CREATURE OF THE NIGHT IN
DEAD WATCHER SIGHT
(09/02/2004)
It was a quiet night over the lonely evacuated city of Pripyat. The buildings lay rotting and crumbling as nature seemed to be winning its fi ght against the industry that had once threatened to destroy it. The silence of the night was shattered by a lone man running down the broken and abandoned street. He was dressed in green camouflage and his footsteps seemed to die in the night air. He was running harder than he had ever done before. His dog tags clattered against his chest with every stride he took. “Please god, help me” he begged with every gasp of air he took. He stopped in his tracks. He could not take another step. His hand ran over his chest as the stinging pain had returned. The adrenaline he had been feeling minutes ago was now gone. He knew his current situation had now become a dire one as he withdrew his hand from his shirt.
His hand had become soaked in blood. He returned it back onto his bloody chest. He felt his fingers hit four large deep gashes. “It got me,” he muttered as he decided to use one of the buildings as refuge. Maybe he would be able to loose the monster in one of them? He crashed through a mysterious door. Struggling down a flight of stairs and running down another large hallway. He stumbled into a door that was covered in mold, dirt, muddy hand prints, and even blood. He slammed the door and slouched into the corner. He fell to the ground and stared down at the gashes in his side. The blood had made his pants soggy and soon a panic began to fill his already thumping heart.
A loud howl was heard right above him, “oh…god!” The panic that had filled him was now replaced with sheer terror. He reached over to his breast pocket and withdrew his hunting knife fearing the end had come. He watched the ceiling as heavy footsteps shook the floor above him and a low growl rattled the walls. Soon many footsteps could be heard as a soft moaning came from his undead partners. The creature roared into the night and soon chunks of the ceiling came hurling to the floor. A loud CRASH could be heard as the stairs shattered under the creature’s steps. A body seemed to be thrown against the wall and another tumbled down the flight of stairs just outside the door. “He’s coming…they’re all coming,” said the soldier. Maybe the creature would not be able to find him in the darkness? Maybe he could actually survive this by sheer luck? However nobody else from his group had survived unless you counted the ones’ that became an undead walking corpse. There had to be one, somebody had to survive the hunt. The creature moved down the hallway as its raggedy breathing could be heard outside the door. It sniffed the air with every step stopping outside the soldier’s door. He could hear the creature’s mouth open. The creature seemed to taste the soldier’s smell in the air. A loud march of footsteps could be heard from the stairs. The gang was all here.
The creature’s claws raked softly on the door. He raised his knife which was like bringing a toothpick to fight an army. The guns he had once possessed where all gone, and now it had come down to this. He was ready for the fight of his life. He gripped the knife tighter and knew that hand to hand combat would be his final act. The door smashed and a giant piece was torn from it. “GO AWAY,” yelled the soldier, who now realized that the creature could smell his blood. “Please oh god, go away,” the outline of the creature could be seen through the hole in the door.
Its long fi ngers gripped the edge of the hole and ripped the door down to the ground splintering it into kindling. The creature’s figure could be seen through the small light that entered the window of the basement room. The moon seemed to disappear behind a cloud as if not wanting to witness the event unfolding before it. “You have taken everybody, and if you want me…it’s gonna cost ya!” The outline of the creature stood larger than the door frame. A single glowing red eye focused directly on him. Its ragged breathing sent spit to shower over the room. “What are you waiting for” yelled the soldier. The creature roared and leapt on top of the soldier overpowering him easily. Before the creature could sink its claws into the man’s shoulders, his teeth had clamped onto his face. The creature released the soldier as his knife had found its way into the creature’s side. The creature reared back and howled in pain. The soldier withdrew the knife and repeatedly stabbed the creature harder each time digging into its thick fur. He felt the knife go deep into the creature sliding between a set of ribs. The creature’s claws landed in the soldier’s face and pulled out the front of his skull with little energy. The soldier’s hands fell as the creature reared its head back again and roared into the night.
