Demon of Death Read online

  Demon of Death

  Greg Szepanski

  This is a work of fiction meaning the people and places discussed within are purely the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead or and actual events is pure coincidence.

  Copyright © 2018 Greg Szepanski

  All rights reserved. This book is protected by Federal Law. No reuse in whole or in part without the express written consent of the author. This includes reproduction or transmission of this book in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical. No photocopying, recording, or electronic information storage and retrieval systems may be used.

  Stay updated with new releases and get free fiction by joining my mailing list at: https://www.gregszepanski.com/

  Previous Works

  Giant - An Artemas Dodge Story

  Nightmare

  Zombie Love Story

  In the Deep Dish

  The Day They Died

  Demon of Death

  What if you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the day you were going to die? How about if you knew the exact moment and the method of your demise? Would you party like it’s 1999? Or would depression and fear take over causing you to try to hide from your divine appointment?

  My choices led me to this dirty convenience store facing down an armed gunman. It wasn’t my day or time, but it was for a little girl. That’s why I was here. My plan was the same as every time before and quite simple. First, confront the thug and get his focus on me. That keeps him away from the intended victim. Next, make sure the victim and any potential secondary victims are safe. Third, kill the punk so he doesn’t get a return engagement murder spree. Then in the confusion of the aftermath, melt into the night.

  The machine told me a nine-year-old girl named Bella would take her last breath at 8:17 PM in this crappy store. It was the same machine that told me the exact moment of my death. You may think I am nuts listening to some machine, but it has never been wrong. It has given me winning lottery numbers three times and has sent me on thousands of missions like this one. Each time the situation matches exactly to what the machine told me beforehand.

  Where did the machine come from? My father ran his own business before the incident called Johnnie’s Junk and Treasure. His choice of name was odd since his name wasn’t Johnnie. Today you would call him a picker, and he might even have his own show. One day he came home with a Gypsy Fortune Telling Machine. It was the type you put your nickel in, and your fortune comes out on a small card. The problem was, he couldn’t get it to work, so it sat in our garage. I put my first nickel in when I was 10, and that started my adventure. For whatever reason, the machine only worked for me.

  I don’t know about you but, I can’t stand the thought of a little girl’s life snuffed out for $73.47. That’s how much is in the till. I didn’t count it, but I know the amount. Anger drives me to action. I need to serve up justice. Not the standard justice the systems supplies. That justice puts the criminal back on the streets to repeat his crimes all over again. The police, lawyers, and judges all get job security. Then the public feels good about crime being fought. My justice is real and permanent justice!

  A gruff voice brings me back to the present, “Back off hero before I blow your brains out!” What a moron! I hold my ground with my right hand held up in a non-threatening manner. At least that’s what he thinks! My left hand grips my walking stick which I don’t need for walking. I can fake an awesome limp to make people think I do need it!

  “Just put the gun away, and we all can go home alive tonight,” I say in a calm voice. Everything I do is calm since I know he won’t shoot me. It’s not my time yet. He stands there with an expression on his face that says, “Yup, I’m a stupid caveman!” He doesn’t actually say that thought, but his eye’s do. Bullies expect everyone to back down and cower in fear and are stumped when someone doesn’t.

  It would be fun to know what these scumbags think when they see me. On these missions, I always dress in black. Black Fedora on my head, black gloves, black trench coat, black shirt, black jeans, and black boots. Even my walking stick is black. The only thing not black is the white angel wings on the back of my coat. Theatrics? Yes, but a confused enemy doesn’t lash out and kill the people around him. The confusion allows me to do my work. I never carry a gun or a knife because I don’t need either.

  That stupid voice again, “Do you want to die tonight?”

  “We all want things we never get and get things we didn’t want.” His head turns like a dog’s will when they know you are talking to them but don’t understand what you are saying to them. I think the average dog is smarter than this guy. Maybe the dumbest dog too?

  Now you might think to kill this mental midget is extreme, but, I look at it as a trade. He came here to kill a little girl, premeditated or not, and instead of the girl, he will die. This girl could die tomorrow in an accident or become the most prolific serial killer ever known. I wasn’t meant to know the outcome of tomorrow, yet, only tonight.

  His death means the universe stays in balance. If this wasn’t true then why did the machine keep giving me these missions?

  I could have stayed serving my country instead. That would have been a worthwhile life. Uncle Sam taught me new ways to kill, but then he said I couldn’t follow orders and took to many risks. One night a Major wanted to kill a wanted enemy combatant. Being career military he wanted to become a Colonel. He was willing to sacrifice two innocent families to get his kill. I wasn’t willing to make that sacrifice, so my military career ended. His did too!

  “You must be hard of hearing old man!” Man, I am getting sick of this voice.

  “My current or future health shouldn’t concern you. What should concern you is putting the gun away before you get hurt.”

  “I’m the one with the gun, not you fool. So you should be worried about dying tonight.”

  Wow, he was able to string two sentences together at one time! I’m impressed. We were reaching the end of this confrontation. If anyone called 911 the police would interrupt my work and justice needed to be served. I didn’t want anyone to grow up the way I did.

  The incident happened when I was 12. My mom left for work like any other day. She was the gentlest and kindest woman I ever knew. Turns out a gang of criminals came to town that day. We lived in a small town with a local sheriff. He was a good man but wasn’t very bright. This gang decided the bank in our town was easy pickings. They entered during my mother’s shift demanding all the money in the bank. The old slow security guard decided to play hero and confronted the criminals. A one-sided gunfight broke out, and mom’s life ended in the gunfire.

