Day 69 - Legacy Story

Legacy Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

“This book, this book, this book.  It always comes down to this book.”

“That book is my family’s legacy.”

“This book is a legacy of lies.”

“Lies written down become truth when no one else knows the difference.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to write my own story.”

A heavy fog covered everything in a haze, blanketing the earth so that the forest was barely visible and the ground could not be seen at all.  Above in the night sky, the light of the full moon refracted off the fog, creating an eerie glow, but illuminated nothing.  Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.

From the mist came the sounds of heavy breathing.  A man covered in chilly night sweats was running as hard as his body would allow.  His breathing grew louder and louder and shorter and more stunted.  He was not in shape and would not be running like this if his life didn’t depend on it.  Still, he was not conditioned for this and wasn’t going to be able to keep it up very long.

His eyes darted back and forth, trying to check every angle around him.  He expected someone to appear at any moment.  He was afraid.  Very very afraid.

In his arms, clung tightly against his chest, a package wrapped in brown paper and tied together with twine.  He held on to it like it was his heart and it was the one thing keeping him going, keeping him alive, protecting him from whatever it was in the fog that had him so very very afraid.

The package did not belong to the man.  The man was a thief and his theft came in the form of a very old tome that contained a very old secret.  It was a secret that told the tales of two families and held record of their lands, their loves and their wealth.  Records were important, especially if you wanted to cover up a lie or create your own truth.  Records could prove anything you wanted them to prove, as long as people believed what was written down and took it as fact.

Somewhere in the distance came the sound of galloping horse hooves.

The man stopped and looked around.  The mist was too thick and he could see nothing.  He held his breath, listening, but the horse hooves were gone.

He pulled a revolver from his belt.  The revolver was clearly an antique and not meant to be used as a weapon, but a weapon it had become out of necessity.  He had no other weapon than this family heirloom.  At least he wielded it well.

“Turn back and leave me be!”

There was no response.  No verbal response anyway.

Somewhere in the distant fog, the galloping horse could be heard again.  This time it was closer and getting still closer by the second.

The man aimed the gun at the sound.  There was no way he could be sure what he was aiming at.

The galloping grew closer and faster, faster and closer.

The man’s hand began to tremble.  He slowly pulled back the hammer.

The echoes and noise from the horse seemingly came from all around. 

The man’s teeth began to chatter with fear.  He opened his mouth just to silence the chattering, but then a strange long mix of sounds came forth like a guttural cry.

He fired the revolver, shaking hand and all.

The sounds of the horse stopped.

He chuckled to himself, pleased with his efforts.

“I told you to turn back!”

There was a moment of silence.

“What?  Nothing to say for yourself?”

From behind came the haunted voice of the rider.

“I’d say you have something I want.”

The man turned, but it was too late.  With surprise and superior skill, the rider knocked the man to the ground.  The revolver fell one way and the package the other.  The man himself landed in the thick mud.

“Please!  No!!”

The rider was shrouded in a dark cloak and his face was lost in the mist and fog.  He was a man of mystery. 

“I only want the package.”

On the ground, the man reached out in search of either item.  The fog was too thick and he had no idea where to search.  In a minor bit of luck, the fog kept the rider from seeing where to search as well.

The man crawled through the mud.  The rider felt his way about.

The man inched closer and closer to his revolver, until he was right on top of it. 

Suddenly a knife came down, stabbing through his hand.  The man screamed in pain.

“Wrong choice.”

The rider picked up the revolver and pulled back the hammer.

“Never go for the choice that will get you killed…”

There was a moment of silence while the man stared at the rider and the rider stared at the man.  The rider put the revolver close to the man’s face and fired.