Scary Holiday Tales to Make You Scream (37 page)

Her Grandmere took her hand into her own. "He will make a fitful gift to the Gods, Lethe." Then, she squeezed Lethe's palm and, "I will ask only this one time. Will you honor the ways of Maia to restore our name?" And Lethe nodded, decision made, forsaking neither her mother nor Grandmere but hearing the breath of trees within her own swelling heart.

Aida Berwyn smiled. "His time on this earth is almost over. Soon, though, Maia will arrive and she will enact her own justice. But for now, you must finish this." And through her Grandmere's hand to Lethe's hand ran a current that brought each nerve in her body alive. Lethe thought it was not unlike the sensation she'd had that fateful night in the forest, but a hundred times stronger, yet it carried with it none of yesterday, only the present, and the feeling of home.

From a place faraway, she heard her Grandmere's soft voice. "You, Lethe, are now the Firestar of the May Queen. It is your duty to light the pyre and lead us in dance around the May Pole."

And with the strength of convictions new, she held her palm out level with her eyes and lit the fire ablazing.

SUSANNE S. BRYDENBAUGH

Susanne S. Brydenbaugh is the author of over 80 short stories and poems published in both the genre and literary small press. Her most current work can be found in the following anthologies: Cemetery Poets: Grave Offerings, Atrocitas Aqua, Femmes de la Brume, and forthcoming in such anthologies as: Scary! Holidays to Make You Scream, Scriptures of the Damned, Double Dragon Publishing; and Experiments of a Different Vein. She is finishing her first novel, Midnight Cry, for publication in late 2004.

Other than writing and reading voraciously, she enjoys the outdoors, craves music, and is a classic car enthusiast. She lives in the southern U.S. Her website can be found at:
www.mywriterstooth.com

Originally known as Armistice Day, Veteran's Day stems from the end of "The Great War", now known as World War I. The cease-fire agreement between Germany and France was signed in Rethondes, France on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, at the eleventh hour, in 1918. This of course led to the notorious Treaty of Versailles, and World War II, but for some time it was celebrated in remembrance of the great peace brought by the day. For many survivors of battle, it often proved a time to remember the suffering they had witnessed.

President Wilson declared the first Armistice Day November 11, 1919. Originally business would halt for a two-minute period starting at the eleventh hour, followed by speeches and parades. In 1921 church groups swayed President Wilson and he named the nearest Sunday Armistice Day Sunday, for events focusing on international peace. While the Federal government can't declare national holidays-each state determines its own schedule-Armistice Day was declared an official holiday in the District of Columbia and for Federal employees in 1938.

In 1953 the town of Emporia, Kansas referred to the day as Veteran's Day in recognition of veterans of both World War II and the Korean War. On June 1 of the following year legislation was passed by President Eisenhower officially changing the name to Veteran's Day. The 1960's and 70's saw rapid fire exchanges of dates on which the United States celebrated Veteran's Day, leading to some confusion and frustration for citizens. Due to legislation passed by President Nixon, Veteran's Day continues to be observed by the Federal government on the second Monday of November.

People still solemnly reflect on the human sacrifices of war with a moment of silence at 11:00 a.m., and look to support those Veterans in our communities. Some charities sell paper poppies constructed by disabled veterans; poppies became a symbol of World War I after the Battle of Flanders Field in Belgium, where many died among the poppies that densely populated the field.

There are currently 550,000 disabled veterans in the United States of America, with countless others worldwide.

-John Edward Lawson

By Steven L. Shrewsbury

(A Story Featuring MAJESTIC Agent Thor Alexander)

"And they have rewarded me evil for good, and hatred for my love.

Set thou a wicked man over him: and let Satan stand at his right hand.

When he shall be judged, let him be condemned: Let his prayer become sin."

King David

Psalm 109; 5-7

1023 BC

Listen up, here, Marine, 'cause I'll be doin' all the talkin'. Seein' as I gotta carry yer ass all the way back to the base on Veteran's Day, ya can do me the common courtesy of keepin' yer trap shut. I can lug 'bout any weight, it's yer mass that bugs me. I got ya strapped on good, so take in the scenery, such as ya can at night. I hope ya ain't scared of the damned dark, heh, 'cause ya never know what is lurkin' out there in the night.

