We bathed in the blood of others that day; blunting our weapons on the seemingly never ending horde that attacked us. Even as the dead piled up before us, they slowly winnowed our ranks through persistence rather than any evident skill, our numbers steadily decreasing as the battle raged on.
Our attackers looked like men, bled like men, but attacked like ants, swarming towards us in a mass with no plan other than to overwhelm and kill.
Inevitably they broke through, climbing over the still twitching bodies of their fallen comrades, and we were forced to retreat, fighting a desperate rearguard as we staggered backwards.
No quarter was asked for and none given. They encircled us like the tide rising around a stone on the beach, and we regrouped, fighting for our lives, hacking away with tired arms and failing hope. Brother with brother; standing back to back in an ever decreasing circle.
And then, abruptly, the battle was over.
I bludgeoned an opponent to death with my near useless sword, and looked up to find no-one else to fight.
As the sun reflected the blood of the fallen in ruddy sunset splendour, the remaining few of us stood silently amongst the piles of the dead. Our weapons and bodies covered in gore: drained, empty, but victorious, we sent our prayers of thanks to the heavens. But, as the skies darkened towards night, other gods answered.
With the light changing to monochrome as the sun dipped below the horizon, there were signs of movement in the shadows. Limbs stirred, bodies moved and silently the dead reanimated. They lifted themselves slowly from the bloody soil and like puppets they walked, crawled or dragged their shattered bodies towards us once more.
Only then did the horror truly start.
~ The End ~
YOU ARE READING
A Horror Anthology
RandomA collection of short stories written by Wattpadders who love a good scare as much as we do. This is the place to be for short chilling tales!
