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No Apologies

What lurks should never be provoked.

By William DiazPublished 4 months ago 28 min read

Harris, also known as "Crusher" on the streets checked his phone to find a message from his employer, who he only knew as Hawk; an intimidating man of medium stature, shaved head and grey beady eyes that only stared daggers and whose bloody reputation was known in the underworld. Even Harris, who stood close to six feet, four inches and weighing at two hundred and forty pounds knew what the consequences were if he ever betrayed Hawk.

Hawk’s office was located in the back of his business, an English-style pub located in Midtown around three in the afternoon. Harris was made to sit while one of Hawk’s bodyguard handed him a slip of paper.

“You remember Mikey?” Hawk asked.

“Mikey? The one who tried to start his own juice bar and went under?” Harris chuckled. “What about him?”

“That son of a bitch owes me ninety grand,” Hawk barked. “Swore up and down a stack of bibles that I would get my money by the deadline, which was on Friday, three days ago.”

Harris picked up the piece of paper and held it up. “So, this is where he’s staying?”

“A fine looking gal named Doris from the sticks called me about a young looking city slicker freely spending money at a well known bar, accosting waitresses and trying to fuck every hick girl in Port Hope.”

Harris nodded. “Sounds like that prick Mikey. Okay boss, I’ll get him.”

“Call me when you have him, then go to the scrap yard.”

Once outside the pub Harris knew he needed to grab food for at least a week, making his way to the corner supermarket as he ran through a mental grocery list. The market was busy for a Tuesday; Harris wanted to grab his essentials and leave as quickly as possible so he could find Mikey and bring him to Hawk. He turned to the snack aisle when an old man wearing many beads on his wrists, wrinkled clothing and clutching a prayer bead bumped into him. Harris gave the old man a look that could whither a maple tree.

“No apology?” The old man demanded, unafraid of Harris' demeanor as he picked up his bowler hat.

“Take it easy, pops, no harm done.” Harris continued down the aisle where he hastily grabbed a few bags of chips when he sensed that he was being watched. He turned to find the old man staring at him with eyes the colour of lava, where only a minute ago they were brown.

“Is there a fucking problem?”

“Disrespect His servant, will you?” The old man stepped closer, making a chopping motion with his aged hand. Harris maintained his ground. “The Tokageh will find you boy! Consider yourself marked!” He lunged at Harris with surprising speed and grabbed his wrist, causing him to drop his basket. “You will be punished!” The hissing sounds were unlike any Harris had heard. He tried to pull his arm away but was held by the old man’s near super strength. After what felt like an eternity, Harris was able to pry the aged hands off his wrist, giving the old man a shove that sent him flying to the shelves. “Your sins from the past will be your undoing, just ask Corey!”

“What’s going on here,” a store supervisor asked a stunned Harris. She rushed over from the next aisle when she heard the commotion.

“Nothing, just a misunderstanding with a customer…” Harris looked up the aisle, the old man was not there. He looked in the frozen food, dairy, meat and produce section but didn’t find any sign of the old man. It was as though he didn’t exist.

Except for the deep maroon palm print that was seared on Harris’ left wrist.

Glad to leave the supermarket Harris spotted an odd looking dog standing near the curb, staring at him. The animal was hairless, its skin closer to white than grey and spotted, resembling a hyena. What struck Harris the most were the eyes, crimson hate-filled eyes. Harris took a step closer but stopped when the hairless dog began to growl, baring its fangs.

“What the hell’s going here,” he mumbled.

Glad to be within the four walls of his small apartment on Baliol Street, Harris placed his supplies and weapons on the table. Being the meticulous man that he was his two all black Smith and Wesson 9mm hand guns had been cleaned two days ago, his dagger sharpened yesterday. He popped the clip into his guns and laid them neatly on the table. Before he could reach for his supply of food Harris clutched his left arm, the seared palm print on his wrist by the old man sent a jolt of pain up all the way to his shoulder. Harris went to the bathroom to splash cold water, hoping to soothe the pain.

His blood ran cold when he checked himself in the mirror.

The reflection revealed a tall entity in a hideous lizard form standing in the hallway, almost similar to the Slender man, looking directly at Harris. The entity was dressed in what appeared to be dark Amish clothing, its face covered by a wide brimmed hat worn by Amish men. If seeing this image wasn’t bad enough, the hairless dog from the grocery store stood beside its master, baring its fangs.

