder cases. I was in search of multiple bread crumb trails. Everyone leaves bread crumbs. There is always something that’s overlooked. People are always in such a rush and don’t think about the small things. Slow down. Relax. This is why criminals are caught. It’s all in the fine print, the details. It’s all in the mannerisms and body language. There are telling signs in how people speak to one another, how they look at each other, read and react to situations. Everyone leaves a piece of themselves behind, besides myself. You know this first-hand Donald. How frustrating it must be? No offense. Oh, Donald stop squirming in your chair. I can sense it already. Grow up.

Have you ever peered into a window and watched someone? It is like peering into their soul. I know how people live their lives, such intimate details shouldn’t go unnoticed. You can really learn a lot about a person. Believe me, no one is what they seem. Everyone has secrets they want to hide. How would it feel right now if I was looking at you through your sliding glass door as you were reading this letter? Or standing right behind you? I would get soooooo much pleasure seeing your reaction. For example: As the anticipation builds reading this letter and the sweat runs down your forehead, your heart rate accelerates, your mind starts to play tricks, hands start shaking, and you turn around quickly and no one is there. True bliss in my book. Don’t worry about a damn thing. I’m on your side.

THIS WILL BE MY LAST CONFESSION: You should be receiving a package in the mail in a few hours after receiving this letter. Thank me later. It’s all of my notes from the past decade regarding the other serial killers. Their daily routines recorded down to the minute, observed behaviors, tendencies, divorces, bad break-ups, a death in the family, a specific object, basically anything that triggers an emotional response can be a catalyst to kill. These feelings kick up something inside that unleashes the monster. You already know who my monster is. You’ll like this one…… I even planted audio and video devices inside the serial killer’s homes while they were sleeping. I’m still deciphering and transcribing some of the tapes. They should be coming to you within the next month or so. Does this make us partners?!?!?!?!?!?! The thought of this really inspires me. I’ll be sending you notes periodically via mail. Honestly, my notes are quite lengthy so prepare yourself and I suppose I’m an indispensable asset now. I hope you treat me as your inside source into hell itself.

Below you’ll find my address. I’ll be walking the beach. I leave it in your hands detective….. come and put handcuffs on me or let me be because I have work to do. But some words of wisdom….. be careful. It could be me or it could be someone else…… you don’t want to falsely imprison anyone else do you?!?!?!?!?!

Now, I want you to imagine the worst possible thing that could happen to you or a loved one. Multiply it by 100. Envision that for a few seconds. Whatever your thinking I’ll do if you come after me….. I’m not lying to you….. test me…… I plead to let me show you how serious I am…… I have a lot of unfinished business plus plenty of killers are on my radar…… The list below will occur If you decide to come after me:

A) I can send the pictures of you and the bartender to your wife.
B) I can send the audio tapes to the FBI and the news outlets along with hand written letters stating how much a fraud you truly are. The public would crucify you. Newspapers wouldn’t be able to get their hands on enough ink.
C) I can always have my way with your wife – I’ve never tried skinning a person before. First time for everything, I guess.
D) I will stop helping you and your fame withers and dies with the passing wind. You won’t be able to survive without me.
E) All the above will occur if you come after me.
F) Do you want to personally tag along sometime while I hunt a serial killer?
Do you even have a choice? So much to think about. Caught between a rock and a hard place. See you around Detective.

Sincerely,
Your Dear Friend
“The True Silent Killer”
XOXO

PS: You’re welcome.
10 Baker Street
Nantucket, MA
02554

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By: Brent Rusinoski
Tooth and Claw: Shadow Games

The year is 2052. The world we know today, is long dead. Nothing but a bitter memory waning in the wind of disorder and grief. Where law and order once reigned, chaos and anarchy now govern. Overpopulation, crime, riots, and decay have come to be everybody’s best friends in a world feasting on an already dead corpse. A world consumed and forever cast into darkness. Two decades have passed since a super volcano vomited its entrails, clouding the sun’s one true purpose and covering humanity in thick layers of sorrow and ruin. Once mighty governments are now skeletons of their former selves and on the brink of collapse. Drugs plague the streets and act as currency. Suicide rates have skyrocketed. Wars are only waged to diminish the population. Natural resources are all dried up, desperation and panic have generated an unstoppable wave of unrest. People have no choice but to kill for scraps. No one is spared from these gears of horror. Unfamiliarity becomes all too familiar. In a last-ditch act of hope, the United Nations (UN) pursues a solution to resolve global crime, an ever-increasing population, and a way to divert the attention of the masses, to reestablish stability. This is the solution……

