It was the kind of
night you'd expect to be
Halloween, but the streets were
empty. I lived in a house I'd never been in before,
downstairs, in the room by the front door. I had white
curtains over the closed window looking out onto the
sloping street.
Someone had
died earlier that night, and I had found a piece of
metal on my
bathroom counter. I knew these things were connected in that way you always know things are connected when you're dreaming. On examining the metal, I discovered it was actually an easily-
conceilable weapon. It was a thing of sharpened
steel and
rivets and
bearings, weighing only a few
ounces. When rolled up, it was about the size of a cracker; when opened, it was a round,
bladed device that could have been called a
Crown of Thorns.
I
retracted the weapon and put it in my
pocket, and set out for a walk on this strange night, hoping to yield some
clue as to what exactly I had gotten myself into. I reached a house I knew to belong to my
friend, Justin. Walking towards his gate, I noticed a piece of black
cloth hanging from the
gate hinges. I pocketed the cloth as well. Walking through the gate, I got that
strange tingling you would read about in a
spy novel, or a
comic book. I spun around to see a figure in a
reaper-like black cloak, with a
Crown of Thorns just like mine!
We squared off, prepared to
fight to the death, if necessary; and somehow I knew it was
completely necessary. He struck first,
slicing the crown across my shirt, tearing it and leaving a thin line of
blood running down my
chest. After the
attack, his arms were out wide, and I took advantage of the situation to
kick him in the
stomach,
doubling him over. I followed up with a
knee to his chin that sent him
sprawling onto the grass. The figure
scrambled to his feet and ran off immediately, dropping a
pouch as he ran.
I didn't chase after him, more
curious with the nature of the pouch he'd dropped. Picking it up, I noticed how
heavy it was. I opened it up to find a small
motor inside, like you might see inside a
high-end radio-controlled car. Somehow this
obscure clue led me to the
conclusion that the
killer was none other than Justin himself!
Racing back home to find a
phone, I had
neglected to
conceil my
Crown of Thorns, and so people began to notice me running
wildly up the hill with a
weapon in my hands. There was a
shout, and then people began to
chase after me. I hid the weapon under my
jacket, and they stopped, staring
blankly at me as I continued to
run. I made it back to my house and jumped through my
open window. As I reached for the
telephone, I heard laughter coming from behind me. There was Justin,
cowl thrown back and eyes
wide with
madness,
cackling wildly.
We squared off again, this time more
cautious. I attacked first this time, with a
sweep that knocked him off his feet. My follow-up
slash was stopped by his
left hand as he grabbed my
forearm. He kicked me in the
head, and I fell down beside him,
perpendicular. Justin threw his
right arm back and
stabbed me in the
belly with one half-inch
thorn. I
howled in
pain and rolled away from him, regaining my feet. He stood up as well, and resumed his
maniacal laughter. I threw my
Crown of Thorns frisbee-style, and his laughter stopped, as he no longer had a
windpipe with which to continue the act. He fell to the ground,
grasping his
throat, and died
slowly and without a
sound.