Harris spun around, only to find an empty hallway. After a taking minute to compose himself he darted to the table, picking up his 9mm hand gun. He cocked back the hammer and began searching his bedroom, closets and kitchen cupboards. Harris even checked the bath tub and underneath his bed and sofa.

There were no signs of the lizard entity, nor the hairless dog.

“This is bananas,” Harris muttered. He opened the drawer of the side table in the living room for his pills but found none. Instead he rummaged in the kitchen until he found what he was looking for: a half bottle of Johnny Walker, Red Label. He poured himself three fingers, shot it back and poured another one, this time Harris sipped it slowly.

His memory drifted back to his childhood where he and his friends, four boys, eighteen at the time, decided that it would be fun to invoke the devil. Harris could remember sneaking into an abandoned house, the walls spray painted with pentagrams and “666’s.” One of his friends, a dim-witted boy with curly brown hair named Corey suggested they summon the devil. They formed a circle and began a half-hearted chant. After a few failed attempts and a roar of laughter, Corey pulled out an Ouija board from his backpack.

A skeptical Harris asked Corey how a board game would summon the devil, to which Corey responded, “Just watch.” Corey placed the Ouija board on the ground and beckoned Harris to hold the planchette with him. “Don’t move it,” Corey instructed.

The boy named Corey asked the board a few questions. Harris, who was still touching the planchette remembered the tiny movement. Harris glared at Corey. “Did you fucking move it?” Corey shook his head. Both boys looked at each other, not wanting to admit that the Ouija board was working. The other two boys, Brad and Darren remained silent. Corey resumed asking questions while Harris’ hands remained on the planchette ever so lightly.

“What is your message to us?” Corey asked the board.

Harris was beginning to think this was a waste of time when the planchette was moving again, this time it slid to the different letters. Harris and Corey couldn’t believe the message the spirit had for them:


It was young Harris who summoned the courage. “What would you like us to do?”

The planchette moved again, gliding across the board.

Harris went pale.


Harris shook off the image of him and his friends bolting out of the abandoned house, forgetting to close the session. “It can’t be, we were only boys.”

Once his weapons, hand cuffs, duct tape, clothes and essentials were packed Harris exited his apartment to the driveway at the rear of the triplex building. Unlocking the doors to stash his belongings, Harris would have climbed behind the wheel, if not for an unexpected visitor.

“You no say sorry,” rasped the old man from the grocery store.

“How the fuck do you know where I live?” An incensed Harris stormed over to the old man.

The old man, still wearing his beaded wristbands and sporting an overcoat the colour of red wine, dusty black bowler hat and dark clothing glared at Harris. “Brad,” he whispered. “Darren.” He let out a chilling cackle, causing Harris to take two steps back. “The Tokageh will get you, boy!”

Harris quickly retrieved his Smith and Wesson 9mm from his bags and was about to escalate the conflict when he saw nothing in the lane way.

Just like in the supermarket, the old man disappeared again.

It was seven-thirty in the evening by the time Harris merged onto the highway. He called ahead to the Miller Town Inn and booked a room for three days, confident that he would find Mikey before then. His boss Hawk was the type of man who enjoyed the torture he inflicted, sending a message to those closest to the target. Owing Hawk money was one thing, most people knew how things were and paid their debts. Mikey, on the other hand, fancied himself a clever bastard. He thought that by skipping town he would not be found; and perhaps he would have gotten away, had it not been for the fact that Mikey had never carried so much money before and was spending it freely, bringing unwanted attention to him.

It was close to nine in the evening by the time Harris exited the highway onto County Road twenty-eight and another twenty minutes before he found the Miller Town Inn, a family run establish that’s been a staple for Port Hope since the late 1800’s and the perfect choice for Harris since they took cash payments as well. The drive north through dark country roads was nothing new for Harris; he’d track many deadbeats this way. Tonight should not have been any different, except for a pair of blood red eyes tracking him on the road. Harris had to check his rear view mirror, assuring himself that his eyes were not playing tricks on him.

The beast was gaining ground.

Harris sped up, thinking it was just a rabid bear chasing his car. “Since when do bears have red eyes?” The first street lights appeared and that’s where Harris took another glance and realized it wasn’t a bear at all.

The hairless dog from the supermarket was hunting him.

Confused and shaken, the Crusher floored the accelerator until he reached the inn. Screeching to a halt he looked back to see if the hairless dog was still pursuing him. Satisfied that the road was void of any predators Harris grabbed his belongings and quickly climbed the steps to check in.

The front desk clerk, a lady in her mid fifties forced a smile. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” Harris couldn’t help but notice that the clerk had on too much make up on her face, poorly drawn eyebrows and what appeared to be dentures that contrasted her overly applied lipstick. An odd woman.

