The Haunted Traveler Vol 1 Issue 2

weaselpress

Kick in Halloween with the latest issue of The Haunted Traveler. We opened up and looked for the strangest and the most horrific tales from this universe, bringing them here in a single collection for the readers to get a little twisted. The Haunted Traveler is a horror and science fiction literary anthology that releases twice a year. Published through Weasel Press, the anthology seeks to roam around with the stories you'll never forget. Those dark little tales that are sort of etched in everyone. We love the dark and twisted and we really want to be scared. Check out our website to see when we're open next. The Haunted Traveler is a non-profit, Horror and Science Fiction anthology that accepts a wide variety of art media such as photography, short fiction, creative non-fiction, digital artwork and more.

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like so many other sheep. I watch as he turns, surprised

at first, then his eyes fill with a strange recognition,

because he has seen me before, in his dreams, in

his nightmares. His eyes light up, all white, then the

world turns red--

I swing the hammer in a wide arch, and his

nose is nothing but pulp. I pull back again, and the

man is reeling, his nose shattered, eyes dull, and I

bring it down once again, this time striking his cheekbone,

shattering bone, eviscerating flesh. His blood

splatters me, hot, burning, and he is tensing as I bring

the hammer down, again, and again, each time erasing

his features and splattering them across the ground,

my hand tight on his shirt, keeping him close. The

woman is screaming now, but the pounding in my

ears is earth shattering. I can smell the blood on the

air, smell the fear, and I revel in it. I am the Butcher.

The man lashes out with one hand weakly, his fingers

aiming for my eyes, and I bite them, the flesh breaking

like a rotten grape, the metallic taste erupting into my

mouth as I tear a chunk of flesh away. I am the Butcher.

I spit the flesh out, and look up to see the woman,

stumbling away now, screaming.

The man is dead, so I leave him behind, sinking

a boot into the remains of his face as I give chase.

She is close still, so I lash out, the end of the hammer

meeting with her lower leg as she gets up to run. I hear

the crack, but she only falters, she is already running,

a scream tearing from her lips.

She is fast, and fear is haunting me. I am running,

wiping blood from my eyes, and, even with a

broken leg, she is fast, so very fast, and I am trailing

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