It's been a while since I last composed one of my little fictional tales, strictly for your entertainment purposes of course.

My recent absence from these forums over the end of July and most of August was due to a little vacation I took. Being who I am, it was of course a working vacation.

I was contacted through the usual channels to take a trip to a secluded town in the Rocky Mountains. The name of the town is Ashcroft (I'm serious) and it doesn't appear on very many maps.

It's not there anymore.

Of course, I wasn’t sent in to destroy a small town. I’m simply not that sort of mercenary. There was just one target on my agenda this past August.

I will call him Vlad for the purposes of this little fiction. Almost immediately this case started being weird. When I asked for a photograph of Vlad, I was given a scan of a painting set in Europe some centuries ago. My own research revealed several more paintings from several locations and time periods. The most recent painting was done in the ‘60’s. Vlad made a convincing hippie. No where could I find a proper photograph of the man.

Careful research showed the Vlad liked to move around quite a bit. It wasn’t unusual for him to show up before or shortly after natural disasters where the death toll was quite high. Often times as a paramedic working the night shift.

I suppose it should be noted that Vlad had won many awards and honors for his humanitarian work.

Apparently he had last been spotted in the town of Ashcroft so that is where I went.

The town of Ashcroft was quite picturesque while it still existed. Set in the Colorado Rockies it was an isolated community that time seemed to have forgotten. Outside radio and television signals don’t reach this part of the world nor is there any cell reception.

Fibre optic cables were only recently used to replace older cables as this little town’s link to the outside world.

The town itself may have had a thousand people, if you included residents of the outlying areas. Amenities were few. For example, I stayed at the only hotel the place had and it was also the only bar in town. It is also the location of the Greyhound bus stop although the bus only comes through the town once a week. It was located on the only paved road in the entire area.

Also on that paved road were an old style general store/gas station, a small grocer’s mart, a hunting supply shop, a bingo hall/town recreation center, a small police detachment, a grade school/high school (both in the same building) and a small clinic.

The people were all very friendly and curious individuals. All of whom had grown up in the area and all of whom knew everyone else and their business. Strangers and outsiders are usually just passing through on their way to somewhere else. Even during the camping season as the camp grounds and resorts are all some distance away. It was definitely the sort of place that if you blinked at the wrong moment, you’d miss it.

It is also the sort of place I prefer to avoid. I think that within an hour of checking in, half the town knew my face. Still, as fortune would have it, I wasn’t the only stranger in town at the time. Most the other hotel rooms were booked and occupied by a religious group on some sort of retreat. The remaining two rooms were occupied by a small group of people travelling together who were keeping to themselves. Based on the weapons I saw a few of them carry into their rooms, I assumed they were hunters.

I did take precautions to protect my identity. I was wearing a wig and adopted a foreign accent. I took a couple of other precautions as well. For my cover story, I told everyone that I was there to do some hiking and nature watching. The camera I had along with me aided in my story.

According to my plan, I would only be there a day before I blended into the woods to catch my prey.

Other plans already in play would work to keep me there much longer than expected.

Good day all,

Sorry for my extended absence. I had some employment oppurtunities to pursue that also demanded my undivided attention.

In any event, I did go for a little hike to find my targets home.

His cottage retreat was really more of a mansion than anything. Couldn't tell how it was furnished as all the drapes and curtains were pulled shut during the day. There were about three healthy looking young women sunning themselves by the outdoor pool. In the driveway were three vehicles including an SUV. Apparently paramedics live quite well.

Unnoticed by the sun worshippers, I was able to take a number of photos to be studied later for security holes. I checked out several likely locations in the area that provided a clear line of sight before heading back to the hotel to catch a nap. I planned to return come nightfall.

And return I did.

It was just after sun down and I was dressed for business and I had a nice little perch where I could comfortably wait.

Oddly, there was a visitor to the little chalet.