“It’s been a long day,” Harris mumbled. He gave the clerk a fake name he used over the phone and and was given the key to his room. He laid out his weapons on the small table, keeping his clothes in his carry-on in case he needed to make a hasty escape. He opened the window to light a cigarette despite the No Smoking sign posted on the wall. Harris checked the forecast, no rain meant he could bring Mikey back to Hawk without his task getting too messy. A drag from his cigarette put him at ease while he scanned the road.

Until a man wearing a bowler hat and a dark long coat walked past the inn.

Harris almost choked on his saliva. “Fuck this,” he hissed. He grabbed his Smith and Wesson along with his dagger and, careful not to wake any guests, quickly made his way to the parking lot. Harris got as far as the road, looking both ways to see if he can finally deal with the man from the supermarket. Aside from howls from nearby wolves, Harris couldn’t see down the darkened road. He went back to his room but could not shake the feeling of being watched.

The Wednesday morning sun beat on Harris’ face. He couldn’t remember what time he fell asleep but he woke up feeling tired, only that he tossed and turned for half the night. Breakfast was left at his door from seven in the morning, it was almost eight-thirty when he checked the time. Over a cold plate of scrambled eggs and greasy bacon, Harris plotted the best approach to taking Mikey without bringing the law down on him.

The car ride south to Port Hope was deliberately slow; Harris was going over scenarios in the event that Mikey put up a fight. By noontime he was scanning Port Hope’s downtown streets, which was small in comparison to larger cities. Harris continued south, entering downtown on Victoria Street; he would have preferred it to be busier so he could blend it, and it struck him odd that during the summer months the town was void of any life, a contrast to a Port Hope sprawling with tourists and locals. Harris made a left on Gifford Street, committing to memory side streets, alleys and pathways plus other possible escape routes. He wanted this job to be clean; the faster he can grab Mikey the sooner he can get back to the big city and deliver him to Hawk.

Turning onto Dorset Street the locals scurried away when they saw Harris’ car, as though he carried a malignant plague. An odd gesture considering that Harris had not provoked anybody, nor did he use strong arm tactics. He stopped at a red light, where he checked his phone. Hawk sent him a text at around twelve thirty, inquiring if he “found his stray dog,” referring to Mikey. Harris replied, telling Hawk that he had not been found but that he would look on every corner. Harris checked his rear view mirror to see if he wasn’t blocking traffic.

His blood froze.

In the reflection was a malevolent figure, the same one he encountered at his apartment.

A lizard like entity whose faceless gaze stared at Harris. It wore the same Amish style clothing; dark pants, tattered dress shirt, suit jacket and its wide brimmed hat. Its large reptilian hands and long fingers were outstretched, as though trying to reach into Harris’ car.

Harris could not move, transfixed he was with the reptilian figure.

He felt like he was high off of hallucinogens and the trip went horribly wrong. The entity lunged towards the car, its faceless features shifting. Time stood still for Harris, watching the figure’s face change; first the eyes emerged, they were grey like dirty ice and radiated malice and hate, a deformed nose that was pierced with a large nose ring and sharp fangs that could cut through flesh and bone. From the figure’s throat a blood curdling scream erupted, nearly deafening Harris. All around, grey skies were engulfed by dark, menacing clouds that moved in from nowhere, even though a light wind was blowing in from the south, off of the lake.

He staggered out of his car, falling to his knees, his wobbly hand grasping his Smith and Wesson 9mm. As quickly as Harris raised his gun and was about to fire his kill shot the entity disappeared. The roiling dark clouds remained for another five minutes before slowly dissipating.

The scene around Harris had gone back to normal, as though he didn’t have an encounter. He slid his gun down the back of his pants before anyone could see. A tap on his shoulder nearly stopped his heart. He whirled around to find himself face-to-face with an older man sporting a grizzled grey beard, stained beige dress pants held up by blue weathered suspenders and a green flannel shirt buttoned all they way to the top.

“Sorry,” he rasped, holding up his hands. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Harris took a moment to compose himself. “Don’t worry about it, just noticed something strange, that’s all.”

The old man produced a cigar, he lit the end while he eyed Harris with his aged brown eyes. “Strange you say, like the sky going dark all of a sudden?”

Harris nodded his head.

