by Nash, Bobby
Seconds later, the only sound he heard was the mutt’s screams as he cradled the now worthless arm dangling at his side.
Ignoring the man’s pained cries, Max turned back to the bar. “One more,” he told the bartender as if nothing had happened.
The bartender’s complexion had been pale to begin with, but he was now three shades whiter since Max sat down at the bar. A tiny quiver ran through him as he lifted the bottle.
“Why don’t you just leave the bottle and I’ll pour my own,” Max said politely.
Unable to find his voice, the bartender nodded and took two steps backward, never taking his eyes off the man sitting at the bar.
“That’s far enough, Bob” Max said as he examined the bottle.
The bartender stopped as though frozen in place.
“It is Bob, right?” he said, wagging a finger toward the nametag without actually looking at the scared bartender.
Bob nodded vigorously until he realized that the man at the bar wasn’t looking in his direction. He added a simple, “uh huh.”
Max shook his head. “You don’t shake something as perfect as this, Bob,” he told the bartender. “Not the good stuff. This…” he admired the bottle. The glass was old, pitted. It had seen some history. “You treat something as special as this like a lady. Understand?”
The bartender nodded in mute terror.
“Stick around, Bob.”
“Uh huh.”
Max turned back toward the silent crowd. “Oh, I forgot you were here,” he said when he saw the idiot still crumpled on the floor holding his wounded arm. With a smile, he turned his attention away from the whimpering man and focused on his friends. There were only four of them.
“Everyone out,” Max said.
Although he didn’t raise his voice or shout, the patrons packed in to the various corners and booths picked up their belongs, dropped cash onto the tables as they vacated them, and moved toward the exit as quickly as possible. None of them wanted to draw attention to themselves.
“Not you,” Max said to the friends of the wounded mutt before they could move.
Nervous, they stood their ground. The Slaugh appreciated their courage, but could also smell their sweat and taste their fear from across the room.
The moment the last person went out the door, Max stood. As if on command, the door slammed shut as if pushed by some unseen wind. In the silence of the pub, the sound of the deadbolt clacking into place was deafening.
“What do you want, mister?” one of the mutt’s friends asked, trying hard not to stammer over himself.
“Yeah,” another said. “Look, we was just having some fun, mate. There’s no need to escalate things, if you know what I’m saying. We didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
“Escalating?” Max echoed as a smile creased his face. “Oh, we’ve not yet begun to escalate, my friend.”
“Please, mister,” the stammerer said, taking a step back.
“Look, let’s just call it even,” another said. “We’ll leave and you’ll never see us again. What do you say?”
“Sit.”
The four men did as they were told.
“Do you know who I am?”
“N—nu—no.”
“I didn’t think so.” Max sat down at the same table as the four ruffians, Keiran, Reilly (the stammerer), William, and Hugh, their last names were not important. Before this night was done, even their first names would hold little meaning. His smile was gone, replaced by an emotionless blank slate.
Although each of them dwarfed him in height, width, and muscle, everyone inside the pub understood exactly who held the power. There was no question as to who was in charge.
“I am… My name is Max. At least for now. I’m looking to hire four strapping young lads who still have Irish blood flowing through their veins. Tell me, boys, are you true sons of Ireland?”
There were nods from all around the table.
“Excellent. I admit that you four were not my first choice, but you are the best candidates I’ve run across since I arrived in this blasted city of steel and stone.”
“Uh…ch—ch—choice for what?” the stammerer asked.
“Tell me, gentlemen, have you ever heard of The Wild Hunt?”
“The Wild Hunt? That… that’s folklore, man.”
Max smiled. “Is it? Fascinating. I take it then that you are all familiar with the stories?”
Nods from all.
“Good. Then you also must know that the Wild Hunt was made up of Slaugh, the specters of dead Irish sinners.” Max chuckled. “Sinners like me.”
“What do you know of Ireland, man?” one of the ruffians asked, although he did not raise his voice. “You’re American.”
Max touched his new face, his distinctly American face. “Only on the outside, my friend.” When he saw only a mask of confusion on the faces of his new friends, Max elaborated. “The Wild Hunt was made up of displaced souls who found new life in the body of those sinners they displaced. Like I did with the man whose form I now wear.”
The Slaugh waited for understanding to set in.
He was not prepared for what happened next.
The men burst out in peals of laughter.
“Oh, man,” one of them said around gasps for air. “You had us going for a moment there, mate. Ghosts, goblins, and spooks are boogey men for little kids. Do we look like children to you, mister?”
“Actually, yes,” Max said, his tone flat and even.
“Well, you can take your ghost stories and shove them, mate. We aren’t interested.”
“Your loss,” Max said. “The process is much less painful if you don’t fight it.”
“Pro…Process?” the stammerer asked. “What are you––?”
“Oh, did I not mention what was about to happen here?” he shrugged. “Forgive me. I’m still new to speaking English. You Americans talk so strange. You four have been chosen for a great honor.”
“We—we have?”