Meanwhile hundreds of miles away, a vast group of men were sitting in a large dining room. They were screaming at several flat screen televisions that ran across every inch of the surrounding walls. Smoke curled from cigars as other men raised their glasses of brandy in triumph and others threw theirs against the wall. A man began to curse in Italian yelling at one of the televisions. The lights dimmed as a spotlight was focused on a stage at the other end of the room. The men grew silent as a lone man approached a microphone in the middle of the stage. “Attention my fellow Dead Watchers attention, I am of course your Speaker for this season’s hunt,” all the men in the room turned to the Speaker. “It is my duty to officially tell you that the Elites have announced this year’s hunt to have officially come to an end. This marks the end of another memorable season.” The reactions from the crowd seemed mixed. Some men booed loudly, while others gave a polite applause thanking the man for a pleasant weekend. “We’re now going to conduct the official raffle for next season’s hunt, then announce this years Skull and Bones Awards. Now as everybody knows if your number is called you will report to the conference room at the back of the ship. There the Voice will inform you of the details and stipulations on next year’s hunt. I am afraid all the rest of you fellow Dead Watchers must wait until next season’s hunt for all those little details. Lastly, we will be taking reservations for next season’s hunt so make sure you sign up today. Once again, this concludes the 2004 hunt. Thank you and I hope to see you all next season.”
The Speaker was about to walk away, but stopped “oh and I almost forgot, if you picked Sergeant First Class John M. Steele of the 2nd Ranger Battalion to be the winner, you can collect your winnings in the Wagering Room.” The Speaker walked away from the table as another man approached the microphone. This man was younger and a lot pudgier than the other. But this man was different because he carried a remote with him. “Hello everybody, the Elite have just concluded next year’s lottery drawing and selected the ten sponsors for next season’s hunt.” The group of suits clapped respectfully and the man continued, “The Elite have informed me that next season’s hunt is going to be different from previous seasons. So, make sure you reserve your spots today.” A whir of a projector could be heard as a list of names appeared on the back wall. “If your name appears you know the drill. I have officially been told by the captain that we will be pulling into port in three hours time. Thank you and I hope to see you next season. The hunt will begin as usual on Oct. 31st.”
The man gave a little bow and exited the stage as all the suits began to shake hands. The room fi lled with chatter as people began to fi le out of the room. Meanwhile many other men were reading the list off the projector as ten men were escorted around the side of the stage and through a set of black doors. The pudgy spokesman escorted the men to a room that was encircled by a glamorous view of the ocean. The ship gave a blow of its horn as the pudgy man gave a squeak, “please gentleman, the Voice will be with you shortly…I must begin boarding procedures.” The pudgy spokesman gave a little bow “good day to you gentleman and I look forward to seeing you all next year.” All the men sat around a brown table leaning back in their luxurious padded office chairs. One of the men rose from his seat, he had gray hair slicked back with what looked to be Crisco oil. He smiled as he twirled his gray mustache. A monocle hung from his right breast pocket and glimmered in the sunlight. He smiled serenely as he stared around at the nine other men, “some of you I haven’t met,” he stared at several of the men. “And some of you I have,” he turned to the other people that seemed to nod their head in acknowledgment. “I feel that since I have the most money and highest rank of our little club.” He giggled a little and continued, “I feel that it is only proper for me to take charge until the Voice formally enters.” A broad shouldered Russian man, whose cheeks hung like a bulldogs yelled, “How dare you! I MAKE twice as much money as you!”
The man gave another soft giggle, “oh please Ivan you couldn’t sell shit to a farmer.” Another man stood under-dressed from the rest of the group with his red bow tie and began to protest. “I know who you are Pascal and it’s not hard selling oil now is it?” Pascal slammed his large fist on the table shaking the glasses of water as the man giggled again twirling his mustache. “Before I was rudely interrupted…” his head tilted towards Ivan and Pascal, “I am Lord Otto Wolfe Browne Beytout.” He paused as if waiting for an applause that never seemed to come. He giggled again as he straightened his tie, “I think we should all go around and introduce ourselves and our ventures.” He gave a superior smile as he said, “I inherited my money. My father and mother have been Dead Watchers since its inception.” He gave a final superior chuckle as he turned to his left. A man with white hair that seemed to mimic the shade of freshly picked cotton. His black tuxedo was made from the smoothest fabric. His sliver mustache was combed perfectly straight, and his face glared at Lord Otto like a used piece of tissue paper.