I didn't recognize him but smiled as I watched the two talk in front of the chalet through my scope. They weren't getting on well at all. With any luck, a witness would have seen this stranger in the area and perhaps their advesarial relationship was well known. Either that or a descreet tip could be given to the police. In my trade, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Yet the more I watched, the more unnerved I became. There was something quite unsettling about this stranger. And not just that I didn't recognize them. After awhile I decided it was his eyes. There was something wild and crazy about them. Quite the contrast to the quiet and reserved man he was currently talking to. At least I was pretty sure he was human. His anger flushed his face red quite a few times.

Finally, in a huff he stormed back to his vehicle and drove off. My target watched him go until the SUV could no longer be seen. Then he turned to re-enter his chalet. I was still watching him with my scope trying to decide whether to take him out now or a little later in the evening.

He paused for a moment before passing out of my sight. I had just decided to fire. He glanced up and seemed to be looking right at me. I heard a voice in my head. Are you going to shoot or aren't you? The tone suggested boredom.

I got the hell out of there.

So I was high tailing it out of there. All that psychic stuff really gets under my skin. I suppose I should have just taken the shot right then and there. But really, how was I even supposed to know that I was seeing what I thought I saw?

And getting the hell out of there consisted of moving through the brush as quietly and quickly as I could. On foot. At least until I got to my vehicle.

Before I made it to my parking spot, I went by the cememtary. I paused in my progress because of the light and noises emanating from the cemetary grounds. When I paused to investigate I saw a couple dozen cloaked figures. They were involved in some sort of ritual. Leading the ritual was the same man I had seen at Vlad's house earlier.


I shrugged and continued on my way. Wasn't my business what these nutbars were up to nor was I being paid to intervene in any way.

I suppose I should learn the merits of the occasional pro bono job.

Okay "Cynistry", I'm getting kinda sick of your PM's on this job. Apparently you've forgotten the code key I provided you or you're just being deliberately obtuse. So let me spell it out for you in plain english.

THE JOB IS COMPLETE AS COMMISSIONED.

I'll be expecting the outstanding portion of the payment within 24 hours.

Eilonwy Solstice wrote: Does that mean you regretted leaving the cemetery, or that you regretted leaving the cemetery?

Not sure what you mean here. I would later regret leaving the cemetary without first taking some target practice. Would have saved me a lot of trouble.

Eilonwy Solstice wrote:. . . who’s Cynistry, by the way?

A dead beat who owes me money.

Or a red herring to test the waters.

Your choice.

But the smart money is on dead man walking.

Ah, don't worry Miss Solstice. I'm not looking to upset the established order or status quo.

I'm still a gun for hire.

Although after my Christmas job, I could pretty much retire in style. But I ain't ready to settle down yet. But I might consider a job for favors, good will from people who's good will might matter or if the job really, really, really interested me.


Or maybe if a kid were in danger. MAYBE! And don't go blabbing about that, Miss Solistice.

It wasn’t until I got back to my room that I was able to collect my thoughts and emotions.

“Damn it!” I thought to myself. “I should have shot!” I mean, sure he was in my head but he hadn’t been in control. I had let a simple little trick freak me out. Now he knew I was there and gunning for him. It would make completing my mission that much more difficult.

And it wasn’t like I could just check out of my room prematurely without arousing suspicion with the locals.

So instead I paced the floor of my room all night, trying to figure out what my next move would be. I didn’t allow myself to sleep until the sun was well and truly up.

- - -

“Remember Nemesis*, Squeeze, don’t pull the trigger.” It was my Da’s voice. We were in the back forty someplace in spring. The wind was whipping about my hair and I felt comforted with his arms around me. Today I was learning to use a .38 revolver. Tin cans were my only marks and I was only getting a dollar for each one I nailed.

I remember I got nineteen dollars out of twenty four cans that day. My Da really enjoyed his Soda.

Slowly I squeezed the trigger and tried to brace myself for the inevitable bang.

“BANG!”

It seemed faint and far away.

A can rattled but didn’t fall off the post.

“That’s it.” My dad reassured me. “Try again. A little more to the right this time.”

“BANG!”

It seemed closer that time.

The can fell over.