Deep in the bowels of the UNs records department, countless multinational personnel descend into insomnia while rummaging through the cobweb coated cabinets. A deteriorating document is delicately removed. The manuscript describes a remote island off the coast of Japan, a relatively unknown prison that had been designed to incarcerate one of man’s deepest and darkest secrets. Over the last century, this prison has been playing an intricate role to a savage yet pivotal research and development venture which genetically mutates death row convicts into terrifying beasts. Instantly, every country decides to retrofit and repurpose the island prison as a solution for population control and to lower crime. All terrorists, corrupt politicians, murderers, serial killers, psychopaths, criminals, rapists, pedophiles, undesirables, and repeat offenders will be relocated to the prison. The solution calls for the island to temporary lodge four thousand prisoners at a time. Then every month, like clockwork, the whole prison is purged by mutated beasts. Once the purge concludes, the prison is restored to its original state before the next batch of unfortunates are shipped in. What these inmates don’t know yet is, their deaths will be glorified over live international television.

It’s undeniable, we’re all emotionally driven creatures who crave human interaction, connection, and a sense of belonging to someone or something. So, the UN exploited this fact. Viewers can follow specific inmates by listening to every conversation they have and watch as they sleep and eat for the duration of their stay. Emotional bonds are formed to the inmates by the viewers, a true reality show. The spectacle is broadcasted 24/7 and continues live even as the prison is being scrubbed clean.

Just beyond view of the prison lies a sister island housing an asylum of diabolical creations. Mad scientists are given free rein to perform genetic testing and strive to craft the ultimate mutant beast. These lab rats are detained in reinforced cages within the asylum. The occupants of the cages appear to be normal human beings. As the full moon gradually rises in the night sky, its presence sounds the dinner bell. A sudden grotesque transformation of pure rage begins to consume the asylum. Horrifying snapping, crackling, popping, screaming, pure agony and pain saturates the cages. Limbs and facial features distort in size, rippling muscles of strength and speed quickly develop, claws and teeth spring out, hair forcefully pushes out of every pore, ears lengthen, and eyes grow ever angrier at the world. Like condensation dripping off cold pipes on a warm day, fangs and canines drip with anticipation to plunge into the flesh of the sacrificial lambs laying in their prison beds. Such pent-up aggression being unleashed in a deafening rattle of cages. Beasts of all shapes and sizes surge from their cages. An overwhelming horde swells along the coastline…. impatiently lurking, itching, scratching, howling, salivating, groaning, fighting amongst each other, yearning at the chance to paint themselves in crimson. As soon as low tide descends upon the coastline, a land bridge mysteriously appears, spelling impending doom to whomever occupies the island prison. We’re all a part of it now, all consumed by it, all trapped by it, the thirst for violence.

The island is sound asleep as the beasts arrive. The abominations trample over each other to enter the hallways, the scents of such tasty victims overwhelms the senses. The cell doors all slide open in unison with a threatening thud. “Let the feast begin!” Within seconds, the air is thick with echoes of unthinkable butchery and piercing screams of fear and confusion. Blood and claw marks paint the walls, limbs and torsos are thrown from every window and cell as if a lawn mower unable to catch the newly cut grass. Some inmates are able to escape briefly down the path where the beasts appeared from. But are soon dragged into the shadows, never to be seen or heard from again. As the incursion unfolds, billions of spectators glue themselves to witness the dramatic and brutal outcome, while muffling the sounds of their miserable lives.
Within minutes after the purge’s ending, a specialized team of cleaners from the United Nations tends to the intricate details of restoring and disposing of the aftermath. Countless mangled remains hang from every nook and cranny of the prison. The remaining distorted flesh is grinded up into minced meat to serve as food for the next batch of inmates. Saws and hammers are heard for miles preparing for the next broadcast. Preliminary reports from all-around the world confirm a five-day crime rate reduction of nearly thirty percent during and after the conclusion of the glorified human sacrifice. It’s a resounding success.

