BLACKMANE Chapter 76

He waits, on his belly, in the wet grass. It is raining, a heavy rain. Not a clean rain, as in Africa, one to settle the dust and cool the air. Here the rain smells dirty. It tastes bitter and stings his eyes.

The grass is not tall; it is not thick. It will not hide him for long from the people of this city. He cannot see these people but he knows they are near. He can hear the rumbling of their automobiles on the concrete structure, the overpass, some fifteen feet above him.
The rain is falling at an angle, driven by the wind. It reaches him even here, beneath the wide ribbon of concrete. The overpass rattles with the constant passing of the cars and trucks. Thunder rumbles, and it sounds like the passing of the traffic.

He is alone. The sun has risen, and he knows the hunters, the daylight people, are out.
He has become the hunted.

He closes his eyes, tries to think. Why has he left the security of his den?


Yes. The old woman. He had gone back to his den after he had killed the man with the black skin. But when he got to the den, Moe had not been sleeping. She had acted strange. Afraid, his mind says. Yes. Moe had acted afraid. Her eyes had settled on him and gone wide. She had screamed. “What are you?! Get away from me! Get away!”

She had thrown things at him. The pot she sometimes cooked in, or washed in. An empty bottle, an empty can. A rock. Adam had done something strange as well. He had run away. Why? Why had he abandoned his den to the old woman? And why had she been afraid? She had not been afraid before. Had she known that he had killed the black man? How could she have known?

“Sometimes I get things mixed up, in my head.” He remembered Moe saying that. Maybe she was mixed-up again? Confused? Questions, so many questions. Two voices in his head now, talking, all the time. And Moe’s voice, and Joseph’s voice as well. That made four voices. He could not silence them.

“You must not…” Joseph had said, and kept saying, over and over. “You must not kill.”

But he had killed. It did not bother him that he had done so. Why should it?

By The Evil Cheezman

WAYNE MILLER is the owner and creative director of EVIL CHEEZ PRODUCTIONS (,, specializing in theatrical performances and haunted attractions. He has written, produced and directed (and occasionally acted in) over a dozen plays, most of them in the Horror and Crime genres. His first novel, THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER: WEREWOLF, is available for purchase at MORTUI VELOCES SUNT!

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