He grabbed his claymore from the bed and rushed to the door. Dread penetrated Searon’s veins as he realized he had forgotten his son for a moment with the sight of his wife’s blood. He had thought there were only two of the creatures. Searon shouldn’t have been so foolish. He should have searched the whole house before coming back to his dying wife. When he rushed out of the bedroom, he almost collided with two draeyks in the living room. They were setting fire to his home with torches.
He ran toward them, swinging his claymore down upon the first one. Its axe moved to block his first strike. He swung his blade to the side, but it was blocked as well. The next creature came at him from behind with its axe. Searon ducked below the swing. He could feel the wind from the axe brush across his long hair. Searon, frustrated now, let his blade fall to his left and spun it around, shoving it between his armpit behind him. It penetrated the draeyk’s chest. With a terrifying yell, the creature fell to the ground as he pulled the crimson stained claymore from its heart.
Blade dripping in dark red blood, he rolled backward, dodging another strike from the final draeyk. The claymore glowed crimson, making it brighter than the fire within the room. He dropped his claymore and grabbed the fallen draeyk’s axe, launching it at the last one standing. The sharp blade penetrated its skull, and it collapsed onto the ground.
Searon stood and grabbed his claymore, glad to have his own steel back in his hands. Then, he heard his son scream. He bolted into his son’s bedroom to find one last draeyk. What he saw in the room nearly brought him to his knees. He gasped as he stared at the draeyk. It had an axe in one hand, and his son’s head in the other. The draeyk held Kellen’s head by his shaggy brown hair. His son’s eyes and mouth were wide. Searon’s heart collapsed—his son—his only son, was dead. Shock held him frozen for a moment with disbelief. Rage overcame Searon. The draeyk in front of him grinned wide with crusted yellow teeth. Searon’s blood boiled. His body grew tense. Searon knew there wasn’t enough pain he could cause the creature to set everything alright.
He ran at the draeyk, full of anger, slashing all across its body before it had a chance to defend itself. Searon sliced off its right hand first, followed by its left. He cringed as his son’s head dropped to the ground and rolled across the floor. The creature tried to run. It didn’t get far. Searon used all his strength to slice through the creature’s leg just below the knee. The draeyk had tough scales, but Searon kept his claymore sharp. He stepped forward, slicing off the creature’s right leg. Searon gritted his teeth, spun around and stabbed the creature through the stomach. He pulled out the blade and held it in front of his face as he glared at the creature. The blade was stained in black ooze reeking of rotten eggs and vinegar. The creature couldn’t move as it leaned against his son’s bed. It was dying, but it still wasn’t enough for Searon. He held his claymore in his right hand and lifted the draeyk off the ground with his left. Searon brought his blade across its left shoulder and used the rest of his strength to behead the creature. He watched as the head rolled across his son’s bedroom floor. He dropped the creature’s body. His jaw finally relaxed.
Searon glanced at his son’s carcass before rushing back into his bedroom. He jumped across the bed, dropping his claymore on the mattress. His wife lay motionless. He lifted her into his arms, trying to feel her pulse. He felt nothing. Tears rolled along his dirty face. He tilted his head back and yelled at the top of his lungs. His heart was in pain. Everything he had lived for and held precious, was now gone. There was nothing left in the small village for him anymore, if there was even a village left. He moved to this remote place to be with her. Now he had nothing to keep him there. He would make the draeyks pay. Revenge consumed his mind.
His memory faded, and he shivered, glancing back to the grave. It was nearly morning. The sun was just below the trees. His cabin was a charred mess of ashes. He was lucky he didn’t get burned with it as he dragged his wife and son from the wreckage. Their bodies could now rest in peace in the grave he dug for them.
“I love you both,” he whispered, wiping his face from dried tears. “And I will avenge you.”
He glanced in the direction of the village and saw thick white smoke rising from the trees. Sighing, he knew there would be nothing left. Searon took one last glance at the grave before turning away.