Through the misery of violence welcomes another person’s happiness. It’s a sickness festering inside all of us like a malicious cancer. We’re all at its mercy and naturally drawn to it. Something inside of us all continuously feeds it without our knowledge nor permission. It’s an itch you can’t scratch….. it never really leaves you…. It’s undeniably tormenting, paralyzing, provocative, and yet it overpowers you as if an insatiable addiction. Violence has no allegiance to friendships nor family. Even with countless laws and regulations attempting to dull its blade, our desire for violence remains stubbornly resilient, like a parasite. In some of us, the beast lies dormant. So, we deny its existence. All we need is an excuse, a little push to wake it up. When every person sees blood, senses imminent death, smells fear, protects a loved one, an unthinkable force begins to surge through your body (DON’T DENY IT). The adrenaline takes hold, as if a drug would do. Internally, a switch has been flipped, a flood gate of deeply suppressed animalistic behaviors washes over you, liberating who you truly are, a beast inside one of the asylum cages.

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Like Father, Like Daughter
By Brent Rusinoski
Disclaimer: Short story has profanity, reader discretion advised.

During a recent house renovation in modern day London’s east end, a journal belonging to the previously undocumented daughter of Jack the Ripper, Jane, was discovered while tearing down a wall. This vital piece of evidence allows access to an unrivaled opportunity to peer into the streets of 1888 London, the mind and life of a tortured soul, and the ability to potentially unmask Jack the Ripper by the hand of his own flesh and blood. This is Jane the Ripper’s story……

Amidst the hustle and bustle of London’s brick jungle, endless echoing of horse hooves and carriages clamoring on damp cold cobblestone streets suffocate the senses. An overwhelming stench of piss and feces floods the air. Prostitutes line the streets like an incurable affliction that itches and scratches at the bedrock of society by spreading disease and wickedness. Congested slums overtake the city. Stray cats and dogs roam the streets as if being in the wild. Famine runs rampant as an unchecked plague. Abortions take place in and around every dim lit alleyway. Orphans litter the streets like rats begging and stealing to stay alive. Demonic stacks secrete dense dark smoke of industry cloaking the streets, buildings, and inhabitants in a perpetually dreary soot and fog. Meanwhile, two sadistic figures wait patiently, undetected within the shadows, veins coursing with ill intentions and an insatiable thirst for butchery.

According to Jane’s first entry in her journal, she’s over taken by a fit of rage and disbelief. Jane witnesses her mother cheating on her father with another man. Immediately after observing such a traumatizing event, a horrifying force quickly develops and unravels inside of Jane. Consuming her. That same day, Jane approaches her father in a distraught state to inform him of the unfaithful act. To vent their frustrations and anger, the father decides to introduce his daughter to a secret life. Inviting Jane into his study where he reveals a hidden room. Within this room, Jane observes many different types of blades, coats, hats, and numerous other instruments of butchery. Fully entranced with the cutlery hanging from the walls, Jane feels drawn to the sharp cold steel, as if it is whispering into her ear. Jane becomes infatuated with how it would feel to plunge a blade into a living breathing thing and take its life. Jane and her father concoct a devious blueprint to temporarily exorcise their madness. Both agree they wouldn’t be able to kill the mother nor her lover because it would bring about too much attention and suspicion.

Half-heartedly the father confesses, he is already a well-versed killer and perfected the art long ago while also being the Queens personal physician. He is more than willing to show her the ropes. Jane formalizes the heinous design to disembowel and mutilate whatever reminds her the most of her mother, this is where the siege on prostitutes originated. Mutually they both agree not to merely kill these disease riddled vermin, but to punish them as if they were mother, a dishonest whore. Jane’s father vows to kill the first few to guide and teach Jane’s hand in the art of dismembering, organ removal, and stealth. A true father-daughter bonding activity that will feed a slow growing passion until it spirals out of control. A tale that will go down in history books as the most renowned unsolved killing spree of all time.

