The Navajo Nightmare by Sodergren David & Stred Steve

Author:Sodergren, David & Stred, Steve
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-990260-04-9
Publisher: Black Void Publishing
Published: 2021-05-01T00:00:00+00:00

Hours later, moonlight poured in through the church windows, illuminating the cross that hung behind the pulpit. Swarms of flies seethed around the bodies like low-hanging clouds of pestilence.

“Wasn’t sure you’d make it,” said Lester.

The man turned to him.

“I did as you asked.”

“So I see, Charles.” Lester cocked his head. “That is your name, right?”

“Charles,” the man said as if hearing the word for the first time, enjoying it, savoring it. “Charles.”

“That’s right. What kind of man forgets his own name?” laughed Lester in that reptilian way of his.

“I did what you asked,” said Charles. “Give me back my memory.”

“First you want your family back,” smiled Lester, “then your hands. Now you want your memory. You really should stop losing things. It’s becoming a habit.”

“Help me,” said Charles. He cried then, tears running down his sunken, rotting cheeks.

Lester ignored him. He walked to Pa Jackson, tore the old man’s shirt open, and slit his belly with a long nail.

“Bon appétit,” he said, then paused. “That’s what they say in France, Charles. You ever been to France? No, I thought not. Few folks are as well traveled as I am.”

He pushed his face into Jackson’s stomach and slurped greedily. When he pulled away, his jaw was drenched in blood.

“I mean, the food ain’t much to shout about over there, but I’ve always been more of a red meat man.”

“Please,” said Charles, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of his humanity. “Mary,” he whispered, as Lester resumed eating from Jackson’s stomach cavity.

“Oh, she’s quite dead,” said Lester from inside Pa Jackson. “As are you, Charles Andersson.” He pulled his head out, something crunching between his teeth. “Have you not seen yourself?”

Charles looked down. There was a mirror in his hands, ornately carved from the finest redwood. He had seen it before. Hell, he had carved it himself.

Yes, he remembered now. He remembered now because the devil wanted him to remember, feeding him scraps of his own memories like he was a hungry dog panting by the dinner table.

He had given the mirror to Mary for her birthday. She had never celebrated one before — she didn’t even have one — so together, they decided her birthday would be May 24th, for no reason other than they liked the sound of it. Charles gave her the mirror, and she had broken down and wept with joy.

Now he held the gift in his horrifying, fleshless hand, and what he saw was a nightmare beyond all comprehension.

“No,” he said, the gleaming skull grinning back at him, only a thin film of translucent skin holding it together. Tears streaked down and across his face, bright crimson tears of blood that stained the otherwise pure white bone.

“What have you done to me?” he roared.

He took the mirror and smashed it, battering it off the pew until the wood splintered and thousands of shards of glass glittered intoxicatingly in the refracted moonlight.

“I gave you hope when you had none,” said Lester. “I gave you the gift of vengeance.”

“I just want my memories back.

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