Here lies:
Victoria & Kellen
Beloved Wife & Son
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Spots All Over
Tom Hansen
The rattling of the rusty V-8 engine echoed down the alleyway as Joseph Carrillo coaxed his ’82 Suburban to a nails-on-a-chalkboard stop beside a couple of homeless men huddling together beneath some newspapers. The screech of the brakes should have woken up the whole neighborhood, but no one bothered looking out their windows.
The early evening air was crisp this spring equinox, more so than normal. The cold surprised him as he rolled down his driver-side window to get to the handle on the outside.
“Gypsy Joe! Long time, no see my man.” The two men climbed out of their newspaper sleeping bags and huddled close together on the sidewalk.
Joe grunted as he opened the door from the outside. The driver-side door, a different color of rust than the rest of the Suburban, groaned with the effort.
Climbing out, he shut it and took a step away from the vehicle. Something under the hood rattled like a tin can falling through machinery. A dull, metal object hit the ground, rolled to the side and stopped once it hit the curb. All three men watched it unblinking.
“This old rust-bucket still running? When you gonna get a new one, Joe?”
It was a valid question. The Burb had seen better days, but he couldn't part with it. It was part of who he was. Besides, how else would he get back into his sanctuary?
Joe shrugged. “Maybe when you two get a job.” The three men chuckled before one of the homeless men devolved into a coughing fit.
“I come bearing gifts.” Reaching into the truck from the open window, Joe produced some sandwiches, wrapped in plastic bags, along with socks and new underwear.
“Thanks, brother,” they chimed in unison. Joe knew what is was to be homeless, alone, cold. All he'd wanted was a clean pair of socks.
One of the men tore into the sandwich while the other spoke up. “Your hair’s gotten longer. I almost didn’t recognize you with that beard. You not able to afford a razor? I might have one around I got from the Army.”
“Thanks, friend, but I’m fine. It’s mission night. No time to waste.”
The two homeless guys gave each other a glance. “Still looking for lost goblins?”
Joe grimaced. “Gnomes, not goblins. They're only visible tonight. Either of you see any?"
The closer one grabbed Joe’s shoulder, giving him a friendly squeeze. “Joe, you know we love you man, and we appreciate the supplies, but we've never seen anything like that. They might lock us up if we had.”
Joe smiled. “Alright, well you two take care of yourselves. I’d best be going.”
The two homeless men plugged their ears as Joe cranked up the engine of his vehicle and pulled away.
Joe squinted his eyes as he slowly drove up and down the blocks, scrutinizing every fallen branch or pile of leaves.
He found his first candidate half an hour later, lying face-down in the gutter. He nearly passed it by, but a twitch of the woody figure’s leg caught his eye.
He got out through the passenger-side door this time, not wanting to deal with the driver’s window again just to get out. He had precious cargo now. Time to be more careful, keep the doors closed and the windows shut.
Most people, assuming they could see half-dead gnomes, would most likely have driven past with barely a glance. It always fascinated Joe how much like mud-covered tree-roots these creatures looked with fibrous beards and stumpy little legs. They were also heavier than you would expect for their size.
“There, there, little fella.”
He picked up the gnome carefully, cradling it in his arm like a newborn child. Given they were roughly the same size, it seemed to make sense. “I’ve got you.”
He glanced carefully back and forth before opening the backseat door and placing the unconscious gnome in the large cardboard box.
“You hang in there; I’ll get you to safety before you know it.”
It was nearly an hour before he found his next one. Fatter than the first, he nearly ran over it, but a bright flash of light woke him up enough to slam on the brakes.
Seeing spots again Joe?
He jumped out. Clouds in the sky threatened to drizzle as he rushed ahead; the headlights of his ancient biodiesel conversion flickered dimly, providing just enough luminescence for him to see.