Several days later, Jane’s mother went out for a long night of adultery. How is this known? Jane and her father follow the mother until she was in the arms of another man. This affair sparks and fuels the downward spiral as Jane follows her father into the shadows of anger and hatred. What Jane doesn’t realize, her father already came equipped to unleash hell upon the scandalous sinners of London. While scouting for potential prospects, the father frequently instructs Jane to stand back a few body lengths and watch his every movement, to copy everything he does, in silence. As the two Rippers set up shop in a dark alleyway, Jane’s father overhears his target steadily approaching. Slowly pulling out his long slender blade, his heart beat spiking in excitement and anticipation, sweat dripping down his brow, a quick violent slash across the neck severs the windpipe and propels a stream of blood splatter across Jane’s face. The father quickly pulls the wench into the darkness, as the woman takes her last few gurgling gasps of life. Slowly rubbing the blood off her face, Jane’s fascination and enthrallment of how fragile life is, intensified as time went on. In a feverish state, Jane takes her father’s knife from his hand and starts stabbing the trollop, repeatedly. She finds herself loving every puncturing thrust, dousing herself and everything around in crimson, beaming with joy, hysterically laughing, only stopping abruptly due to exhaustion. She demands her father to remove the prostitute’s uterus and kidney to serve to mother for dinner. Jane’s mother thinks she’s getting away with an unforgivable sin, she has another thing coming. When the cat’s away the mice will play.

Every night after a fresh kill, organs from the therapeutic release are cooked up, seasoned, and presented as being a different cut of steak or a rare delicacy from a foreign country. Jane pledges that the unsuspecting temptress bitch of mischief will burn in hell for what she’s doing to the family. While serving dinner to the mother daily, Jane and her father routinely smile with life-threatening pleasure as they observe mother chewing and swallowing. So tender. So juicy. Perfectly seasoned. In the ensuing weeks, the reign of terror progressively intensifies in brutality. A few more bottom feeding seductresses are gutted and displayed in a demeaning manner, left to rot on the side of the street, disregarded as worthless trash. With every kill, Jane absorbs every miniscule detail from her father and creeps closer to being unshackled upon the streets of London.

During the cold damp nights, Jane starts hearing her father talking to himself in varying tones and dialects, pacing throughout the house, as though being possessed by a demon. Worry and concern about her father’s mental and physical health, Jane ends up confronting him. Mother’s affair is taking its toll, to the point, his hands are incapable of wielding a knife due to severe tremors and his inability to sleep. He used to walk unencumbered with a clean conscious in public, even with hands saturated with residue from the kill the night before. A true master of his craft. He is the epitome of a silent predator of the night, addicted to the physical highs of meticulously scouting, hunting, and methodical killing of these inferior sheep. Witnessing her father slowly eroding in front of her, Jane’s internal rage spread to an inconceivable degree. Shortly after, Jane finally inherits her father’s reign of terror due to his deteriorating health.
With the law having no inkling who the killer is, the father decides to spice things up a bit by writing letters to the authorities. Jane finds this to be an absolute stroke of genius to purposefully manipulate and mislead the lead detectives on the case, while exposing how broken the system really is due to the lack of progress on the case. Once Jane takes over the reins, the killing methodology changes drastically. First, all preference of class goes out the window, rich and poor alike are tracked down like animals, eradicated from the face of the earth. If anyone looks, smells, or reminds Jane of her mother, that person’s death certificate is already signed and stamped. Within the next few hours the oblivious target is violently hung by the neck in their residence, disemboweled alive, and stripped naked to express dominance over her prey while accomplishing the act in total silence. Eventually, Jane develops into an even more frightening and devastating killer than her father. No one ever heard of Jane before the journal was found, a testament to how lethal and crafty she was.

Jane’s methods make it impossible to trace them to the other Ripper murders. The authorities believe the Ripper case has gone cold. All of the detectives and citizens keeping tabs on the case think Jack has either died of disease, moved out of town, travelled to another country, is incarcerated, or in the insane asylum by now. This permits Jane’s father the opportunity to still tag along on his daughters’ endeavors, to quench his own thirst for blood and to keep guiding her hand as a father should.

