Blinding Revenge: A Steampunk/Horror story

Blinding Revenge:

They came under the cover of darkness. The seas washed them onto our shores like a foreign plague. With iron and torch, they razed our settlement to the ground.

I woke to a woman screaming. A thick heat filled my lungs. Crusts clung around my eyes as I peeked out my window and down on my little village. Neighboring house windows spewed fired in all directions. Their flickering amber glow illuminated the dirt roads and town square. More disembodied screams guided me to the voice’s owner. The woman was someone I’ve known all my childhood. A man, still masked by dancing shadows, took her by the arm. He wrapped her in his grip to slide a reflective object across her neck. Blood spilled down her blouse. She fell, clutching her neck, until she stilled. A fear chilled my spine, as I watched her life slip away. Though, nothing left me as cold as when the man looked up at me. His dark eyes pierced me through the warmth permeating my room.

That’s when my father kicked open the bedroom door. He didn’t say much, rushing me out of bed. All he told me was not to stray from his side. I followed him down our darkened hallway. My night-shirt and draw-string pants already clung with my sweat. Muffled screams beyond the window chased my father and I down the stairs.

Mother greeted us at the base-step, bearing arms. She handed Father his pistols. He took them, then shook his head. Father pointed a calloused finger to the rifle leaning against the wall. I’ll never forget the look Mother struck me with at that moment. Her cerulean eyes sparkled in the amber glow, dancing through the windows. Another shout from my father dashed her smile. A scowl replaced it, revealing wrinkles unfamiliar to me.

That’s when Father faced me. I saw myself reflected in his copper-colored eyes. He lowered his arms to me, exposing both pistols. A quick glance revealed one to be Father’s favorite. No longer than his hand, and its grip of carved cherry wood, gave it away. I always enjoyed the fumes of gunpowder mixed with such timber. And yet, at that moment, the thought caused bile to rise in my throat.

I tamed the urge to vomit as I looked upon the second pistol. It was my grandfather’s, I’d know it anywhere. Longer than my father’s weapon. Its barrel dazzled in silver while an eagle with expanding wings rested in the carved ivory grip. From the stories Mother told me, many of his weapons bore such a Germanic eagle.

Still beading with sweat, my cold fingers wrapped around each firearm. Warm to the touch. A heavy weight of comfort enveloped me as I took them from Father. He tied a belt around my waist. The two pouches on it held pellets and powder.

When I looked up, Father approached the front door. He told Mother and I to stand on opposite sides of the doorway, while he faced it. My feet dragged me into place as another muffled scream stunned me. My legs locked out. A gunshot from beyond the door quickened my breath. The room spun in my vision.

Mother’s soft words guided my breathing until the room stilled once more. I found my bearings, and could hear Mother shouting at Father. He replied; not caring of my young age, but the importance of an extra firearm. I was honored to show my maturity. I prayed to the Father of Understanding for a simpler way, but it never came. Father pushed me the rest of the way to the door. He forced me to the side, opposite Mother.

That’s when Father stared me in the eyes. Deep wrinkles surrounded his copper gaze. A heavy hand rested on my shoulder, rooting me in place. Again, Father desired more than a simple acknowledgement for the promise he asked me to keep. So, there I vowed to protect my family at all cost.

His final words of advice fell on deaf ears. I didn’t care in seeing the white of their eyes. All I wanted was for this night to be over. Mother’s fingers wrapped around the latch of our oak door. Her grip tightened the knots in my gut. I felt bile rising further up my throat. It took all I had not to expel myself right there.

That’s when Mother looked at me with a forced smile. The words I love you traveled through the crackling air and eased muscles my chest. I returned the words, then prepared myself. All the joy inside shriveled away to the spasms in my hands and knees.

A warm gust greeted me. It filled my lungs, drying every bit of my throat. The creaking of our door struck an invader’s ear. His black furs and hood, masked any detail on his face. The dark leather vest draped over him did little to hide his carved stature. His hood shifted to our house. He pointed a finger at me, dripping in a crimson ichor. Fear pulled the trigger of my first shot. Perhaps the second, also. Father may have yelled at me for being too eager, but I watched that hooded man drop to a knee.