The old man blew out a plume of smoke. “That’s been happening since I was a lad. But for some reason it seems to happen a lot during this month of August. And wouldn’t you believe it, some folks have gone and lost their minds, babbling about seeing creatures and other demons from the netherworld.” They greybeard shook his head. “Goddamit, you’d think someone’s put a curse on this town. Take care.”

Harris called out to the old man. “Does the word, tokageh mean anything to you?”

This time it was the old man who spun around. His brown eyes were as wide as saucers. “Hey, don’t go saying that word around here, ever!” The old man moved closer to Harris, his mouth quivering. He took a long drag from his cigar. “If you’re here to explore the catacombs and the abandoned temple, then it’s best you leave, boy. No sense angering forces that should be left alone. Adrenaline junkies and the sort go there looking for a thrill, only, they don’t come back.” The old man took off as fast as his aged legs could carry him. Harris watched the frightened old man, momentarily forgetting that his car was still in the intersection, horns echoing in the intersection to grab his attention. He entered his car, ignoring the glares from motorists and drove off, turning right onto Victoria Street and back to the inn.

Harris napped for three hours, but it was not without reliving the events in Port Hope's downtown. He was starting to wonder if his experience with the Ouija board as a teenager had anything to do with his encounters these last couple of days; seeing the gypsy with the bowler hat walk past his inn, the abnormal looking dog that hunted him and the entity that seemed to want his blood. Once again Harris shook off the thought. Christ, he thought to himself, a grown man like me believing in this shit? Not happening.

He checked his phone to find multiple messages from Hawk. Judging by his last text message, his employer was growing impatient.

Hawk: Any luck finding my stray dog?

Harris: Not yet.

Hawk: What the fuck is taking so long?!

Harris: It’s a small town, boss. If I start kicking down doors that’s going to bring me a lot of heat, heat that we both don’t need. I’ll find him.

Hawk: I want that son of a bitch, alive!

Harris tossed his phone aside and plowed into the veal sandwich. Once Mikey was brought back and dealt with he would need to get rid of his phone and pick up a burner; his real phone was kept in his dresser at his apartment. He looked at the wall mounted clock, it read four forty-five in the afternoon. In a few hours Harris would start to make his rounds.

The front desk was empty when Harris tried to check out at around six-thirty in the evening. He didn’t linger around long enough to discover the mutilated corpse of the front desk lady laying prone behind the desk, nor did Harris see the word Tokageh written in blood next to the corpse. There were no signs of conflict, not even traces of blood on the desk or the lobby. Harris tossed his carry-on bag in the back seat to begin the drive to Port Hope’s downtown. He couldn’t believe his luck, he just skipped out on paying for his room.

After parking his car Harris walked into the first establishment he saw, a rock bar on Ridout Street that had just wrapped up their happy hour. He scanned the room, even went to the bathroom to make sure he didn’t miss his target. When he couldn’t find Mikey, Harris walked to a nearby burger joint but came up empty; though he did not fail to notice the darkened skies when he checked his phone at seven-fifteen. An English-style pub was his next stop, this time he ordered a pint to wait for Mikey. Harris looked around at the unsavory patrons; this bunch did not like outsiders and glared daggers at the Crusher. Twenty minutes went by and no sign of Mikey. He decided to take a gamble.

“You seen this guy?” Harris asked, showing his phone with Mikey’s picture.

The bartender, a thin guy in his late twenties with long chestnut brown hair tied back squinted his eyes. “He’s been in here before. I had to cut him off a few times before kicking him out.”

Harris nodded. “Any idea where I could find him?”

The bartender thought about it. “He’s been seen at the Local 90 just off of Ward Street.” He then narrowed his eyes. “You know this kid from anywhere?”

“My brother wants him to come home.” The lie easily sprang from Harris’s lips. “You know, father and son issues.” He paid for his drink and quickly made for his car. Dark clouds covered the sky where a sunset should have been. Harris heard rumbling in the distance, he turned and caught a flash of lightening northeast from where he stood.

The Local No. 90 Bar and Kitchen is a Port Hope favorite known for their generous portions and a large beer menu. Harris looked out of place walking into the Local 90, but a job was a job. The place was busy, which meant that Harris could blend in while looking for Mikey. At the back of the bar Harris found him; a blond haired server brought an order of nine whiskey shots, Mikey tried to grope the server but she angrily slapped his hand away and didn’t bother taking the tray. Harris shook his head wondering how a blond haired kid who weighed about one hundred pounds soaking wet, thinking himself a gangster, could possibly put up a fight.

Mikey eyed Harris coming toward him. His white face turned two shades of pale. Trapped.