One night as dinner is being served, Jane enters the dining room like any other night, her mother is sitting at one end of the table as her father is sitting at the opposing end. But something is different, both parents are laughing and conversing as equals with no bitterness. This is unusual behavior compared to the past several months. Jane’s father doesn’t have any tremors, nor any other symptoms of declining health. What’s going on? Furthermore, her mother made the meal for dinner tonight, highly peculiar. Jane sits in absolute shock and disbelief, not knowing what to think or say. Jane’s mother acknowledges that things have been out of sorts as of late, apologizes, and swears that everything will be back to normal by the end of dinner. She wants to remind Jane that both of her parents love her very much. Several minutes go by without any further talking. Awkwardly, Jane’s mother begins to paint a clear picture of her recent behavior as the family eats. Mother discloses that everything was premeditated with her father from the very beginning. Even her father’s declining health was all part of the well thought out plan to forcefully mold Jane into becoming a ferocious murderer. It was the father’s idea to make it look like the mother was cheating, manipulating Jane’s strong connection with her father to the benefit of the family business, murder. It’s a proven system to target the family member’s emotional and psychological states to deliberately recruit and train them to become serial killers. Jane’s mother gets up to clean the dining room table off. Casually, Jane is told they were served the Ripper case detective’s testicles and ribs. Jane suddenly realizes her father isn’t the only killer in the family. Jane’s father leisurely whispers in her ear, “Who do you think enlisted and primed me?”

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Mother Nature’s Wrath
by Brent Rusinoski

Recently, classified case files detailing unthinkable horrors were seized by court order for immediate release from an undisclosed Russian government agency. Due to enormous public pressure these files were released without any redactions to the public. This is that story…….

On June 21, 2016, a normal summer day, an isolated eastern Siberian city named Tsarva with a population of roughly two million are going about their everyday activities. Kids are playing in the street, people are shopping, sun is blaring high in the sky, a mother holding a crying baby on a park bench, aroma of a bakery occupying the streets, couples holding hands, clinging and clanging of dishes in busy restaurants filling the air, birds chirping with a familiar tune, screeches of a train going over metal tracks, and the honking of car horns in traffic. Life appears worth living on this day. No one has any clue of the sleeping giant slowly dripping its poisonous residue into the flesh of the city.

Locked away in her murky womb, mother nature decides to unleash her dormant armies of ancient pathogens, to tame the populace of man. She has created her finest work of art, dialing up the worlds thermostat, creating a cascade of events leading to one thing, death. Her secret weapon lies within the permafrost. By exposing animal carcasses infected with rare or undocumented diseases, mankind’s ability to combat such a threat will be drastically hindered, with no treatment protocols or vaccines in place. It helps that humans are naturally naïve. Before people think they need help its already too late, death is already knocking on their door. In other words, before humanity could muster the resources to develop a vaccine; billions of people will perish. It’s obvious that our immune systems are still a work in progress.

A distress signal was received by the Disease Center (DC) from Tsarva, Russia later in the night on June 21st. It took the DC roughly five hours to mobilize along with the Russian military to quarantine the city. All airports, ports, bus stations, and any other access and egress points are sealed off from the outside world to contain the problem before it leaks to other populated areas. With social media, a click of a button could cause a vortex of rumors that spreads quicker than any type of virus or disease. In response, all communications in the region are blacked out to prevent global panic.

At first glance, the city seems in a perpetual state of paralysis with slight hints of fire and smoke, not even a bird is chirping. A lone team of disease control specialists, wearing yellow hazmat suits enter the city from the south to inspect the situation. One of the DC agents receives a disturbing voicemail from a loved one before entering the city. Come to find out, it was a relative who lives in Tsarva without his knowledge. This voicemail was received roughly two hours ago, three hours after the distress signal was received. In this voicemail, you can hear painful screams, moans, crying, cars crashing, sirens, explosions, a very faint bubbling noise, but no actual words are expressed. Just pure chaos, anarchy, and struggle. No one knows what to expect entering the city. Everyone is confused and on edge. The severity of the situation has not yet sunk in.