This one was in better shape than the last one. Its tiny chest breathed in and out regularly, but it still lay unconscious, face-down in the muck and debris
He had just scooped him up when he heard a clunk behind him, followed by a rusty squeak. Joe whirled around. His Suburban sat there, unmoving. “Dammit.”
In his haste to make sure he didn’t run over the poor thing, he had forgotten to roll up the driver’s window.
Gotta be more careful!
He rushed back, taking care not to jostle little unconscious gnome in his hands. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, Joe. You know this. You are better than this.” He would have hit himself square in the head for being so dumb, but he was carrying too precious a cargo. The auto-flagellation would have to wait.
He climbed in, his heart racing and scanned the back seat.
“Dammit!” The first one he had picked up was missing. Frantic, he felt around inside the box in case the gnome had gone invisible. Nothing. He knew better than to leave the window open. He wasn’t following the rules. Disorder was creeping in, and he was getting sloppy.
After placing the new gnome in the box, he rolled up the driver’s window again, vowing to remember to keep it closed.
The rest of the night was a cacophony of squeaky brakes, rumbling mufflers, boots crunching on pavement, and careful carrying. Each time he made sure to shut the door. He would not make that mistake again. No, he would not.
He counted them. Five, including the one he had lost. Two skinny, one tall, one fat, and one extra fat, nearly round, like an over-inflated potato.
Joe frowned. Not good. Not good. It was half of last year’s haul.
During the drive back, he struggled to keep his eyes focused on the road. He wasn’t used to being up all night, and he wasn’t getting any younger either. Too much healthy living for a night like tonight.
Living in the woods helped with that. Life was pure, more real at the sanctuary.
Despite living in nature, he was never able to combat the overwhelming sense of loneliness. He shared his home with a multitude of gnomish companions, yet never saw any of them. He knew the rest of them were there, hiding. He only wanted to fit in. He believed, wasn't that enough? He would gain their trust, though. He would find a way.
Something green in the middle of the road caught his eye, snapping him out of his thoughts.
He slowed the vehicle and turned the wheel as an automatic reaction to the image in his mind. Something hit the Burb on the driver’s side, followed by a metallic scraping sound; steel against steel in a god-awful screech.
He slammed on the brakes. The Suburban lurched to the left, over the dotted line, then swerved again. The massive vehicle groaned under the load, but he eventually came to a stop in a caterwauling rubber-scented hysteria that left them diagonal across the road.
He whirled around to look at his care in the back.
All accounted for.
Lights flashed in his eyes for the second time tonight, accompanied by a buzzing sound. Something had hit him; his jaw hurt. He blinked and shook his head.
That was weird.
He glanced out of the car, carefully, watching for gremlins. Gremlins would get you if you weren’t careful.
“I’m not going to be terrorized three feet off the ground,” Joe called out. He turned off the Suburban before cranking down the window, reaching out and opening the door from the outside.
He stepped out, careful where he put his feet. The seared-rubber smell burned his eyes, but he kept a firm grip on the door. He closed it with a screeching thud and surveyed the damage.
The door had four long cuts dug deep into the metal, creating a jagged slice past the first bar and halfway down the backseat door. The rust was scraped clean for another two feet past that. Bright, clean metal shone in the moonlight.
Joe shuddered, looking back at the handle. Need to be more careful, should have looked first.
He double-checked that the door was closed before walking around to the front. There were more scrapes along the front bumper. He glanced again at the doors. They were all closed. The window!
He rushed back, opening the door and cranking up the window all the way up before shutting the rusted door again. One of the tires bulged; he was surprised it hadn’t popped. Too bad the spare was in worse shape than the one mounted to the vehicle.
He looked underneath, in front and back. Nothing lay in the road. Nothing green, or had he imagined that too? Crazy Joe.
After looking out at his surroundings, scrutinizing the shadows of the forest beyond the roadway, he got back in. He had to breathe; calm his nerves. He wiped the sticky dirt-covered sweat off his palms and onto his pants. He did it again. It was still not enough.