Refocusing his attention back onto the group his disgust in Lord Otto seemed to be felt by a majority of the people. He rose to his feet as Lord Otto sat straightening his pants softly, “My name is Harold Rosenberg the third. I think most of you have heard of my diamonds?” They all seemed to nod their heads politely. Lord Otto gave an obnoxious giggle of comprehension. Mr. Rosenberg sat as the next person stood his brown hair seemed to take on the shape of a football helmet. The wrinkles in his face gave him the appearance of being older than he appeared. “My name is Joseph Michael, I am lawyer,” “a lawyer,” whispered Lord Otto. He gave a soft girlish giggle as Joseph scowled sitting down. An older gentleman whose face seemed to sag with tiredness, he sat in his chair almost too tired to stand, “Conrad F. Mansbridge…I own many correctional facilities in Rhode Island, New Jersey, and most predominantly in Maryland.” The Russian man still displayed disgust at Lord Otto and for a second seemed unwilling to participate. Conrad nudged his large shoulder almost sleepily as Ivan gave a stern “Ivan D. Dimitiri, I sell vodka and that is all!” A dark skinned man with buzzed black hair sat crossing his cigar like fingers together in polite interest. A large gruesome scar running from the left of his face to the right stretched as he gave a firm and direct “Thorbjorn Olofsson I’m a founding member of the National Rainbow Coalition and Kenya’s current Minister of Finance.” A chubby cheeked man with a blue tailored suit and a silk red tie followed Thorbjorn. He had a stern look about him and he gazed at every member before he spoke, “My name is Ron Reid Edwards, and I am a deputy with the Mexican Sessions, three time Assistant Coordinator to the National Action Party Parliamentary group, two time Coordinator for the NAAPG, two time Coordinator for the Population Commission. I am also on the National Executive Committee for the…” “Jesus,” yelled the man to his right. “We get it alright Ron!” Ron gave the mousy man a blood thirsty stare, “don’t you silence me Gordon you prissy little prick! It’s enough I have to put up with Mr. Snobby over there!”
Lord Otto was not even remotely paying attention to Ron, absent-mindedly picking at his fingernails giggling at the simplicity of it. His eyes rose as he noticed the room staring at him. He gave a smug smile as he said “I am sorry did you finish talking Ron?” Ron fell silent as the small mousy man ended the silence with a soft “Gordon Wim Ford.” He straightened his small glasses and added “let’s just say that I have held many diplomatic positions at the European Union and the United Nations.” The man next to Gordon stared at him politely as his eyes traveled towards each individual, “where is the Voice? He should be here by now shouldn’t he?” Everybody grumbled until the man gave a snide, “alright, alright, Jesus…my name is Pascal Bolkestein former Secretary General of NATO and the tenth largest private owner of oil.” Head like a large cabbage he leaned back in his seat which seemed to protest under his overly large stature.
The last man sat in his seat still and quiet as a dead night. His voice was no more than a whisper “my name is…” The whole room bellowed “louder!” The man had an unshaven face with eyes that gave of f a plain sort of feel. His hands ran together as he seemed nervous about addressing the group. “My name is Jango Cassidy and I own several newspapers and magazines.” Jango fell silent as a door crashed open revealing a man being escorted by two other men in black suits. The man in front was clean cut and stood with a posture that you could only find with the most respected leaders of a country. He had combed back gray hair and gold rings on his fingers. His teeth sparkled in the sunlight and he gave a polite nod to every member in the room. “Sorry to keep you all waiting gentleman…since you’re all intuitive men can I assume that introductions have been made?” They all nodded in agreement, Lord Otto gave a small giggle as he beamed at all the members. “I am afraid that I don’t have much time. I have to begin preparations for next season’s hunt.” Every member nodded as the Voice continued, “I am one of the thirteen Dead Watcher Elite and as customary nobody knows any of our names and I would like to keep it that way. I have come here to tell you the official rules for the next hunt. And I must say my fellow Elites and I are very excited…many of the rules will remain the same, but one has changed with unanimous approval.”