Apparently some geese at the nearby lake were startled. They flew into the sky, screaming and honking as they went.

“Now the other can.” My Da said, as he guided my arms to face the next can. “Make sure you hit them all. Don’t waste your shots.”

“BANG!”

It was very close that time.

“It’s time for you to wake up now.”

It was Vlad’s voice.

“BANG!”





*Not the name actually used at the time.

You’ve met the old hag, haven’t you? She has many names so maybe you have and didn’t realize it.

You know the sensation, when you snap out of deep sleep and there seems to be a weight on your chest, and you can’t move? Maybe your eyes can move and maybe there are dark shapes on the periphery of your vision. That is the hag, and she is stealing your breath.

Nearly every culture in the world has a supernatural explanation for this experience.

Scientists call this phenomenon ‘Sleep Paralysis’. It is a normal part of REM activity. It is what prevents you from flailing your arms and legs when you dream of running. The problem occurs when the mind snaps out of REM sleep and into consciousness. It takes awhile for the body to shake off the effects.

It is very often preceded by particularly vivid dreams. Hallucinations are often a part of the experience as dream images seem to overlap real world perceptions. It is an emotional experience, usually punctuated with feelings of anxiety, dread and reportedly the feeling of a malevolent presence.

It has been linked to a high number of alien abductees’ cases.

It is not entirely understood although studies continue to explore this issue.

I experienced it once, in the same building that the Hallway Monster haunted. My Da explained to me about the Hag. He got some old woman with gaudy jewellery to come into my room and cast some sort of spell. As a young child, I was quite impressed with all the ceremony and had no further difficulties sleeping. I felt safe. This was especially true knowing that my Da was staying up in the next room with his favourite firearm ready.

There was no such comfort as I felt the hag’s horrid embrace in that small hotel room. There was a presence in there with me, I would swear of it. It felt of hunger and smelled of death. And it was gone before I had the strength to move my eyes.

As my eyes drifted around the room, everything seemed normal. Based on the amount of sunlight filtering in through the drawn curtains I reckoned it was noon or early afternoon. So far as I could tell, everything was right where I had left it. The door was still locked and bolted from the inside.

The sounds had been there the whole time of course. My mind didn’t process them right away. It wasn’t until I heard yet another shot that my mind retroactively started making sense of it all.

Outside, on the street, someone was firing a revolver. There were voices and screaming. The fear was palatable. Cars were honking their horns and one vehicle had just smashed into a nearby building. It was near enough to cause the hotel to shudder. A riot?

Finally I was able to move stubborn and sluggish muscles. First thing I did was pull a specially made double shoulder holster on over my under shirt. Then I slid a curtain aside to peer out into the street.

It was mayhem.

Several vehicles had collided in the middle of the street. The local sheriff was there, firing a .38 into the crowd of people around the vehicles. “That’s odd.” I thought to myself. “He should be using a 9mm.” Then I noticed the empty holster on his hip and the discarded magazines on the ground. “Ah. So he’s gone to his back up weapon.”

Then I realized how odd it was for a peace officer to be firing into a crowd of people he was supposed to serve and protect.

He fired once more as I watched. The round was a perfect hit into its target. It was center of mass, likely to hit the heart and/or lungs. The body of the target jerked a bit but kept coming. It was moving oddly. Not like a creature that had to rely on muscles and bone structure but more like a grotesque marionette.

Nor was it alone. There were several such oddly moving bodies amongst the vehicle pile up. Some were pulling themselves from wreckage. In one case, half a dozen had converged on one mini-van, pulling out a family with young children, biting into them and pulling out huge chunks of flesh. I watched as the family then got up, in the same jerky motions only to join the others to converge on the Sherriff.

He was out of ammo.

That was when the pounding on my door started.

I had to decide what to do, and fast.

“Who’s out there?” I called as I opened my duffel bag to pull out my trusty .338 LM.

“Hey, there’s someone alive in this one.” I heard from outside as the banged halted for a moment. “Come on, we’re all headed for the roof!”