He had the sense of being watched. He turned around and glanced at the sleeping gnomes in the box. All there. All still breathing. “Hang in there, buddies, we’ll get you to safety.”
He started the Suburban and continued to drive, glancing in his rear-view mirror often despite the lovely spring evening.
Seven miles off the highway, and through a hedge of bushes an old shaman had spelled to look impenetrable, Joe finally arrived back at his sanctuary. After being up all night, home was a welcome sight. He was tired and hungry, but he had work to do first. The sun would be up soon.
He stopped just before a line of salt in the dirt and waited. A gust of wind kicked up just in front of the Suburban, sending waves of blue wisps over the front of the vehicle. Once the effect subsided, he drove through.
When will I get a new car? This one works just fine, thank you. He had thought about replacing it, but the wards would all have to be re-done, and he didn't have any way of contacting that old shaman.
Parking, he opened the door to exit when he felt a rush of wind push past his face and, was that more blinking lights? He shook his head, wondering why he still saw spots all over his vision. He frowned once again at the scratches all over his door, the deep gouges in the metal. He was safe here though; nothing could breach his perimeter. Nothing else could get through.
He glanced around at his sanctuary. Everything seemed to be in order. Set on an acre, he had carved out this entire chunk of land with his own hands over twenty years. The shaman had helped some, of course, but he had mostly worked the perimeter, securing the borders. It was good effective enough. It had stood for over a decade with only minor maintenance by Joe.
His small handmade shack was directly in front of the Suburban, along with his makeshift kitchen. The awning would need repairs soon. Luckily, he had made some money recently and would be able to buy enough supplies to do the small repairs that he needed.
He opened the middle door behind his and hoisted the cardboard box that housed his precious cargo. Five gnomes were still in there, but the forest was beginning to call to them, reenergize them.
“Don’t disappear on me yet, little guys, I haven’t gotten you to your tree.”
He stood holding the box for a few more seconds, soaking in their tiny feet and their woody skin. Why did they have to hide from him? Didn’t they know this was a safe place? Didn’t they understand how much work it was to find them and bring them back here, safe and alive?
His gaze lingered on their little shapes for a while longer as they began to fade away more and more. Emotions welled up, threatening to break through, but he fought them back. This was his charge, his mission. He may not be a part of their world, but they were a part of his. Not yet. Not now. Alas, he had not yet paid the price for such a retinue.
He walked carefully across the empty expanse of the yard before coming to the copse of thick, gnarled trees. Like a hundred-year-old bonsai tree, their trunks vastly outpaced the canopy and twisted back on themselves creating a latticework of branches that barely allowed any light to penetrate. It was imbalanced and shaped like a grub that ate too much.
The spots returned, flashes of light, puffs of air, along with a humming sound, like a hummingbird flapping its wings.
He blinked them away, placing the box carefully on the ground. Of the four he saw at the Suburban, two were already invisible. He removed those first, as they would be harder to grasp and find once the other two were out.
They remained unconscious as he laid them with great care upon the lawn, at the base of the largest tree. Their wooden-looking skin nearly blended in perfectly with the large tree, making them look like protruding roots coming out of the ground.
If only he could talk to them, see them, learn more about what needs he could help provide, he knew they were there, just out of sight, watching as he brought more of their brethren back.
He reached in for the final one. It lay unconscious in the box, and Joe watched like a mother with her swaddling babe. He blinked back emotion with a frown.
As he reached in, the lights came back. Spots all over his vision swam, cutting in and out. He blinked again.
“Leave me alone, lightning bug, you shouldn’t even be out. It’s too bright for you!”
He reached into the box when something hit him in the back of the thigh. “Ow!” He whirled around, looking.
“Who goes there?” he scanned the area. Nothing out of place, at least nothing he could see. The lights were gone. Gremlins didn’t give off light, did they?
Glimpses: an Anthology of 16 Short Fantasy Stories: An exclusive collection of fantasy fiction Page 15