Whether Father meant to also shoot my target or not, I’ll never know. Instead, destiny placed that bullet in the chest of a man emerging around the door. His staggering body loomed over me with the bullet’s impact. He reeked of booze. I scrambled back and tripped over a loose floorboard. I fell back in time to watch Father drive his bayonet into another large figure.

The back of my head bounced on the floor. My vision spun as I scrambled to find my feet. The blazing glow from outside permeated the room. Two sets of hands found my arms and wrists. A pang tore up each shoulder as the two forced me to my knees. I stretched my neck up to see Father in a similarly-forced position. Three others were still struggling to make Mother do the same.

Ringing from the gunshots still echoed in my head as the hooded man I shot entered the room. Every muscle froze when his gaze fell upon me. Even the men holding me down loosened their grip at the fear he struck in them. The rising bile stopped at the fear choking my throat. My chest muscles flexed to fight back against my innards’ expulsion. The man pointed his crimson-stained finger at me. I lost my breath. He reached back for his hood. A pale, leathery face revealed itself to me. For the first time, I found the white of his eyes, surrounding two obsidian chunks glowering down at me. Scars marred his cheeks and forehead. His square jaw remained hidden by a graying beard.

Thankfully, the ringing drowned out his shouting at me. During his approach, I caught him limping. The crimson streak down his leg revealed all the proof I needed to know it was my doing. It stained his leather boots. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing the injury’s permanence. He shouted at my smirk, but still I heard nothing.

The man in black reached for a pistol hanging from his waist. I squirmed and fought against those holding me down. They torqued my arms in all manners to keep me still. A muffled report reached my ears. My captors stiffened their resistance. I looked up to catch a pistol aimed at Father, now limp in the grip of two men.

When they released him, his body crashed to the floor with a thud. Father made no motion, nor gave any sign of life. Tears streaked down my cheeks. I tried to scream, but my dried throat cracked and moaned instead. The hooded man shook his head in response to my groaning pleas. I’ll never forget his thin smile, reveling in my misery. He reached under his coat to reveal a second pistol.

My head shook in a frantic pace as he encroached on Mother. The heel-toe step of his boot focused my hearing. His steps fell in cadence with my own heartbeat. I pulled and shook in an attempt to break free, but to no avail. The last image I saw of Mother, alive, was her looking at me with a genuine smile. Such beauty in a small face. Then, for the first time, I heard the hooded man’s words as he spoke to me.

“Next time, don’t miss.”

Gunpowder veiled the image of Mother taking the bullet. Blood peppered through the smokey cloud. A loose clamor thumped into my ears. My gasp absorbed a breath of gunpowder and smoke, sending me into a coughing spasm. I could no longer hold the contents of my stomach. Bile splattered around me and onto the boots of those holding me down.

The hooded man chuckled at my despair. A wave of his hand signaled my captors to release me. I collapsed into a warm dampness. The liquid stench filled my nostrils. After wiping away a dampness from around my eyes, I glanced up at the invaders. They had escaped back into the night, leaving me to die.

My coughing spasm continued, preventing me from pursuing any efforts of a chase. I wanted to give in, and let the infiltrating smoke take me away. That’s when Father’s promise resurfaced in my head. His words forced me to my hands and knees. I slipped and crawled ahead in search of my fallen weaponry. Father’s words were all that kept my bucking limbs from giving out. My joints ached and burned with each motion.

Burning wood crackled in my right ear. An increasing warmth pressed on my cheek. I looked over to find flames eating at the wall of my family’s home. Smoke burned my eyes. Fired crawled up the foundation, roaring as it mocked my escape. The conflagration reflected the sheen of my grandfather’s pistol. I forced myself onward for it. My hand stumbled over Father’s cherry wood pistol in the process.

With both firearms tucked under my tunic, I raced the growing flames to my doorway. A white light surrounded my vision. Everything dimmed except a red blaze to my right. I tripped over an unexpected object that shifted with a thud. The rapping of knuckles on wood warned me not to look back at what rolled over. My next hand forward found a warm, slimy pool. I picked it up to see the blood dripping from each of my fingers. My body convulsed, begging to heave. I knew stopping to take such actions would be my death. With the deepest breath I could muster, I rallied the last of my strength, and lunged for the opened door.