Hey, there's another one who doesn't respect the night or Mom N' Apple fuckin' Pie! I'll crouch down here and get him. Night vision goggles work anywhere in the world, ol' son! Afghanistan ain't nothin' special, save for they're too tribal to know when they are bein' controlled by dorks from outta country. Some folks dunno when there is a hand up their ass, but I digress. POP! Got him! Yeah, this nasty ol' government agent from a covert black ops program bagged another one of our enemies. Shit, damn, enemies. These are just the fingers, Hell, the foreskin of the beast. My superiors won't listen and let me chew off the head that controls this unholy war declared on the good ol' U. S. of A. I'd sooner dine on the throat or the brains of the operation, but that would lead to a bigger-assed war than the Prez wants. Yeah, yeah, they are just puttin' off the apocalypse, I tell ya what! Maybe the fear of the final curtain is all that keeps peace, aye? Good man, keep quiet like I said!

Damn, some of his evil buddies are nearby. They didn't hear the shot. Wanna know why? 'Cause I used a silencer on my rifle, Marine! See how simple this is? POP, POP! Two more heads in the bag for ol' Thor Alexander, agent of Majestic Services! Long may our banner wave, long may it be invisible, and long may I drop my jeans and give it to the dire people of the Earth in the kiester! What business interest do black ops folks from a cabal have in this war? TERROR. Heh, well, there are too many cameras for the regular military. We are gettin' right bored keepin' the New World Order at bay laborin' behind the scenes and all. A lot of other agents have other assignments abroad, Like Dack Shannon, Alex Dalton and Jess Boorman, but I ain't talkin' on them folks today. How did a big, blonde cracker like me get in such a program? My incredible singing voice…and that I ain't scared of nuthin', save for a world without blondes.

Yeah, three dead, but no where near enough, ol' son. This is how I celebrate November 11
^th
, Marine, cleanin' up after our true blue boys. Couple of them Taliban bastards got lucky, knockin' yer chopper outta the sky with that mortar. Every so often these suckers get one lucky-like on 9/11. Ordinarily, they couldn't hit a cow in the tit with a banjo. I'm here to make sure their luck dries up and heals over like an eighty-year-old whore. Let's get goin'. Yer not gettin' any lighter, partner, and I got other folks to honor.

Don't worry none on my account for the labor, partner. We are both soldiers; just we use a different manual. So many wet nosed pussy fucks hate the idea of war and think death is hard. Naw-bullshit. Death is freakin' easy. It's life and livin' it everyday that is a bitch. It ain't just the bleedin' heart commie cocksuckers that have no grit for this kinda work, it's most of the saber rattlin' douche-dicks that ain't hardly ever looked at a gun, much less fired one. I guess I fight fer them too. Always plenty of us good men to make sure the leftist twerps and rightwing strokes can have their debates. That is why Armistice Day evolved to honor all Veterans, I wager. Not just for the guys who served, but to remind the others who didn't the price of the sacrifice. Ya know, all sacrifice requires blood, from the shores of Iwo Jima, to a heifer in a temple right down to Jesus Christ his-ownself.

Sumbitch, I think there is another one down there in the ravine. This country has more hidden spots that Liz Taylor has alimony checks. POP! Sent another one to Allah…or whoever. Yeah, this ain't no friggin' holy war to me, ol' son. They all wanna divide us up and make it all about Allah or Jehovah or Jesus or some such stuff, but they'd find another reason to hate us if we were all the same stripe. Remember what I said, bud, killin' is easy, no matter what direction ya pray in. It may not solve every problem today, but it made sure them fucks down there shufflin' off the mortal coil in the dirt won't stop me from returning you to your Commanding officer. One of them limp rags will never highjack a plane, tie on a bomb or stick a finger in his ass and face Mecca ever again.

Glad yer keepin' it down back there. If ya did talk too much I dunno what I'd do. I respect ya jarheads, I really do. My adopted Pa was a Marine, tough as nails. He could drink boiling stew and piss ice cubes, sure as I'm jogging here. I miss the ol' bastard, such as he was. Cancer kicked his ass. Hell of a way for a Marine to die, huh? In a bed being made the bitch of radiation-never for me. Never. I follow the credo to a degree, fella, Semper Fi, do or die…always faithful. Wish I coulda been there for him…

Dunno why I'm so talkative tonight, ol' son. Maybe I'm bored with life, maybe I'm tired of being pushed around even with all the freedom I get in covert operations. We still follow some guidelines even though we miss the newspaper. Still, someone will miss ya after that accident in the field with the choppers. Sorry things didn't work out like ya planned, but war is a bitch, huh? War ain't Hell. General Sherman was stoned when he said that, true enough. Hell is fulla liars, whores, lawyers, and evildoers, not kids or innocent bystanders.