“The roof?” I called back as I opened the curtain again and began to take aim. “What the hell for?”

“We’re hoping they can’t climb.” There were sounds of other doors being pounded on down the hallway. “Now come on!”

Fortunately my rifle was still prepped from the night before. I flipped off the safety and took my shot at the nearest thing to the sheriff. I don’t even know why, I was just reacting at that point. It was like some base instinct had taken me over and I was acting because there was no other option. I’ve never felt so primal before.

The sheriff seemed frozen in horror and disbelief, still trying to fire an empty revolver at the approaching crowd. The lead… thing’s head exploded as my round made contact. It’s body slumped to the ground, now immobile.

“Holy shit!” The voice on the other side of my door hollered. “What kind of gun you got in there?”

My first shot seemed to have knocked the sheriff out of his fugue state. Or else the blood splattered over his face did. He turned on his heel and started to run. The next closest creatures head exploded from another of my rounds. “A big one.” I replied while lining up my next shot.

“Hey, if you got a gun, we could use your help. There’s a lot of innocent civilians here and they’re going to need our protection.” There was more commotion in the hall as residents joined whoever it was trying to get everyone to the roof.

Two of the creatures sprinted ahead of the slow moving and shambling pack. One of them went ass over tea kettle as my round tore his neck right away. The other one continued to gain on the sheriff. “I’m not following you to die in some cul de sac.” I shouted back.

“If we work together, we might survive this thing!” The voice continued to plead with me.

The second creature was almost on top of the sheriff. It was reaching to grab the mans collar. My next round sent half the creatures head across the street.

“Look, if you don’t come out, we’re going to come in there and drag you out!” The voice insisted from outside the door. “If you got weapons and the skill to use them, we need your help protecting these civilians. So which is it going to be?”

“It’s your funeral.” I said coldly as I fired my fifth shot at one of the creatures that looked like it might also be a sprinter. At least it was moving through the crowd of it’s fellows fairly fast.

“Leave ‘em!” A second voice joined the first. “I opened myself up. They’ll shoot you if you bust in. Beside, whoever they are, they’re trying to save the sheriff.”

And it wasn’t until I heard those words spoken out loud that I realized it was true. I was actually wasting ammo trying to save someone I didn’t know. Someone who would arrest me if they knew half the things I had done.

Looking over the faces of the shambling mob in the street, I think I started to realize why. There was no commonality between us and them. They, whatever they were, were monsters. Such unnatural aberrations that every fibre of my being knew they were the enemy and had to be destroyed. The sheriff was a possible ally.

More possible allies were outside. “I’ll be along when I’m done here.”

That seemed to satisfy whoever they were and I could hear their footsteps recede down the hallway.

My rifles magazine holds five rounds. There was six rounds in the weapon because I had chambered a round before loading the magazine. Not normally required in my line of speciality but something I have learned to do as not everything drops to one or two rounds of even the most powerful ammunition. I was ‘hot’ loading the next magazine while surveying the street below.

The sheriff was dashing for the jail. That made sense. Weapons and reasonably easy to defend. He was also starting to put some distance between himself and his pursuers.

Then he tripped at the curb. Landed hard on one of his knees.

“Dammit.” I thought. “Get the hell up!” I hadn’t just wasted five very expensive rounds to save the life of someone who would normally be my enemy just to watch them stumble and get torn apart anyway.

The mob let out a hellish moan and started to close on him. The first five all fell to my shots. In that time, the sheriff had gotten up again and had started limping towards the jail once more.

I only had one mag left that was loaded. After that, it would be single rounds which I would have to remove from the box and then from their clip. Only to hand load them individually. Basically, if the sheriff didn’t make it to safety in my next six shots, there wasn’t going to be much more I could do for him.

He was moving too slow. They were catching up to him. I reassessed their numbers. More had poured out of the other buildings to join those in the street. There were now a total of ten of these things to my remaining six available rounds.

One by one, I started taking them down. Methodically. It was easy. Slow moving targets that seemed to lack a survival instinct. Six heads exploded. The remaining four were merely a couple of feet away from the sheriff now. They were closer to him than he was to door of the jail.