As the team enters the city, the highway isn’t gridlocked, no one even tried to flee. Only a few scattered cars. The people inside the cars, on the other hand, boiled from the inside out. Hemorrhaging from the eyes, ears, nose, and skin has an extreme reddish tone, black splotches all over the skin, projectile vomit all over the inner windshields, flesh is hot to the touch, and flesh has been torn from the necks and faces suggesting these people scratched at themselves, relentlessly. The evidence suggests a possible airborne pathogen of some sort. As the team pushes further into the heart of the city, symptoms seem to worsen.

Seems the inhabitants had no chance or no warning what-so-ever. It spreads at an unimaginable rate. Once the team arrives in the center of the city the temperature spikes over forty degrees. Some of the specialist’s question and tap at their instruments. Blobs of bubbling red plasma are detected and later identified as human remains. Cars seem to trample countless people. Could have been a defensive maneuver or an impulse of some sort…… everything is unknown at this point. The specialists take numerous skin, tissue, plasma samples, and a full corpse to perform an autopsy back at the military checkpoint.

Traffic lights still changing colors as if nothing changed. In the city park, the team notices a stroller, bottle half full of milk, and a pacifier in a plasma puddle next to a bench. The hospital wasn’t busy at all either. A few of the specialists took the hard drives from the hospital computers to analyze for any treatment pattern increases. No one was spared, didn’t matter how innocent you were, this force of nature ran through the city like a venomous serpent slithering in and out of the streets with no remorse or prejudice. Most surprisingly, evidence suggests people resulted to jumping from the buildings and stabbing themselves out of a pure crazed state. People seem to have no control over themselves and want to stop the suffering, immediately. This silent assassin has a 100% mortality rate. So, if you encounter anyone or anything with the virus present, it will kill you. Currently, there are no survivors.

Science has never witnessed anything like this before. A day later while analyzing the samples, the specialists all walk out of the laboratory with puzzled, shocked, and flabbergasted expressions. Test samples came back as a super hybrid virus with combined symptoms of bubonic plague, malaria, Ebola, and a flesh-eating disease all linked together. In a matter of one to three hours, people of Tsarva experienced accelerated symptoms of the flu, lesions appear on the skin, small boils that soon emit blood and puss, mush to the touch, bleeding of the nose, ears, gums, eyes all hemorrhaging, internal organs shut down and eventually liquefy, then a fit of extreme aggression, followed by death soon after.

This improbable combination of pathogens working together has never been
documented or seen before. How are all these viruses working together? How did malaria survive in such a cold climate? Absolutely unexplainable. All leading experts have no answers. Its figuring us out, faster than we’re figuring it out. If it’s not stopped here and now, we will be facing an unprecedented world-wide pandemic never seen before. This contagion is setting up a possible mass extinction event of every animal on earth.

With every inhale and exhale, perspiring skin contacting any object or person, coughing on a surface or on your hand then touching something or in anyone’s direction, exchanging saliva, exposure to blood, body secretions, and contaminated food and water can effectively spread the pathogen. It’s as easy as touching a cell phone, door knob, a glass of water, shaking hands, eating food, and drinking water. We’re creatures of our own demise. In hindsight, humans are very fragile creatures and we’re all at the mercy of mother, we’ve all overstayed our welcome, and she doesn’t want to nurture us anymore.

As mankind assumes its contained the virus in Tsarva, mother nature smirks with a satisfied grin, sending a single crow into the city from the north, pecking at one random rotting disease infested carcass lying in the city. In its travels the crow dies and lands into a water reservoir supplying a massive Turkish city……

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The Relic

by Brent Rusinoski

According to myth and legend, a story forged in the cauldron of gore and sacrifice has been passed down from generation to generation within Polish folklore until the end of time. Only a tattered portion of an ancient scroll written in blood survives to tell this heroic tale today……

At the base of an active volcano, several miles from an abandoned village, in modern day Poland sits a desolate field, home to an unmarked ancient burial ground. This immense landscape held witness to a pivotal battle between man and an inconceivable horde of foul beasts and demons exclusively crafted to defile, pillage, and burn the realm of mortals. Every spring during the first heavy rainfall, a mysterious cloud, comprised of an unfathomable sum of restless souls, manifests and engulfs the summit of the volcano to reenact a battle of epic proportions. Both armies have been entombed in a cloud of perpetual conflict and will be until the end of time.