They all stared at each other wondering what could be the difference with this hunt. “We have seen the best soldiers, hunters, and fighters all fall to Creature X.” All the members smiled at each other as if reliving a fond memory. Lord Otto giggled absent-mindedly as Ivan glowered. Thorbjorn’s fi ngers were still crossed in polite interest at the Voice who continued, “We have seen brave men and women all fall to the creature including many of our personal nation’s heroes. However for this upcoming hunt the Elite feel that it would be interesting to see the most evil people that you personally know f ight against the creature.” Lord Otto gave a wide smile as he gleefully giggled, “Oh how fun!”
The Voice raised his finger and said, “Rules are simple, you must actually know the person or have had personal contact with them. The Elites have initiated Gatherers to do extensive background checks on each of your candidates at the official weigh in. If no previous interactions or contacts were made with your candidate you will be f ined heavily and your collateral will be seized by the organization. T he candidate you choose must not have any formal military training, belong to any country’s military organizations, and originality counts…no duplicates either! I don’t want ten serial killers or ten cartel members. Resistance fighters are fine as long as there is no formal military training…any questions?” They all glared at each other as if they where trying to figure out their opponents next move.
There came a loud grumbling as if a motor was trying to turn off “wha…wha…what you mean collateral?” The Voice turned to Ivan, “Can I assume this is your first time sponsoring? Every sponsor Ivan must submit something to the group to show their integrity in their candidate. If the Gatherers find no connection or interaction between you and your candidate then your collateral will be seized. And surely to answer your next question, collateral can range from anything to a business, house, money, or anything valued over ten million dollars.” Many members of the group began to clamor in argument but Lord Otto sat still picking at his nails giggling slightly as if the money meant nothing to him.
“I understand your concerns…I understand them. My fellow Elites and I have increased the collateral because this is not like looking up files on a military soldier. There is much more risk involved with society’s scum. To reiterate the Elites want you to find candidates that are the worst, most dangerous, or most evil person that you personally know… any more questions?” The Voice seemed to take the group’s silence as comprehension as he clapped his hands and said “wonderful, you will present your candidate at the weighing ceremony next year on Oct. 24th so the medical exams can be finished on time. Those Gamer Guides don’t write themselves! You will also receive next year’s rules before you disembark. If help is needed in requisitioning your candidate Rounders are here around the clock to help you. Their names and stats will also be present with the rules. Collateral must be submitted before we pull into port today.” The Voice scanned the room and bounced on the edge of his feet saying “thank you for your time gentlemen and I personally am very excited about this new idea…” He turned from the spot and began to walk from the room. He stopped and turned back to all the members “I am sorry but mercenaries also do not count since their lifestyle is considered military.” Ivan slammed his fist on the table as Ron gave a loud “Chinga!” Many members of the group seemed hurt by this sudden rule. The Voice smiled at all of them, “I am sorry but we think it will make the hunt a lot more interesting and unique for all of us, don’t you? Also we’re adding a new award to the Skull and Bones Awards. Any sponsor receives an extra $500,000 for the most original candidate. We’re calling it the Diamond in the Rough Award.”
Despite all the disappointed faces most of them nodded their agreement. “It will bring originality to our little sport and move us all away from the monotony of soldiers and military training.” Everyone rose as the Voice gave one final smile and left the room as quick as he had entered. Lord Otto rose from his chair, “Thank you gentlemen for a lovely three days. I’ll see you all next year for the hunt.” Everybody else began shaking hands as Lord Otto gave his girlish giggle with every hand he shook. Soon the room dispersed and the ship crudely named The Getaway pulled into port. Each of the ten selected members of the Dead Watchers were released to fi nd the most evil and dangerous people they have ever known.