As quickly as I could, I grabbed my box of ammo. I literally tore a round out of a box and away from the plastic clip that held it in place with the others. I turned my rifle to the scene once more.

They had him. All four had grabbed him and one was biting deeply into his neck. I hadn’t expected to save him when I frantically tried to get one last round into my rifle. I aimed, pulled the trigger and put the round where it would do the most good.
o/~ I shot the sheriff! But I did not shoot the deputy! o/~

Ron Caliburn wrote:Not a particularly good piece for a close range encounter Nemesis. Normally a sniper works with a spotter who provides local defence - since you are playing it solo, might be wise to invest in something that can provide rapid fire in case you end up in an unexpected close range encounter.

You're quite right, Mr. Caliburn. I don't have anything between my pistols and my .338. It's not normally an issue although there are times I wish I had a spotter. Used to spot for my Da but I got no one I trust.

I'd rather of had a 7.62 (there are semi-auto's with a decent payload), or even a 30.06 (or lower; I like me my bolt actions, to be honest) in that situation but I had to make do with what I had.

As you can imagine, I try to avoid close range. I have my pistols and a shot gun when the issue is forced, but I do need something in the intermediary range.

Got any suggestions? To be honest, I've never worked with full auto weapons before. Something I can disassembly and/or hide with ease would be my preference.

Submachine gun?

skeptic wrote:Submachine gun?

A 'spray and pray'?

*Shudders*

It would make my old Da weep to think I was wasting ammo.

Nemesis wrote:

skeptic wrote:Submachine gun?

A 'spray and pray'?

*Shudders*

It would make my old Da weep to think I was wasting ammo.

No. That's not what I said.

Hannah wrote:Hi Nemisis,

My favourite gun in Dad's collection is a Czech Skorpian machine pistol. It's not a s powerful as a rifle, but it is no bigger than a pistol and fully automatic. It's one of the few guns he has that I can fire on full automatic and not get shaken around because it fires a .25 ACP bullet. I know they make them in 9 mm and there are similar sized weapons in more potent cartridges - maybe something like that might help you?

Hannah

PS: I haven't done any practical shooting competitions with my dad in a while. This archery thing has gotten too big. I forgot how fun they were.

A bow is one of the few weapons I use just for fun. My teachers always wanted me to compete but my Da would never allow it. It would have drawn too much attention. Good luck with your competitions.

skeptic wrote:

Nemesis wrote:

skeptic wrote:Submachine gun?

A 'spray and pray'?

*Shudders*

It would make my old Da weep to think I was wasting ammo.

No. That's not what I said.

You say 'submachinegun', I see "Spray and pray". Call it a paradigm.

An incorrect one, however.

skeptic wrote:An incorrect one, however.

We all must accept and cope with our limitations.

Althought I've always thought that the Ingram was smexy.

I don't consider accurate shooting a limitation. I certainly didn't when I was in the Army.

skeptic wrote:I don't consider accurate shooting a limitation. I certainly didn't when I was in the Army.

I was referring to my own paradigm as a limitation. Accurate shooting is certainly not something I'm limited at.

All clear.
I apologise for the misunderstanding.

Hannah wrote: Hi Nemesis,

I like the competition, it contributes to the focus. I am better when I'm alone there. When I'm alone I can use the gifts from the Oak King to actually get the air to guide my arrow. In front of a crowd that doesn't work and I have to just use the skills I inherited from my mother and father.

I don't mind so much, it makes the competition fairer.

Hannah

Well, I got no special powers to help me at any time but I'd like to think I'd try to win 'fair' just because I'm better. Never got to shoot in front of a crowd though. Maybe I would have gotten stage fright?

Hannah wrote:PS: My dad helps train SWAT officers on how to use Automatic Weapons with precision so they don't accidentally kill an innocent bystander. Maybe he can help you develop those skills too.

Ha! I might actually take him up on that if I thought he'd ever offer!

The Oak King?
Which mythological group is that?