“Indeed,” the Slaugh said, the smile back in place. “You four are going to be my new Wild Hunt.”
“But you said the Wild Hunt was made up of dead Irish sinners.” another of the men said as realization started to dawn. His face blanched white. “We’re not dead.”
“Details,” Max said, his smile widened so much it looked as though his face was going to split open.
Suddenly, the temperature in the bar dropped. An unearthly howl split the air, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. A fierce wind accompanied the wild screeching sound, echoing off the walls and bar as the souls of the Slaugh’s dispatched comrades joined him at last.
It had taken some doing to recall their essence from the ether where they had been sent so many long years ago, but now they were once more tied to the mortal plane. All they needed were new hosts to tether them fully.
That’s where the bar’s patrons came in. The ruffians were youthful, their bodies in prime shape with decades left ahead of them. They were ideal candidates for hosts. Plus, after spending even as short a time with them as he had, the Slaugh suspected that there would be no one to miss them and even fewer who would be surprised when they disappeared from the routine of their fleeting mortal lives.
Now and forever more, they belonged to the Slaugh.
They screamed, tried to escape. Two ran toward the door, which refused to open no matter how much they pulled against it. The remaining two thought to fight back. Neither action would work in their favor. All fighting back would accomplish was to provide sport for the specters of his brothers and that made taking over their forms all the more enjoyable. It was always more palatable to seize prey that fought back to those that surrendered without a fight.
It was over in minutes.
As silence settled once more over the bar, Max Conrad smiled as his newly rebirthed brothers stood before him wearing their new bodies.
“Welcome back, brothers,” the Slaugh said with pride. “As of tonight, The Wild Hunt rides
again and this world… this world shall burn beneath our feet.”
Howls of laughter filled the night as the hunt began anew.
Alexandra Holzer shivered against the cold as she climbed the front steps of her family’s home. The Holzer family lived in a large rambling two-story house that sat in the center of a normally well-manicured lawn overlooking the Hudson River. The white painted exterior stood like a beacon in contrast to the green of the ivy that covered the side walls and the vibrant colors of nature that surrounded it most of the time. With winter kicking into high gear, the leaves were gone and only the gnarly naked tree limbs swayed in the icy breeze blowing in off the river. At night, the combination of trees, wind, and a bright moon overhead mixed with the evening fog in a manner that created a most spectacular spooky atmosphere.
There was a tree near the house that Alexandra particularly loved. It jutted close to the house near her bedroom window. She would never tell her parents, but she had used that tree’s thick, sturdy limbs to sneak out of the house on a few different occasions. Oh, it was nothing sordid. On those nights when she couldn’t sleep, young Alex would slip out her window, shimmy across the branch and down the trunk to the waiting ground. She loved walking the lawns at night. It was quiet. The only noise being the soothing sounds of the river and the occasional night owl. It was also peaceful. She had learned how to navigate the yard by nothing more than pale moonlight. She was so happy that the tree still stood to this day.
Sitting along the bank of the river at two in the morning was so relaxing.
She decided that the next time she and Joshua had a free weekend, they would come out and watch the flowing waters into the wee hours of the morning. She was sure he would enjoy that, but decided that maybe they would wait until it was a bit warmer before planning that trip.
Considering the family business, Alexandra enjoyed this time of the year the most around Holzer House, as some of the children living in the vicinity called it. She rather enjoyed that too. It gave the place an added bit of character.
The snow that had threatened to fall all week still hadn’t reared its ugly head so she jogged up the six steps to the porch without fear of them being slippery. She had spent a lot of time playing on that large front porch. It was one of her favorite parts of the old house, second only to the balcony above that sat just off from her father’s study.
Although she no longer lived there, Alexandra still had a key and let herself in. She hung her coat, scarf, and hat on the coat rack in the foyer then tucked her mittens in the coat pocket. She carried the duffle bag she brought inside with her. It was warm inside the house and the wonderful smell of something cooking from the kitchen filled the house. She didn’t recognize the dish from the smell alone, but assumed it to be one of the many Parisian recipes that her mother loved to experiment with from time to time.
“Hello,” she called out, dragging out the word a few extra syllables.
“Hello, dear,” Her mother called from the kitchen.
Alexandra followed her nose and found her mother working feverishly over the stove where several pots threatened to boil over. Thankfully, the Countess Catherine Buxhoeveden was a master when it came to preparing her delicacies. Her hands danced around the stove as if she were conducting the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.
“Smells delicious, Mother.”
“Hello, Alexandra, dear,” the Countess said with a smile before stepping away from the stove to pull her daughter into a hug. “You have excellent timing. Can you join us for dinner?”
“Sure thing,” Alexandra said. “It smells great.”
“Is Joshua with you?”
“No, mother. He had case notes to study for tomorrow and had to spend some time in the law library so I’m flying solo today.”
“Too bad,” her mother said with a wink. “He is going to miss a fabulous meal.”
“His loss,” Alexandra said. “Is Poppa around?”
“He’s in his study, where else?” her mother said with a crook of her head in the general direction.