“C-Crusher! Goddammit it’s good to see you.” He shifted away from Harris with the pretense of giving him a seat. “Have a drink, I insist!”

“It wasn’t smart skipping out on Hawk, Mikey,” said a deadpan Harris. “Get your shit, we’re leaving, now.”

“I was going to pay Hawk, I just needed some more time to scrape the ninety-grand together.” Mikey was shaking.

“You can tell that to Hawk yourself, kid,” Harris said as he squeezed his six feet, four-inch frame between tables. The locals couldn’t help but watch, the blond server paid Mikey no mind. Harris wanted to avoid an audience; the sooner he left with Mikey the quicker Hawk could deal with him. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

Mikey recoiled when Harris reached out to grab his arm. Harris had to tip over the table with the shooters but stopped all of sudden; his eyes were burning all of a sudden, he involuntarily dropped to his left knee, rubbing his eyes with his palms in vain. Harris took a kick for his troubles.

“Fuck you, Crusher!” Mikey escaped before Harris could recover. Hands tried to reach out to Harris; he slapped them away until the blond server let him know they were trying to help.

“That crazy asshole sprayed you with mace,” the server said, splashing water on his face. “You managed to turn away just in time.”

“Thanks,” Harris muttered. “Which way did he go?”

“He took off heading north east,” a bystander gulped. “Towards the temple.”

Shit. He thanked the staff for helping him and for telling him where Mikey went.

Leaving his vehicle, Harris was on the hunt. The clouds above had rolled in from out of nowhere, covering the eight o’clock skies in complete darkness. Growls were heard in the distance, followed by terrified screams of people. There were no wild animals nearby that could have produced that sound.

Then the Lizard people appeared.

The first figure Harris saw was tall, lanky and wore Amish-style clothing, except this one wore no hat. The tall reptilian figure set his sights on a lone bearded man that reacted too late and began to run. The tall reptilian strode after his prey; one minute the bearded man had a head start, the next minute the tall reptilian took down his prey like a tiger would to a wildebeest. Harris turned away when the man screamed as he was being devoured alive.

Tracking Mikey was less tricky than he anticipated. Harris spotted him running for his life, from some unseen force. He spotted the feared enforcer and quickly turned to run the other way. Harris whipped out his gun, rasping curses as he chased after Mikey. The unearthly growls became louder; it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Port Hope’s people were dying. Another reptilian entity, covered in fresh blood, stepped out from behind a garage, glaring hard at Harris.

Harris took aim and fired two rounds. The reptilian moved with astonishing speed, dodging his bullets. Harris could only watch as the reptilian hissed before taking off. From far away Harris saw Mikey sprinting further and further into the forest…

…in the direction of the catacombs and the abandoned temple.

Jogging after Mikey was taking a toll on Harris, a smoker and someone who had not been to the gym in years. A flash from his peripheral made him turn; he was ten feet away from another reptilian in Amish clothing. It was identical to the one he encountered the other day in downtown and at his apartment, shifting appearances. It bared its fangs, stalking Harris, never taking its grey eyes off of him. Harris turned and fired two rounds at the lizard-like entity but to no avail, the bullets seemed to not have any effect. Harris cursed again when he saw Mikey running into the catacombs.

“Stop running, you little shit,” Harris shouted, panting. “Or the next slug will go in your kneecaps!”

He quickly looked back to find the reptilian following him, slowly, as though leading Harris into a trap. Mikey had already gone into the catacombs, leaving Harris no choice but to follow him inside and ignore his pursuer. He was grateful that the main pathway was the only accessible route; Mikey would soon be backed into a corner with no hope for escape. He patted his chest pocket where he kept his bottle of ether; he would soon put it to good use.

But as Harris went deeper into the catacombs, something on the walls made him look.

He was momentarily frozen by what he saw.

Cave paintings, some from way before his time depicted the reptilians offering a human sacrifice on an alter. Others showed what appeared to be an army of reptilians chasing a group of humans from a prehistoric era. The paintings all depicted the reptilians dressed in the fashion of those times, some even wore the Amish style clothing. Another painting, glaringly similar to the events in Port Hope depicted dark skies and an angry horde of these lizard-like entities.

But nothing could have prepared Harris for the following image.

Images of hairless dogs, like the one he encountered at the supermarket, were shown biting into humans and dismembering them in front of a large temple. His own mind replayed over and over again being chased on his way to the inn.

Loud growls and ear piercing screams snapped Harris out of his trance. Remembering that Mikey was still on the loose, Harris ran along the pathway, the cave paintings blurring past him. A scratching sound caused Harris to whirl around, firing three rounds that ricocheted of the walls. Nothing but dust and rock.