After a short period of time the swirling cloud gathers enough power and discharges its wrath upon the mountain side, impersonating the movements of an avalanche, as though, unshackling an inescapable plague. As the cloud roams for earthly souls to consume, faint war drums start to echo deep within its murky womb. By now a river of torches pours out of the volcanoes conniving mouth as if lava was flowing from it, generating a wake of demise and obliteration, illuminating the horrors into the unforgiving night sky. In other words, scores of innocent inhabitants are unavoidably devoured by the prowling fog of premeditated brutality. Feverish cries for help shower the surrounding landscape, invading ears far and wide. All the while, smoldering black smoke, reeking of flesh, assaulted the air, portraying as a beckon of unimaginable suffering.

Appearing from the tree line are the remaining survivors of the gruesome attack. Helpless villagers hear a familiar cadence of horns and chanting. A welcoming sight of a few hundred lightly armored battle-hardened militants march towards the horrifying screams. Sanctioned to preserve humanity’s survival, these daring warriors take it upon themselves to toe the line, to be that small rock holding back a great wave.

The ground trembles and roars with fear as the forest begins to buckle, crack, and sway by the sheer force of whatever heinous creature’s creeps and crawls closer. One hundred yards from the tree line the band of brave warriors waits patiently to stare evil directly in the face. By this time, heavy rain overwhelms the impending field of carnage into a swirling sludge pit. Glistening with determination these able-bodied death dealers decide to stimulate themselves with a powdered herb before battle to fight as a man possessed by the gods. To deepen the mystery of these warriors, many exhibit uncountable scars upon their bodies as if a sacred right-of-passage and a measure of status.

Moments later, red eyes start to manifest and multiply along the muddled border. As more creatures funnel in from the smoldering village the rate of howls, screeches, snarls, growls, grunts, moans, grinding teeth, brawling, and many other disordered clamoring’s become increasingly deafening. In a taunting manner, a few decapitated heads land at the feet of the unflinching few. Time stood still as the warrior’s gaze across the battlefield as a palpable increase in temperature signals the thirst for vengeance. In response to these heinous crimes against humanity, an animalistic fueled roar ripples through the air followed by a thunderous horn piercing the heavens.

Both armies exploded towards each other at a blistering pace fueled by an incalculable measure of hatred. Projectiles start to buzz, fizz, and hum through the air, as the armies closed the gap, dropping man and monster alike. Inevitably, man and beast crash into each other as blood sprays into the air, bones pop and fracture, weapons and shields clank and clatter, unrelenting screaming, sobbing, moaning, impaling, hearts thumping uncontrollably to stay alive, limbs trembling, biting, scratching, necks snapping, death all around, rivers of bubbling blood, and dismembered bodies invade a once prospering field by reducing it to a splattering sea of butchery and confusion. With every passing minute the stench of disemboweled corpses hangs over the arena of disorder. Embers from the burning village start to shower down, covering the combatants with ash. Mud turned to dust, visibility decayed as it become difficult to differentiate friend from foe as the battle rages on.

Amid dwindling numbers, an extreme fear of imminent defeat overtakes a lone dual wielding fighter, displaying an undeniable resemblance to a defiant lion. Each swing seems to move mountains, bodies fall lifeless in droves. By defying all odds, his relentless hacking, stabbing, dodging, only appears to provoke this cornered animal to move with increased haste to preserve the age of man. As the dust settles……. a deafening silence cloaks the terrain ……. a sole man and beast remain at opposing ends of the field. Both gore drenched extremists turn to each other in a repulsed manner. Aggravated, the beast snarls. The man waves the beast over to make the first move. Exhausted, the beast conjures the last drops of fearlessness and dashes towards the final objective. With every forceful step, blood sprays and spews from the scattered corpses, dust kicks up, sweat drips, and vast amounts of steam ejects from the beast’s nostrils. The sun starts to rise as the devil’s henchman jumps towards the stout-hearted mortal. As the rays of sun pierce their bodies, the warriors seemed frozen in time as they both slowly disintegrate. Fragmented remains of the fallen warriors, beasts, and demons gather to form a cloud and retreat towards the volcano’s mouth. Dawn has come to end the chaos, but the relic will awaken and replay once more and echo throughout time.