Christopher's Blade: Haunted Village Series Book 7
Christopher's Blade: Haunted Village Series Book 7
Christopher's Blade: Haunted Village Series Book 7
Christopher's Blade: Haunted Village Series Book 7
Christopher's Blade: Haunted Village Series Book 7
Christopher's Blade: Haunted Village Series Book 7

Christopher's Blade: Haunted Village Series Book 7

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A killer’s blade craves fresh blood…

Marcus Holt is Subject B, a Vietnam veteran forced to take part in Professor Abel Worthe’s sadistic experiment. Worthe keeps his human lab rats in a village haunted by murderous ghosts, and forces them to one terrifying ordeal after another. This time, the prisoners find themselves hunted by another vicious spirit.

Within the walls of a rotting old New England cottage, the ghost of a vicious serial killer lies in wait. His name is Christopher, and his razor-sharp bayonet longs to taste the blood of a fresh victim.

Even as they plan to defeat Christopher, Marcus prepares for an onslaught from outside the village walls, and finds strange new allies in the coming battle. He must fight on two fronts, battling an undead killer within the village walls, and an enemy gathering strength beyond the gates.

But will victory be enough to free them all from the professor’s unholy grasp? Or is it all just another trap in Worthe’s diabolical game?



Chapter 28: Coffee Time

Marcus didn’t bother propping the door open when he entered Christopher’s house. He sat down on the floor and waited.

It took only a few minutes for Christopher to appear. The dead man held his bayonet and smiled at Marcus. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Marcus agreed. “I would like to speak with you.”

The dead man squatted down, stabbing the tip of the bayonet into the floor. “Why?”

“I want to know more about you,” Marcus said truthfully. “We are to be neighbors, after all.”

“If I don’t kill you,” Christopher added.

Marcus chuckled. “True. Very true. If you can keep from killing me, then we shall be neighbors.”

Christopher nodded, smiling. “You accept death.”

“I have very little choice in the end,” Marcus replied. “I will either be dead, or I will not be dead. For now, what more is there?”

Christopher worked the bayonet out of the floor and pointed it nonchalantly at Marcus. “Were you a soldier?”

“I was,” Marcus said.

“Did you fight?” the dead man asked.

Marcus smiled tightly. “I did.”

“I can tell,” Christopher said in a soft voice. “I can always tell. There is something about us. Isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Marcus agreed. “It is a different way of seeing the world.”

“Alive or dead,” Christopher said, nodding with gusto. “We know how the world truly is.”

“Is that why you carry the bayonet?” Marcus asked.

Christopher grinned. “Yes and no. I carry the bayonet because I learned to use one in the Army. But I didn’t kill with one until after the war was finished. There is an undeniable pleasure in thrusting cold steel into a woman. Twisting and turning the blade. Pulling it out. The teeth are beautiful, are they not?”

The dead man held the weapon up and a faint bit of light from one of the gas lamps outside reflected in the steel.

“So beautiful,” Christopher whispered. A rapturous expression settled on his face. “The first woman I killed was a librarian. She was entering her apartment. I had tracked her for days. From the library to her home. A little bit at a time. She walked the same way, without any deviation. You should have seen her expression when the steel slid into her stomach.”

Christopher sighed happily. Marcus fought back the bile rising in his throat.

“She tried to bite through my palm,” Christopher continued. “I pressed it against her mouth to keep her silent. I needn’t have worried. None of her neighbors cared. She lived in a terrible part of town. Her salary was hardly enough to keep bread on the table. Anyway, she died relatively quickly. I was still learning, you see.”

“How many did you kill?” Marcus’ voice was far calmer than he felt. Rage seethed within him. He hated the dead man, yet as Christopher continued to speak, the hate was tempered with pity.

“I don’t remember,” Christopher said gently. “Terrible, isn’t it? I have flashes of recollection at times. But only those. I remember my last kill, when I was still alive. She was the worst.”

“Why?” Marcus asked.

“Why?” Christopher repeated. Anger filled his voice. “Why! Because she suffered the most! My sister suffered the most!”

With a howl, the dead man stood up and threw himself across the room at Marcus.

Despite the comfort of the iron in his gloves, Marcus struggled against the first impulse of fear as it swarmed over him. He twisted as far as he could out of the path of the dead man, thrusting his uninjured right arm out and passing his gloved hand through Christopher.

The iron instantly disrupted the ghost, causing the dead man to vanish. Marcus knew it was only a slight reprieve and he struggled to gain his footing as Christopher manifested a short distance away. It was then Marcus saw the bayonet was on the floor between them. While there was a sense of hatred pulsating from the dead man, Marcus knew the bayonet would not be involved.

I’m a soldier, Marcus realized with sudden clarity. And I do not hide my face from him. Not like Worthe’s guards. He won’t use it on me. It’s a sign of respect.

He nearly laughed, but he had to choke back the sound as Christopher moved forward.

“I gutted her,” the dead man hissed. “Do you understand me? I didn’t just stab and twist and pull. No. Of course not. I did it right. I cut her belly open and took out everything hidden away. As she lay dying, I flayed the skin from her spine. I couldn’t stop myself. It was there, and it needed doing.”

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