He saw the last image but ignored its significance.

Pushing ahead, Harris continued on the pathway as it curved left, until he stopped at a door that was left ajar, a faint flickering light that splashed on the rock wall. He slid out his half empty clip and replaced it with a full one. He crept along the narrow hallway that was too small for his six feet, four-inch frame, its plaster walls stained from years of neglect. Harris was led to a wooden door, a recent addition judging by its appearance. Harris tugged on the handle.

It opened without a squeak.

The entrance foyer, four feet by four feet, was bare except for a worn out wooden bench. Harris crossed its dirty floor, into a stone room void of any seating lit by torches and candles. At the front of the room was where Harris found Mikey huddling near the alter. He had entered the temple of some unknown god.

“Get the fuck up,” Harris ordered, pointing his nine millimeter at Mikey.

“We can’t leave from here,” Mikey said in a low voice.

“We’ll see about that. Time to go see Hawk, kid.” Harris moved closer, taking precautions not to get sprayed with mace again.

“You don’t understand, Harris Miller, we won’t be leaving here.” Mikey, who was at this point obscured by the shadows began to laugh maniacally.

Miller? What the fuck? Harris was confused, back home, Mikey would not have uttered his last name.

“You think this is funny, eh? No problem, Mikey, I warned you.” Seconds from pulling the trigger Harris felt a painful scratch, a burning sensation across his back that dropped him to one knee. In his agony he turned around to find a reptilian towering over him. He extended his gun hand to fire, instead his arm, severed at the elbow, dropped with a nauseating thud. Harris cradled the stub of his arm while blood fountained all over him. By this time more of the lizard people entered the temple.

“You should say sorry next time.” Wide eyed, Harris recognized the sound of that raspy voice. Then he remembered the last cave painting he ignored. “I told you the Tokageh will get you.”

The old man with the bowler hat.

The old man rounded Harris who was bleeding on himself. Without his hand or weapons, Harris was a sitting duck.

“Motherfucker,” Harris spat, discharging phlegm that landed on the old man’s black robes. Another reptilian swiped at Harris with its long, clawed hands, leaving three deep wounds on his face. The old man wiped his robes with a dirty rag, then nodded to his servants. The Tokageh hoisted Harris, dropping him onto the altar and held him down. Mikey scurried beside the old man who was revealed to be a priest, sensing victory.

“You should’ve left when you had the chance, Crusher.” The old priest slid a long curved knife from his robes; the hilt of the knife was ancient, with emeralds and rubies embedded in the cross guard. An instrument used in ceremonies.

And during sacrifices.

The old priest looked up and began to chant in a tongue not of this world. Harris looked up, seeing the eyes of the priest swirl once again from brown to a fiery orange. He eyed Mikey standing next to the priest with expectant eyes, as though watching a school bully getting a dose of his own brutality. The reptilians began to howl along with the chants, swaying back and forth. The old priest fixed his horrific gaze on Harris, who was lying defenceless while being held down by the reptilians, making a dozen cuts on Harris’ torso.

A whistle from the priest’s lips echoed throughout the temple. Harris tried in vain to see who or what was going to enter. The growls gave Harris his answer.

The hairless dogs. Twelve hideous hyena-looking beasts padded over to the alter, sniffing the bleeding man. Then one by one they took bites out of Harris as the old priest looked on with a disturbing blood lust. Mikey had won.

The screams died down after a spell, the only sounds were from the hellacious dogs gorging on human meat. Mikey, elated that he outsmarted the Crusher turned to the priest, hardly able to contain his excitement. “So that’s it, I can join your order?”

The priest studied Mikey, looking the mislead hooligan up and down. “Hmm,” he groaned. “You have the passion, but there is one thing you have that is forbidden in our order, something that we of the Tokageh have become experts in extinguishing for two thousand years.”

Confused, Mikey was not about to let his opportunity slip by. “What it is?”

“Your treachery.” A quick flash of steel and Mikey’s hands moved to his throat, trying to stop the flow of blood. He slumped to the floor, where he lay dead in front of the altar, gurgling.

The priest looked over at his lizard people, their heads inclined in reverence. His eyes continued to swirl their lava orange colour. “Now we get the Hawk.”


About the Creator

William Diaz

A 9-5er, avid reader and aspiring novelist with two self-published fantasy books and four published short stories under his belt. Not to mention a vivid imagination...welcome to my world.

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