Silas T. Rand

“It’s been a long time since you’ve come around here, Rand.” The gruff tone called out inside the empty tavern. “Was hoping to see an old friend,” I told him with a hint of venom. “You’re not welcome here, Rand.” I heard the barrel of his gun snapback.

“Oh, come now, Murphy. No need for that.” I growled out. The double-barrel gunshot out as the human stood behind the counter, aiming in my direction. “I said you’re not welcome,” Murphy spoke as he pulled back on the trigger.

I watched as the bullet made a sizable hole through my chest and out the back. “Missed me?” I whispered as the illusion faded with a large hole in the wooden door behind the form — time to mess with this old friend of mine. I mused with my lips cracking into a smile.

Reaching my hand out in front of me, I placed one illusion out in the corner of the room. BANG! Another shot rang out, removing the illusion. Chuckling, I put another illusion that ran in his direction, screaming. BANG! Another shot rang out.

“I’m done playing your games Rand. Leave, or I will kill you.” Murphy yelled out as he loaded up the double-barrel. “Come on, Murphy, we’re having fun,” I told him as I stood on the stairs watching everything unfold.

“Fun for you…” He muttered out as he focused on the kitchen room and let out a shot. “I know what you’re doing, Rand, you play games with your victims, and then you leave. Only to return later to finish the job. What is it that you want this time?” Murphy again asked out, this time firing his gun in another direction. This time closer to myself, but in between the stairs and the entrance to the kitchen.

“Murphy, Murphy, Murphy,” I repeated his name, taking one step closer to him. His hands began to shake, the sweat on his brow rolling down the side of his face. His shoulders were going stiff with anxiety. “R-Rand…” He stuttered out my name, his tone light, showing the fear in his voice. “P-Please.” Murphy looked about the room, waiting to take another shot.

My hand reached out to touch his shoulder. “Time’s up,” I whispered into his ear. I could smell the sweat coming from him; I could feel his body quiver to my touch. The bleak scene that once clouded his vision returned.

The tavern was filled with patrons; they laughed, clinked their glasses together, and just overall had a good time. The gun in his hand was no longer there, and he stood in the middle of his tavern gazing outside the door as people came in.

“If you’re late on your payment again… this will happen.” I whispered into his ear and showed a dark, gruesome scene. The patrons inside the tavern were now dead, piled up in the corner, others laying out on tables with blood pooling beneath them. And at his feet, he saw him crying over the bodies of his family before receiving a shot in between the eyes himself.

“You’ve been warned, Murphy,” I told him and clapped his shoulder to snap him out of that illusion. As I turned, I saw that my old friend of mine fell to his knees with his hands on his face. Smirking, I pulled the white porcelain mask over my face — the long flowing black cloak with its hood over my head.

As I walked down the road, I raised my hand made a fist. “Goodbye, Murphy,” I whispered as the tavern he spent his whole life building blew up, killing him, his family and those that were inside.