  It drove my dad to the bottle but drove me to fight. A crazy old vet took me under his wing and taught me things a young boy shouldn’t know. If your mind goes into the gutter, it shouldn’t. He was a good man who taught me how to kill. He wasn’t a pervert. One of our first missions together was taking out a child pornography ring. We completed many more missions together before his time came due. The machine told him when but he still continued to fight.

  Unlike him, my dad drank himself to death. The incident ended his life the same day as my mother’s. He continued to breathe (I wouldn’t call it live) a little longer before the alcohol took him.

  I felt cold metal push against the side of my head. “Last chance to breathe hero!” Big mistake on his part.

  In one well-practiced move, I stepped left and brought my left hand up releasing the walking stick. My left hand grabs the gun, trapping his trigger finger in the guard, and twist his hand back towards his body. The walking stick finds my right hand which continues its motion bringing it down on his head. There is a sickening thump as he goes down with a broken tri
gger finger and a crushed skull. Then a quick move to snap his neck, like Uncle Sam taught me, and the fight is over before it even started. This scum won’t pull a gun on anyone ever again.

  My trademark follows. Hand the intended victim (her mother in this case) $1,000 cash and dispense some heartfelt advice. “Next time get a babysitter and don’t bring your daughter into a dump like this again.” What a helpful gentleman I am!

  Another successful mission, if there was any doubt. No one here will remember much about me. The threat of death has a way of dulling your memory. Plus, the cash helps too.

  The media calls me the Avenging Angel or the Nighttime Vigilante based on witness’ descriptions. I like the first nickname but know deep down that I’m no angel. Maybe I’m a fallen angel? Then they should call me the Demon of Death!

  Back to the garage and the machine. I put my nickel in and say, “Oh mysterious Gypsy Queen, Is Bella safe now?” The machines mechanisms whirl, buzz, and hum before the bell sounds letting me know the fortune is ready. The card comes out of the slot.

  Shit!

  It reads, “Bella will be raped at 2:09 AM by her mother’s boyfriend…” I save her from death, and her reward is something worse than death!

  I remember the day we broke up the child pornography ring. It was the first mission my mentor and I went on together. At the time, I wasn’t much older than the kids we saved. I’ll never forget the blank look in their eyes from the abuse by those pathetic perverts. This isn’t something that I’ll let happen to this little girl. Death may have been a better choice than living in the aftermath of what was about to happen to her.

  So I find myself standing on the porch of this dumpy duplex in a rough part of town. The place reeks of rotting garbage and pot smoke. Some might call this place mid-century modern. But the last century is the last time this place was painted. Bella lives on the first floor of this over-under duplex. Even at 2:05 AM you can hear loud mufflers, dogs barking, and the occasional voice. Maybe I can do this without notice?

  I use my key. When I say key, I mean I put my booted foot through the door separating the lock from the jam! The noise causes a naked man, must be the perv, to pop his head out of a bedroom down the hall. Looks like I found Bella’s room. Before he can react, I close the 20 feet between us. My walking stick comes around, but he is able to duck out of the way. He throws a haymaker with his right hand. Impressive, an actual fight! I twist to the side and throw up a block, so his punch misses the mark. I continue my twist into a spin letting my leg fly catching him in the chest. Not sure if it was hard enough to upset his heart rhythm, so I follow up with a left-right combination to the face. That does the trick because he slumps to the floor. A tweak of his neck and he won’t be getting it up with any kids anymore. Bella slept through the commotion, but her mother didn’t.

  “What you do maniac?” she asked.

  “First I prevented Bella from dying, and now I protected her from your perverted friend! It’s time you started doing your job as her mother and protecting her yourself.”

  “What gives you the right to tell me my business?”

  “Lady, do you know who I am?”

  She replied, “You’re the Avenging Angel.”

  “If you know that then you know I have no problem with killing. If I have to save Bella again, I will make sure that she is an orphan! Are you following me?”

  She nodded, so I took the opportunity to leave before the police showed up. In this part of town, it would take them a while, but they would come for a murder scene. They would call it murder, but I call it a mercy killing. Mercy for Bella!

  Thankfully, the old Gypsy Queen had nothing else for me that night, so I slept.

  Tomorrow night we may meet. If we do make sure you are on the side of the angels or you’ll have to face off with this Demon of Death!

  Author’s Notes

  I hope you enjoyed this story! You can send me any comments or questions at [email protected] or at my website https://www.gregszepanski.com/.

  Good stories start with a question. For this story, it was stated at the beginning. What would you do if you knew the exact moment of your death? There are many different answers one could give but hopefully, your answer would be to live your life to the fullest! For this guy, the answer is to strike out at evil but he does so in an illegal and maybe even immoral way.

  Notice I was purposely vague in this story so you don’t know the antihero’s name or where he lives. It’s possible that he will return again and reveal those facts but they were relevant for this story. My last goal was to experiment writing completely in the first person. You can take some liberties with this type of storytelling and I wanted to experiment with them.

  That’s it for this story! Please check out my other work, which you can find here: https://www.gregszepanski.com/.

  Demon of Death

  Greg Szepanski

  This is a work of fiction meaning the people and places discussed within are purely the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead or and actual events is pure coincidence.

  Copyright © 2018 Greg Szepanski

  All rights reserved. This book is protected by Federal Law. No reuse in whole or in part without the express written consent of the author. This includes reproduction or transmission of this book in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical. No photocopying, recording, or electronic information storage and retrieval systems may be used.

  Previous Works

  Demon of Death

  Author’s Notes

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  Greg Szepanski, Demon of Death

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