Hey, check this out! I can see the entry to yer camp, but there is a sniper in the weeds. I think he's just watchin' what the Marines are doin'! What say we introduce him to the business end of my bowie knife? I'm tired of shootin' motherfuckers at a distance. Kinda makes it impersonal. I reach out the gun and they explode, better than fireworks. End of story, game over. Big bogeyman like me will make this scumbags' day. Hold on, Tex, yer along fer the ride! Bet he craps his pants from fright! Let's test his faith!

AHHH! Easy as ice cream. I knocked out his wind, then his life. He got a chance to look me in the eye, well, visor, and know he was had. He knew it was too late fer him when I probed his guts and made him envious of a fish caught on the Mississippi. Fuck him. He never probably heard of Ol' Miss. I imagine he knows of it now. Ya see, Marine, I think when yer dead, ya know it all…everything from all time if yer in Heaven or Hell. What if his God is the right one? Screw it. Who cares? I'm dealin' with today. Judgment day comes for all, dude. If he was right, I guess I gotta fight for eternity. Then the game will REALLY begin. Sounds fun to me, almost like Valhalla.

I radioed into the camp and they know I'm comin' in…this ways they won't shoot my beautiful ass. My body armor would fend that off, I reckon, but they know me, hell, they fear me. Lucky fer ya I was in the neighborhood. Luck is funny sometimes. Lucky I tamed luck-that savage bitch-for my own means, but enough 'bout me.

Here, ol' son, I give ya unto yer comrades. We must part company now and the good Lord take a liking to ya. I did what I could for ya, but at least yer wife and kids will have a grave to visit with their Pa in it. Arlington is a gorgeous spot and they guard ya well. I'll visit ya there someday, Marine. Say hello to Gale Alexander, my sister, who never knew what hit her at the Pentagon on 9/11. I reckon that angel tends the door to Heaven. She will be my only chance to get in some day.

I held to the mark, faithful until the end. Rest now. Leave the rest of the war to us bastards with no conscious.

Damn, dawn is comin' fast. It's gonna be a beautiful Veteran's day.

STEVEN L. SHREWSBURY

34, creator of Dack Shannon, Thor Alexander and the MAJESTIC Universe, is the author of over 190 published tales online or in print. His tales have appeared in print magazines like ELDRITCH TALES, FIGHTING CHANCE, BLACK PETALS & MYSTERY BUFF. Over a hundred of his poems are out there in magazines like PENNY DREADFUL, BIBLE OF HELL and DEATHREALM. His first book, NOCTURNAL VACATIONS, was released in the summer of 2002 by PUBLISH AMERICA. His second book, DEPTHS OF SAVAGERY will be released in the summer of 03 from DOUBLE DRAGON PUBLISHING. He has appeared in many anthologies, most recently the hardback CEMETERY POETS & ATROCITAS AQUA, and soon will appear in SCRIPTURES OF THE DAMNED and SCARY from DDP. Last year his work appeared in the high fantasy epic GRIMOIRE DE SOLACE from iUniverse. While working endlessly, revising several novels, he resides in Central Illinois with his wife, Stacey and son, John. His website is www.stevenshrewsbury.com

Saint Andrew was one of the original twelve disciples of Christ. He was originally a fisherman from Galilee, a follower of John the Baptist, and older brother of another of Christ's disciples, Simon Peter. After spreading the teachings of Christ throughout the Mediterranean and Asia Minor he was captured by the Romans. In one version of the story he is crucified on two beams of wood in the shape of an "X" while in the second version he is nailed to an olive tree.

Three hundred years later Emperor Constantine decided to move Saint Andrew's remains from his death place in Patras, Greece, to Constantinople. What happens next is also subject to various interpretations. The more religious view involves the Saint Regulus, a monk, receiving a vision from the angels. The angels warned that the bones of Saint Andrew had to be sent to "the ends of the Earth" in order to protect them. So far as the Roman Empire was concerned Scotland fit the bill, and his bones were taken to Scotland by Regulus (interestingly, the tale splits again here: Regulus either landed at what is now St. Andrews or he shipwrecked there, depending on who you ask).

The more worldly version of the tale involves a collector of Catholic relics, the Bishop of Hexham, who purchased the bones and brought them to Scotland himself in 733 AD. Regardless, the bones were kept in a Cathedral in Scotland until the Reformation swept through and destroyed all relics of "Catholic idolatry."