Christopher's Blade: Haunted Village Series Book 7

197 pages

Chapter 6: Meeting the Neighbor

"That's not normal," Timmy said, and Marcus could only nod his head in mute agreement.

The body of a woman lay on the floor of the cape. Her clothes were cut away and in a pile beside her mangled torso. Her injuries were reminiscent of a person who might have stepped on a mine, and Marcus could only hope she hadn't suffered too terribly.

Her wounds said otherwise, as did the twisted, pained expression on her face.

"Do you know her?" Marcus asked.

"I might have," Timmy said, his eyes already moving away from the corpse. "Does it matter?"

Marcus didn't respond, hating the fact that his son seemed dead inside.

Is this my fault? he wondered suddenly. Is he deficient because I wasn't there for him?

The questions were left unanswered as Timmy straightened up and motioned for Marcus to be still.

A man stood across the room from them, and Marcus knew the person hadn't been there a moment before.

"Hello," Marcus said.

"You're in my house," the man said.

"You're Christopher," Timmy said.

The dead man's head turned towards Timmy. "Yes. Get out."

"That's not very hospitable," Timmy said.

"Timmy," Marcus said sharply.

His son glanced at him, shrugged, but stayed quiet.

"Yes," Marcus said. "We certainly are in your house. Christopher, is it? I'm Marcus, and this is Timmy. We were wondering if we might speak with you."

Something bright glinted in the ghost's left hand.

"About what?" the dead man asked.

"About whether we might come to some sort of truce," Marcus said, choosing his words carefully. "We live here, in the Village."

"I know," Christopher stated. "There's a woman there."

"No," Marcus said, shaking his head. "Not anymore. She left a few days ago."

"Dead woman, too," the dead man said, his voice taking on a curiously intense tone. "Living and dead. Curious, isn't it?"

"Not particularly," Marcus replied. "About a truce, Christopher."

The dead man shook his head.

"No, no truce," he whispered. "I need to see the women. Let me see them."

Marcus' jaw tightened, and his eyes darted to the body on the floor.

The body of a woman, mangled.

She didn't die quickly, he thought grimly. Not at all. He took his time with her.

It's what he likes, Marcus realized, and Timmy seemed to come to the same understanding a moment later.

"You," Christopher said, pointing the bright object in his hand at Marcus. "You smell like them."

"That," Timmy said with a low whistle, "is one hell of a blade, big man. What do you do with that?"

As his son asked the question, Marcus caught a glimpse of the weapon in the dead man's hand.

It was a blade. A huge, ancient looking bayonet. The back was ridged with the teeth of a saw, and he shuddered at the idea of the weapon plunging into flesh and then tearing back out again.

"I do a lot of things with this," Christopher replied. "I was a soldier once. Did you know that?"

Neither Marcus nor Timmy responded, but Christopher didn't seem to notice.

"I was a good soldier. One of the best. I was wounded," Christopher whispered. "Terribly. I wasn't a man anymore. Those parts were gone. But I didn't die. I wanted to, but I didn't. So, I brought this home."

He held the bayonet aloft and grinned at them.

"I brought it home," he said, laughing. "It made me a man again."

Christopher pointed the bayonet at the body of the woman.

"Ask her," Christopher hissed, the humor suddenly gone. "Ask her if I am a man!"

Before either Marcus or Timmy could reply, Christopher lunged at them. Marcus grunted as Timmy pushed him out of the way and knocked the bayonet aside. Christopher reversed the blade easily, laughing as he brought it plunging down. Marcus grabbed the hilt and screamed at the pain that shot through his gloved hand.

The dead man vanished, and Marcus dropped the bayonet to the floor. From somewhere in the house came the crash of a door, and Timmy took hold of him, snapping, "Move! They're coming in through the back!"

Marcus staggered toward the front door as Christopher reappeared and passed through them, snatching up his bayonet. Looking over his shoulder, Marcus saw the dead man wasn't chasing them. Instead, he was moving toward the sound of the new intruders.

Marcus' hand throbbed with pain as he and Timmy fled the house, seeking refuge in their own. Behind them, the rattle of gunfire spilled out of Christopher's cape, and Marcus knew it wouldn't be enough.

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