I don’t remember seeing my freedom, but its chill filled my lungs. To what happened next, I can barely recollect. The moonlight’s silver veil guided me through the woods in search of aid. Once I found a carved trail, I never deviated from it. At some point, my knees gave out, forcing myself to surrender to fatigue. The last thing I remembered was grass dancing across my cheek.

When I came to, the moon had settled above he mountains. Dried blood lingered on my temple. I remember needing to sit up to catch my breath. My ribs ached, but not to the touch. I moved around, still feeling Father’s pistols at my waist. Then, I reached for any remaining gunpowder and pellets still in their pouches. I found the will to rise, knowing the strength of two loaded firearms rested in my hands.

That’s when I checked my surroundings. Unfamiliar trees and rock formations surrounded me. Pine branches passed along chilling whispers to a rushing river behind me. Through a thicket up ahead, I saw torchlight. With recent events fresh in my mind, I approached with caution.

The bushes were the best place to stick to as I crept up on the torch’s weakening flicker. I broke through the treeline at sight of several homes connected by a narrow, dirt road. Thoughts of people coming to aid me warmed my chest. Tears filled my eyes. Muscles in my neck and shoulders eased. For the first time all night, hope was finally lifted in me. That is, until I saw who lived inside.

The cabin’s small window caught the corner of my eye. When I peered in, all the rising joy in my chest came crashing down to my gut. My knees trembled at the black-hooded man sitting at a table inside. I ducked beneath the window and searched the road once more. Thoughts raced through my head at who I’d find, or what I’d tell them. Or better yet, in this village, who’d care? My heart tattooed in my ear as I processed who sat inside.

A second peek through the window revealed the hooded man’s back still turned to me. I lowered again as he called to a name I was unfamiliar with. That’s when I heard that pitter-patter of little feet. My head bobbed back up to catch a side-profile of the hooded-man’s face. His deep wrinkles…smooth cheeks…and those obsidian emerald eyes. I knew it was him for sure.

I held my grandfather’s pistol with a sure grip. A small prayer left my lips, asking for a straight and true shot. I sprang up from my position and called out to the man. He turned to face me. His pale features shifted in the morning light. My hammer fell, consuming me in gunpowder.

A woman’s scream pierced the dawn. Hushed tones traveled throughout the settlement. A young child’s sobbing followed. Late autumn’s cool breeze brushed away the gunpowder around me. My scowled visage searched for the fallen body.

I felt my breath escape at the sight of a fallen man in a gray tunic. Blood pooled around him. A bald head exposed his fair skin. I gnashed my teeth together, cursing myself for missing the invader once more. My breathing quickened as I searched in vain to find the one responsible. No fires alerted to his trail of destruction. Then again, with a dead body in someone’s home, he didn’t need much else.

That’s when I caught a shadow shifting down the dirt road. I narrowed my vision to get a better view. Unable to see who they were, I hid Father’s pistol beneath the folds of my stained tunic. A woman’s sobbing reached my ear. I glanced through the window to find her. She clutched at her dead husband. That’s when I realized the man she held wore a different tunic. And with no black hood, I knew it wasn’t the man I aimed for. Blood hemorrhaged from his chest wound. A rage burned in my heart, knowing I missed the hooded man again. He killed that husband, wrapped in that woman’s arms, and I wouldn’t let him escape a third time.

That’s when I realized the hooded man must’ve been the one shouting from the road. He had to have seen me and escaped the cabin. Fear choked me as I looked back upon the man closing in. Through early morning’s stretching shadows, I turned to face him. It was him alright. His hair was longer than I remembered. I watched the invader’s eyes widen as he looked upon the dead man in the cabin. His feigning confusion didn’t work on me. He also failed in sounding shocked, and blamed me for the murder. He won’t get away this time.

I look back upon this night as he still approaches me. I know what I must do in this moment. I will let him get closer. And when I see the white of the hooded man’s eyes, I’ll draw my father’s pistol. Only this time, I won’t miss.

END

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