A tall man, in jeans and a black commando sweater, walks into the hall. His Corcoran Jump Boots are scuffed but well cared for
“ I am sitting so that you lowlifes can see into my eyes. I don't want you to strain yourselves from looking up.”
Takes out a whet stone and tomahawk, starts polishing the edge.
“ My favorite thing about a truly sharp hawk is, that surprised look on a fuckers face after I cut them.”
Stares meaningfully at the gathering crowd.
“ They are shocked , in disbelief that it happened. Then, as the pain sets in, comes understanding, and the fear.”
Pauses, sets down the whet stone, begins tossing the Tomahawk in the air, watching it spin them catching it by the handle.
“First rule is, keep your hawk sharp, clean. Ready. Second rule is, when someone brings the problem to you, never hesitate to axe them about it.”
Catches axe and throws in a singular fluid movement.
As the axe sticks into the heavy wooden door he draws a big Arkansas tooth pick.
Sits back down, picking up the whet stone, begins to polish the edge on the big knife. The room is silent save for the scrape-snick noises of oiled stone on steel.
“Sometimes Axing doesn't quite make your point. You need to cut through the bullshit. Gut the lies, get to the heart of the matter.”
He gestures with the knife. “Know what I mean?”
Some in the small crowd study the Tomahawk, others, study the knife. All are listening closely to his words.
“ I know some of y’all are wondering just who the hell I am. I can see some of y’all already know, that's why your sweating feeling all nervous and shit. I can see the sweat on ya.”
The tall man stands up, taking off his patrol cap. Reddish hair falls around his shoulders. He had put it up, tucked up under the patrol hat.
“Now, those of you that ain't sweating, you just go right on out that there door,” he points at the door with the Tomahawk stuck in it.
“You sweaty fucks just have a seat now.”
Looks shoot back and forth. Some begin moving towards the door.
Every one looks nervous now, except the man.
“Before y’all get any ideas” a gunshot is heard from out side, immediately followed by one farther away. “I ain't stupid enough to come alone. Move it now. And you sweat hawgs, don't try it. My friends know who you are. You won't make it two steps out the door. Sit down, shut up and listen up. Your only chance, is in here, with me.”
Five sit down on the floor. The man gives them a contemptuous scowl. Waiting, polishing the blade. The last of the others exit the hallway.
The man abruptly stands, walking briskly to the door, twisting the axe out flinging splinters towards the five. All of them flinched. He could see that none of them expected to live. Hell, he could taste their fear on the air, it was thick with it. They disgusted him.
“ I see you figured out who I am haven't you? Hah, guess your not as stupid as I thought.”
He strolled languidly back to his perch on the wooden box. Sat down, once again tossing the axe and catching it.
“You should have run the second you recognized me.” He stated flatly.
“She was my twin sister after all.”
Chatter erupted, all five babbling pointing at each other, each coward blaming the others.
The Axe flew. One fell backwards the axe embedded in his forehead, spike first. He sprawled twitching as he died.
“Shut the fuck up. Now.” The man spoke flatly, moderately.
“Now there's Four.
I gave you a chance.
I am here alone, like she was. Why weren't you brave enough with five?
Did you think four would have a better chance?”
Pointing with the big knife at one of them.
You, red shirt, bring me Betsy.” Red shirt hesitated, “ Now.” The man growled. “ Yes, I named the Hawk, after Her.” Red shirt had to work at it to get the axe free. The full length of the ravens beak spike had buried itself. Bits of bone, blood, fluids and brain came out with it as he broke it free. Red shirt turned, hands now covered in his accomplice’s blood.
The man extended his hand for the axe. Red shirt stepped forward. The man knew the instant red shirt made the decision to strike. His eyes gave it away. The moment he stopped looking everywhere else and looked straight at the man , the knife flashed briefly. Striking upward the man buried the long broad blade to the hilt into redshirts groin, while snatching the Tomahawk with his right hand. With a twist the man savagely tore the knife free.
Red shirt fell, grabbing at his free bleeding groin screaming. The man, still seated, shoved the writhing form away with a booted foot.
Looking up, smiling,” Now, there's three.” He taunted. Two men lay dying.
Casually the man laid the bloodied axe aside , and began sketching symbols on the floor in the blood of red shirt.
“You should have run.”
The man murmured softly , then spat on the macabre symbols he had sketched.
Standing he gestured at the three remaining.
“You should have run. But, thank you for staying. I would have still killed you, taking turns, one by one, just like y’all did with her. “
The man grinned widely.
“She, is my sister , she's watching now through my eyes, just as I did through hers.”
“But but she's dead, you're dead what the fuck!” the bravest of the three stammered. “ Yes, we are. And, so are you.” The tall man answered.
Laughing the red haired man slashed, stabbed, hacked. The three screamed, cried, moaned. Grunted as the tallman worked, making sure not to deliver any immediately lethal strikes, even so it was over quickly .
Smiling , The man examined his handiwork. As the scene faded, like mist melting away, he could be heard.
“ Until next time, and the next, into eternity. You are ours. “ “Ours again and again and again” two voices, a male tenor and a soft woman’s contralto.
The signs that had been drawn in blood on the floor , remained. Nothing the janitors had done would make them fade.
Every night and with every thunderstorm the same scene replayed again and again.
They should have run.
They should never have raped and murdered the young red haired girl.
They should never have left her free to scream, to curse, to call her dead twin brother with her life's blood and dying breath.
They should never have pissed off a witch.
Emotional support axes are expensive.
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WOW! Love the Raven and text Raven Dancer by the way.