mirror of https://github.com/nealey/Horrors2
116 lines
3.1 KiB
TeX
116 lines
3.1 KiB
TeX
\chapauth{Decatur Fist}
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\chapter{The Last Night of Luke Bavarious}
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Check the machine. No missed calls. No word from Davix.
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Nothing.
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With a sigh that poured from his mouth with a torrent of non-amused
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frustration
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Luke Bavarious pulled a small slip of paper from his pock\-et and
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wadded it up and tossed it into the waste receptacle with the
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precision of a black man that shoots basketball in a Lakers jersey.
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As a fan of black culture Bavarious was known for his hoop skills.
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They had even saved his life once and then again on another
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separate occasion.
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Davix was dead, and that was that. There was no sugar coating any
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longer. It must have been brutal. When you're surrounded by a
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cacophony of death you think about death a lot. Davix had even said
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during a haunting and stormy night that he hoped that he would go
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in his sleep.
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It didn't happen like that. Luke Bavarious could envision in
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his head a vision of Davix dying by the hands of that beast.
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Bavarious could see the hand of the beast smashing into
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Davix' face terribly powerful. It was a bodacious site. One
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to be remembered for an eternity of doomsdays.
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You need a drink. Clear your mind. Stay on guard.
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Something strange had happened earlier today, it was why Luke
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Bavarious now had the small piece of paper that he had just wadded
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up and thrown away just moments ago before the ticking sounds of
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the clock hauntingly swept its hand across the face of the clock
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bringing time forward to this moment.
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The boy had told him that Davix would die, and Bavarious too if he
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didn't listen. Bavarious had laughed a laugh and chortled a
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chuckle at the thought of him and Davix going out on the same day.
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However, it looked like the boy was batting half of a perfect
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batting average now.
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He had shown up on Market Street and followed him all the way down
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Pine, up West, and finally had the courage to talk to him once
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stopping on Center. He was wearing a grey hoodie and seemed to be
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no more than 13. He had dark stormy and haunting eyes, and you
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could tell he wanted to be taken seriously.
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He had a pension for horror and a knack for stories. He claimed to
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be the creator and destructor. His name was Biddick. He was to be
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taken seriously by all accounts.
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Bavarious had told the boy that he didn't have time for him,
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and that he needed to leave, but there was a thirst that needed to
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be quenched that longed for the answer of why the boy would show up
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after following him and then having the balls that were big enough
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to make him say such nonsense to him.
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The boy told Bavarious he would be sorry. Bavarious ignored him and
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ordered a tuna on wheat.
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Alone.
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The sounds came slowly at first, but then with a quickening of
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rapid speed. Claws clawing razor sharp against banana peel soft
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skin. There was a sound of terrible nursing. Like wounds being
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cauterized by the flame of a thousand dying invalids.
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They were here for Bavarious. He laughed a strange giggling laugh
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that sounded like a maniac pumping gas into a Ford Fairlane. He
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opened the window and let them vomit into the window and take
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him.
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They took him with a great brutality.
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