“I wanted to pop in to say hello and give him this.” She held up the duffel.
“What is that?”
“Just a small present. It’s a work thing.”
The Countess gave a slight shake of her head. “Heaven forbid one of you take a day off every once in awhile,” Catherine groused. “It’s not like the world is going to stop spinning because the Holzer family takes a vacation.”
“You sure about that, Mother?”
“Let’s say I think it’s a safe bet,” Catherine said playfully.
Alexandra rolled her eyes.
“You two are always working,” her mother added. “Two peas in a pod, you are. Just do me a favor and make sure this present does not leave a mess like the last one did, okay? I spent two days trying to get that mess out of the carpet.”
“I think it’s safe to say this one won’t go kablooey,” Alexandra said with a playful smile that was the mirror image of her mother’s own smile.
“That’s what you said last time,” the countess said playfully before returning to her latest culinary masterpiece.
Leaving her mother to her boiling pots, Alexandra climbed the steps that led to her father’s study on the second floor. The study was one of her favorite rooms in the old house. Decorated in masculine earth tones the large room contained several Oriental carpets over the gleaming hardwood floors and the wood of the furniture was so dark as to be almost black with a seating of aged nail-headed red leather. But best of all, the room had a balcony that looked out over the front lawn and the Hudson River beyond it. She had spent many hours sitting on that balcony while watching the waters flow past on its journey down river.
The study itself was pure Hans Holzer. Shelves lined the walls and were overflowing with books, papers, and the potpourri of assorted odds and ends he had picked up in his travels. Each item in the study had a story, one The Professor would be all too happy to tell should anyone ask. Alexandra thought she had heard them all, but from time to time she would run across some hidden gem in his collection that she had never seen before. She sometimes wondered if he moved things around to see if she would notice or if the ghosts of those who dwelt in the house before helped him out.
“Knock knock,” she said from the doorway as opposed to actually rapping her knuckles on the wood. “You busy?”
A harrumph came from inside the office. “Of course I am,” Hans Holzer said.
She couldn’t see him, but knew he was at his desk, which was piled high with papers and artifacts awaiting his attention. No doubt, there would also be a reference book or three in front of him as well. Even though he had retired a few years earlier, a man of Hans Holzer’s renown was always in demand on the lecture circuit and more often than his family would like, out in the field. He might have slowed down a bit, but the great Hans Holzer was far from ready to hang up his ghost hunting gear.
“How are you, Poppa?” Alexandra said as she walked over to the desk. She was all smiles as she carefully set the duffel bag on the floor beside the worn oak desk.
“Ah, hello my darling Shura,” Hans said, smacking closed the book he had been reading. He stood and embraced his daughter. “It is good to see you.”
“You too, Poppa,” she said as she breathed in his cologne.
“So, not that it isn’t good to see you, Shura, but what brings you by in such good spirits today? Have you and that Demerest boy finally set a wedding date?”
She sidestepped his playful jab at her fiancé and the fact that neither of them were in any rush to run to the altar. They had told both his and her parents repeatedly that they would take the plunge when they were ready and not a moment sooner. Despite his affinity for referring to Joshua as ‘that Demerest boy’ she knew her father adored the man. “We thought it might be easier just to go to the Justice of the Peace and elope,” she joked.
“Over my dead body,” Hans said, laying it on thick. “I’ve been waiting a long time to wa
lk my beautiful baby girl down the aisle. You wouldn’t deprive an old man of his fondest wish, would you?”
“You’re hardly what I’d call an old man, Poppa.”
“Old enough,” he said and retook his seat. He motioned to an unoccupied chair near his desk. She moved the various papers stacked there to a table that miraculously still had an empty place then pulled the chair closer to his desk. When she turned back to face the desk she noticed a blue bowl still steaming with what appeared to be a Chinese dish of some sort.
“Poppa, I’ve caught you at lunch. You haven’t touched your food,” She said. “It smells wonderful by the way. What is it?”
“Oh, I’ll get around to it eventually Shura. It’s called Mapu doufu, a combination of tofu and vegetables in a spicy chili sauce. Completely vegan, of course. Your mother, dear girl, seems to be able to work miracles in her culinary creations without meat. And to think that she does it just for me.” The elder Holzer gave a slight grimace as he leaned forward in attentiveness to his daughter.
“You okay?” she asked, noting the wince as he sat down and again as he leaned forward.
“I’m fine.”
“Your back bothering you again?”
“Just a twinge,” he lied.
“Did you sleep at your desk again?” she asked.
“Of course not,” he harrumphed and wagged a finger in her direction. “You know, you sound more and more like your mother every day.”
“Because of my loving concern?”
“I was thinking more because of your nagging.” He said it with a smile as he resumed his reading from the oversized history text open on the desk. He often complained that the women in his life were trying to mother hen him to death at times. Alexandra suspected that he actually enjoyed the added attention, but of course, his male pride wouldn’t allow him to ever admit it.
“I brought you a present,” Alexandra said, changing the subject.
Hans raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She handed over the duffel.