WEP Halloween Horrorfest

Write Edit Publish has been on sorta sabatical the last few months, but the site has decided to do a special flash post for Halloween.

I'm down; got my story concept. I love Halloween for stories anyways. I love ghastly, bloody horror and thats what I'm gonna write. What would you write/publish for Halloween? Ya know, just for fun.

My entry is shorter than the allowed 1000 words because I'm just out of time to post. I hope its acceptable though.

Title: Dreamer
Genre: horror
word count: 495
All critique acceptable

Tag line: a warriors dream leaves no haven for friends

In the distance bombs burst and flashed, a lightning strobe of orange flames. We ignored the cacophony, the war was no longer our concern. Only the narrow cave mouth drew our attention. Rogers and Shane dropped their automatic weapons and began passing out wooden masks from their packs. Flanning and Peters accepted theirs with dubious looks.

“Put them on” I insisted, securing mine to my head. “We all agreed – too late to back out. By now everyone knows we are deserters and they could have already tracked us here.”

Both men nodded and followed my lead. None of them were certain this was a half buried aqueduct leading to the depths of a temple altar, but they were used to following my lead. I have a sixth sense about dangers, and never get lost in a forest or city.

Rogers handed each of us a torch that stank of fuel oil. We’d light them once inside. The purpose of the masks was to let the Aztec God Huitzilopochtli know we were true worshipers, not Spanish looters. I wasn’t sure how well the masks would protect doubters Flanning and Peters, but I believed.

The dreams were so vivid, so convincing.

I checked the machete looped around my right shoulder, sliding it out slightly and reveling in the smooth pull. The others also checked their weapons – knives, daggers, Peters with a hatchet. I nodded readiness and pushed the others ahead. The feeling of the dreams was stronger now, anxiously pulling at my consciousness.

This was my destiny. My birthright as one of Montezuma’s descendants. I plunged into the thick darkness, screaming laughter.

It wasn’t dark inside. Or quiet. Glittering gold light and echoes bounced off the rock walls. Screams and chanting assaulted me. I called the names of my men, but couldn’t discern an answer. I fumbled in my shirt pocket for my Zippo and lit the torch. The whomp of the ignited fuel seem to silence the echoes and dissolve the light. I called for the men again.

Wooden faces lept at me from the walls. In a panic I dropped the torch and slashed this way and that with the machete. Once I felt a soft impact of something being impaled on the blade, and a voice whispered “NO!” Was that Shane?

Orange light flickered in the distance and I dashed after it. Another voice crooned to me. “This way; hurry,” it urged. The voice from my dreams.

Wet things slithered from the walls and under my feet. Wooden faces and ghostly touches pushed me onward when I fell. Finally I descended into a lower chamber. An altar stood before me, a ring of torch light above. A man lay on across the altar, thrashing and screaming in terror. Flanning.

“The sacrifice,” the Dreamer’s voice suggested.

I tasted the words as they came from my lips. “Yes,” I agreed making my own blood sacrifice with a cut across my forearm. “All of them.”