Keith D. Jones - Pyrrhic Kingdom

Copyright 2013 by Keith D. Jones. All rights reserved. Except as permitted by the Copyright Act of 1976, this work may not be reproduced in whole or in part in any manner. Thank you. Thank you.

Stormsdream ePub Edition, version 2.13.7.20 www.stormsdream.com

Thanks to William Shakespeare for the plot and to H.P. Lovecraft for the tone. I am weary. Do not say such things. It is true. No, we are strong.

We are? Yes. You are strong. No. Yes. Together, we are strong. Together.

We are strong. Together. Never alone. Remember. Never alone. Yes. Yes.

In the cold. Yes, even in the cold. Waiting. Always waiting. Patience. Why are we waiting? For conditions.

Juxtaposition of events. Spontaneous alignment. Spontaneous? Serendipitous. If you will. Mostly, for dark. Quiet.

Empty streets. Serendipitous alignment. In the cold. In the dark. It is who we are. Dark. Quiet. Empty. Empty.

They do not care. What? They do not even know. It is our purpose. And, I wonder. Have you ever wondered? Never. Surely.

There is no doubt. No, I mean. Yes, I mean. How? What? How can they not know? Because we are strong. No, I mean. Things used to be different.

Did they? No, I mean. They didn't know, but they didn't. What? They knew us. That we were important. Yes. The police.

We hide even from the police. Yes. Questioning. Doubting. Disrespectful. It is the way of things.

I remember. What? I remember when they did not hold us. Cage us. Drunk tank. Loony bin. Observation.

When was the last time? Two months. Two months since we rotted in a cell. The stink of it. The shame. They could not hold us. They never should have held us.

Not my point. No? Why do we do this? Watching. Waiting. In the cold and the damp for people who do not care. We do this so that they do not have to know. They do not care? I am grateful.

I am grateful for every day they do not have to care. For every sight they will never have to see. You know what it does to them. The sights we have seen. Yes. It would consume them.

That is why we sit in the cold. In the dark. Because we can. Our purpose. To do what others do not. To stand what others cannot.

We are the light in darkness. The flame of justice. We are the guardians of the sacred way. Our calling. If you do not feel the call, then go, but I will not shirk my duty. Darkness. Darkness.

The lurking presence. The nameless horror. Growing. Festering. Consuming. Yes. Yes.

It must be stopped. Yes. Our calling. Yes. Serendipitous alignment. Yes, spontaneous.

Serendipitous. Juxtaposition. None are about. All is quiet. It is waiting. Our way is clear.

Then, let us go. They approached the building, Andrew and Nicholas. Stalked the stonework. Doorway. Entryway. Rusted. Rusted.

Finding the stairs, they climbed. Creaking. Stars and moonlight. Drifting. Shadows and clouds. Dirty streetlight.

Orange as a wounded flame. Darkness. Shadow. Gray and white. Dripping water. Clinging damp.

They turned at the landing. More stairs. Filth on the ground. Stale air. Pressing silence. Climbing. Turning. Climbing. Stop. Stop.

Row of doors so much like prison cells. Numbered. Peeling. Turning green and brown. The air like a slaughterhouse. The damp like a sewer.

Checking numbers, they moved. Counting doorways. Quietly. Step by step. Rotten carpet concealing wood and concrete. A door like rancid meat hanging half-open in the dark.

Beyond was darkness and the stench of death. Pushing at the door. Feeling it moan. Looking into oblivion. A window. Clouds pushing light.

Shadows writhing against the wall. Smothering a couch. Chair. Old television set. Nothing. Slowly. Slowly.

The floor creaking like an ancient bone. Moving, they traced the room. Step. Step. Looking to the couch. The chair. The chair.

Television. Empty. Doorway to the kitchen. Curtain. Hallway to another room. Something.

Like a man. Once a man. Figure. Indistinct. Moving. Drawn to them.

Ignoring them. Limping slowly like something not born with feet. Distorted. Deformed. Reeking of pestilence. Monstrous.

Swarming with nightmare. Twisting the shadows. Teeth and hair. The two men standing still as statues. Watching. Stench like a hammer.

Moonlight fleeing like a coward. Nicholas stepping forward. Holding a dagger carved of old bronze. Begone! The creature notices. Sways. And, attacks.

Hands reaching. Claws striking. Dagger forgotten. Tumbling. Screeching. The man screaming.

The thing silent. Moan. Growl. Andrew moving. Long stick like a club. Striking. Striking.

Nicholas clutching at the chair leg. Words forgotten. Pulling. Pulling. Creature writhing. Snarling. Biting. Biting.

The power of Christ! Strike with the stick. The power of Christ commands you! Strike with the stick. Screaming. The power of Christ! Striking man or creature. Again. Again. Shrieking. Shrieking.

The power! Wailing. Moonlight splintering. Stick breaking. Crying. Roaring. Chair knocked over.

Couch toppled. Seeking the dagger. Shadows descending. Darkness swirling. Grasping blood and bronze. Stabbing. No words. Screaming. Crying. Crying.

Man or monster. Stabbing. Man and monster. Tumbling. Turning. In the darkness.

In the night. Silent. Wounded silence. One man. No voice. Screaming. Screaming.

Hoarse as a whisper. Dry heaving sobs. Fading like a forgotten memory. Lost to fog. Bloody clothes. Torn.

On his knees. Over Nicholas. Over the creature so much like a man but a monster. The power. Voice drifting into whisper. Slipping into dust.

I couldn't, Andrew said, gripping the cup. Whiskey. Coffee with too much cream. Paul silent. Watching. Couldn't.

Thumbs pressing into the cup's edge. No longer warm. It was humaform. I told you. The creature had grown still. The room had become silent.

Whispered breathing. Nicholas had not moved. And, had not moved. And, had not moved. Quiet. Scent of blood.

Andrew had stood. Suddenly. And, Nicholas had not moved. It did not fear us, Andrew said. The words. Nothing.

He had backed away from the monster. Nicholas had not moved. The wall had stopped him. Pushed the breath from him. The dagger falling. Clattering like broken glass against the floor.

And, Nicholas had not moved. When was the last time we faced such a thing like a man? he said, tasting the cup. So much like a man. Not a man. The wall had held him. Had supported him.

Without thought. Without time. What could I have done? He had retrieved his shoulder bag. Found turpentine. Lighter-fluid. Gasoline.

Doused the creature. The furniture. Splashing over the body. We know the risks, Paul said. Andrew had lit a match. Had brought fire to the room.

We know our duty, Andrew said, remembering warmth. Had watched light and flame. Not the same thing. Easy to forget. He had abandoned the room to fire, smoke and flame. The building.

Firemen might come. He had not waited to see. Andrew, Paul said. He had wandered far from there. Winding streets. Had found a telephone.

Andrew, we all have doubts sometimes. No. Wandering streets. Dark as infinity. Cold as bone. Burning. Burning.

Bodies burning. It was too strong for us. It didn't care. Frozen. Voices screaming. It didn't care.

Not so strong then. What? Stench in his hair. It was weak. Didn't care. No. Smoke in his eyes.

You weren't there. You are here. Whereas it. Not so strong. Strong enough. Night dark empty streets.

Purifying cold. You were stronger. All that matters. Tell Nicholas. We honor Nicholas. Honor.

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