The Pen & The Sword

Nick put the pen to the first line on the paper and his eyes rolled back into his head as he wrote furiously in the notebook, page after page. After what she had seen the past week, Mina didn’t get scared, but she did shake his shoulder and said, “Nick, you okay?” But he kept writing and she read as fast as she could over his shoulder.

When he finished he looked down at the notebook then to Mina, “What happened?”

“I think you just wrote out the last few minutes of your Uncle and his girlfriend’s lives.”

*****

“John! John, wake up!” Lauren screamed over John’s motionless body. Her fingers found a weak pulse in his neck, but she knew there wasn’t much time. He wasn’t like her, he couldn’t take a crash like that. The blood on her face covered only skin, any cut had healed a second after it was caused. Behind her, their car was crushed against the trees an d flames slowly licked over the over the metal and the trees around it.

She could hear the truck that ran them off the road turning back to finish the job.

“I will get us out of here, John, I promise!” Lauren kissed John’s forehead, stood and turned toward the truck.. She reached up under her jean jacket and pulled out a sword that grew longer and longer as it emerged until it stood as tall as she. The Clamor was old, but shined easily from the light of the fire engulfing the car. She wrapped both of her hands around the handle, and bolted straight for the truck, the sword held high.

In this game of chicken, Lauren had no reason to turn, but choose to juke the truck and sliced through the right tire with her sword. The truck careened off into the trees and rolled over into the gutter.

Inching toward the truck, Lauren kept the sword raised. She looked into the cab, but saw nothing but broken glass and blood.

“Damn it!” Lauren spun around searching the darkness, the sword gleaming in the fire light.

John still lay on the ground, but he moaned.

Lauren ran and slide on her knees to his side, “What do I do, John? Tell me, please.”

His eyes half closed, John whispered, “You know what you have to do.”

Lauren wiped the hair from John’s eyes and smiled, “Okay, John, I know.”

She stood, and John said slowly, “Show yourself.”

From the dark forest came a low, growl of a voice followed by a large hooded figure, “As you wish.”

Lauren, took a step back, squaring up her stance protecting John, “So, you finally came after us yourself, Monster?”

“I prefer Mr. Stone,” the figure threw back the hood to reveal a face like a jigsaw puzzle. Scars ran every inch of the visible skin, and one blue eye and one brown eye stared down at her. This figure let his arms fall to his sides and they were noticeably different lengths.

“You may be my elder, Mr. Stone, but that is all my respect you will get,” Lauren launched into the air, bringing the sword down with all the force and grace she had.

Mr. Stone knelt as she came down, the blade only inches from his face, and knocked her from the air easily. Lauren rolled away springing up a few feet away.

A sliver of crimson ran down the left side of Mr. Stone’s face. He wiped it away with his hand, the cut healed leaving a new scar, and he said, “Just a scratch.”

“I’ll scratch you to death if that’s the only way,” Lauren rushed him with the sword - slashing, stabbing, swipping - but he was too fast. He deflected every blow, dodged every attack. She had never moved that fast herself before - her hands, arms and sword a blur to her own eyes.

Mr. Stone growled and with a back hand as fast as lighting and sounding like thunder, he sent her tumbling toward John, “I only came her to ask you to join me!”

Lauren looked up from the dirt at John, who’s eyes were closed again. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

“Looks like you won’t be keeping that promise, will you?” Mr. Stone walked slowly toward them.

She pushed herself to her feet, blood dripping from her mouth, nose and ears, and yelled, “I’m not beaten yet, Monster!” And rushed Mr. Stone again. This time, she was faster, and sunk the blade of the sword into his chest, all the way to the hilt.

Mr. Stone stood, silently as she hung from the sword, her feet a foot off the ground. He smiled and pushed her away from him as she clutched the sword and it slid out of his chest.

“God help us,” she whispered as the blade came from his torso. She fell to the ground, looking up at him.

“In all my time since my resurrection, I have found no proof of such a thing,” Mr. Stone snapped his finger and every form of monster emerged from the woods - werewolves, zombies, vampires and things Lauren had never imagined. Most prominate being what could only be described as a werepig. Horrifying as it was funny, Lauren crawled backward toward John.

“Surrender the pen and the sword and I will have them make this quick,” Mr. Stone pointed toward his small army.

Lauren rose to her feet, “You know I can’t do that, Monster.”

“To the death, that’s your little clubs motto, isn’t it?” Mr. Stone said. “End this cycle, I’m not evil, I just want to keep magic in the hands of the supernatural. You, of all people, can understand that?”

“Not evil?” Lauren laughed. “What is trying to kill a couple of teenegers considered then?”

“I only kill out of necessity, and if you won’t join me, then you are against me,” Mr. Stone said and all the creatures that lurked in nightmares rushed at Lauren. She only had a second to grab John by the collar, throw him over her shoulder and dash into the forest.

As she ran, she found the pen in his pocket and slid it into the handle of the sword and it locked into place. She could hear the monsters chasing after her and knew that there was no escape, so she put John, down, turned toward the oncoming storm and readied herself. When they came, she sliced through monster after monster until she was standing on a mountain of corpse - none of them getting past her to John.

Two monsters stood on either side of Mr. Stone as Lauren panted, holding the sword and staring down from her mount at them. One was the werepig, the other looked like a Russian man, bearded and bald, but carved out of marble.

“You are a strong little minx,” the Russian statue said.

“To the death,” Lauren whispered and threw the sword with every ounce of strength into the night sky above her. It shot like a star into the blackness and disappeared.

“No!” Mr. Stone yelled reaching with his longer arm toward Lauren. She didn’t fight, she dropped to her knees and looked back at John.

As the Monster’s hands reached her throat, she said, “Its safe for now, Jo--.”