Free By the Fire: Issue 3 by Stewart Felkel

With Ax e in Hand
     
    It’s really weird to me that I still dream. I know that’s normal for most people but nothing else about me is normal. Being dead has a lot to do with it. But dreams, why should I still have them? After all, I don’t need air. I don’t need food or water even though I can eat and drink. I can even still drink beer I just can’t get drunk. But I still dream when I sleep. Not that I need a lot of sleep. Most people sleep every night but for me it’s about once a week.
    Tonight was my weekly rest session. I fell asleep in Ashley’s bed. Who is Ashley? Well, she works at the brothel. Some things still work like they used to but I won’t go into details. I tend to split my time between the brothel and the church down the street. I know, I know, the dichotomy of life. Or death. Whatever.
    All this chatter leads me back to my point, my dreams, or in this case singular. In my dream I’m sitting next to a stream. Trees line the water on either side of the rock I’m sitting on. I’ve sat on this rock by this stream before. I turn to my left and sure enough there is my old buddy in his black suit and spectacles. This can’t be good.
    “What is it this time?”
    He pulls his glasses off to wipe the lenses with a handkerchief. When they pass his inspection he puts them back on and looks my way.
    “We’ve got another job for you Michael.”
    “Wasn’t the last one enough for you whoever you are” I ask.
    He sighs. “My apologies but it will never be enough. There is much to be done and believe me you don’t have the worst of it.”
    I grunt in reply. What do you say to cryptic nonsense like that?
    “What is it this time? Please no more primitive storm goddesses. I still jump every time I hear thunder.”
    He smiles my way. It’s not a real smile though. It’s like crocodile tears. It’s there but it’s like it’s painted on. I don’t know how I know this and I can’t explain it any better than that. It scares the hell out of me though.
    “Just check your paper when you wake up.”
    He pulls out a gold pocket watch and looks at the time. I crane my neck to take a peek at it but I can’t read it. There aren’t any numbers just strange symbols and there are too many hands all running different directions and speeds.
    “Speaking of waking up, you should be doing that right about……… now.”
    My eyes jerk open to see sunlight streaming through the window. The door bangs open and Ashley comes in with a tray of food. I can smell coffee. It must be brewed really strong if I can smell it.
    “Wakey Wakey, Eggs and Bakey.”
    She’s smiling. I love seeing her first thing in the morning before she puts on her makeup. She looks genuine. And her smile lights her whole face up. I have no illusions about her profession or our relationship but hey, I can’t help but Like Ashley. She’s good people.
    I sit up and rub my hands together as she sets the tray in front of me. She kisses me on the forehead as I spear eggs with my fork.
    “Oh, and I brought you the paper.”
    Of course. I should have known. She plops it on the bed beside me and I debate finishing the plate before I read the paper. Duty wins out however. Once a soldier always a soldier. On the front page is another story about the Axeman, a serial killer who has been terrorizing New Orleans for months. I’m not sure what this has to do with me though. And then I see that something new has happened. He’s written a letter to the paper taunting the police.
     
    Hell, March 13, 1919
    Esteemed Mortal:
    They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.
    When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of