Page 49 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

causing my sisters to erupt into terrifying laughter. They had
always found my face, when broken by a crooked smile,
a most amusing sight. No doubt inspired by my sisters’
insistent laughter, a pounding rhythm of heavy feet began to
shake the floor beneath me as something closed from behind.
I tried to quicken my pace, but my sisters’ laughter was
contagious. Soon I was so heavy with mirth that I tumbled
to the floor. The joy of running through a solid nightmare
raised from the depths of alien dreams was simply too much
for me.
My father, however, was not amused. This is no monster
born of nightmares, but a patient wolf come to cross your
name off its list! Rise up and kill, idiot boy! My father was
right. The footsteps quickly vanished into silence as flashing
blades began hissing through the shallows of my body. Still,
I couldn’t stop laughing.
Given my rather foolish, if not entirely ridiculous
condition, hiding and stalking were certainly out of the
question, so I decided to simply meet the wolf head-on. The
decision was apparently mutual, as the Wolf took no care
at all in his approach, but only launched himself at me the
moment he appeared. Whoever he was, he was on the larger
side of the spectrum, wore all black, and brandished ornate
daggers. He was upon me in a second.
My fist exploded across lips and teeth, ruining all, sending
their owner soaring into a nearby wall. My family enjoyed
testing my mettle from time to time, and so were content to
stand back and watch as the wolf and I joined battle.
I rather admired this killer, following me as he had into a
city far deadlier than his quarry. I almost thanked him, but
my name blazed across his kill list, and he would only stop
after my death or his own. Unfortunately for him, my death
wasn’t a feat he could manage—not even in a city where
dreams have the preternatural tendency to come true.
I caught the killer by his forearms and squeezed. The
bones of his arms snapped like dry twigs, and his knives fell
52 | Mark Anzalone