Soldier's Journal

When we had heard word of zombie attacks in the west Shadowglen, many new recruits signed up for battle, myself one of them. We were going to protect the human way of life.

However, when we arrived, we were confronted with such enemies like we had never seen before. Though we took all of the necessary precautions, their diseases spread through our lines with ease, sinking in to twist our flesh in unexpected ways. Our eyes rotted from the inside out. Others became hosts for vampire-like parasites.

The war grew more confusing. It was unclear which side each individual was on, and the chaos inspired fear. With fear came a willingness to slay without hesitation.

My body forgot the emotions it once knew. Things like happiness and love became foreign to me, but it was irrelevant. Watching bullets pierce the enemies and feeling blood splatter across my skin brought on a new high that I desired to relive again and again.

After a particularly bloody killing, I found a bone-handled knife that seemed to have a spirit of its own. It knew the feeling of flesh and it rejoiced in slicing through. Although it was an unassuming blade, it became an extension of my hand. A family member that sees me through each battle.

I'm not sure when the war ended. Eventually, the fighting died down as the body count rose. And I had to look elsewhere to satisfy my desires - to smell blood in the air, to see it gurgling slowly out of a lifeless body. It was an obsession that I daren't give up.

With such mannerisms, I knew I couldn't assimilate with the rest of the population. They didn't know what war was like, and they couldn't understand why I so lovingly wanted to perpetuate it. The humans and zombies alike came to whisper my name in fearful whispers, and I decided to reside permanently in the forests of Shadowglen. I found a small cave and outfitted it with the necessities.

The walls were lined in stacks of bones, each neatly organized by the date of the kill. In the center was a cauldron filled with blood that bubbled away merrily each day. Just the essential decorations were included in my humble home.

One day, my knife was calling to me, knowing that someone was lurking a touch too close to the cave. In my excitement, I bumped into the cauldron and knocked some hot blood on a nearby pile of bones. That particular kill had been a young child infected with a disease the locals affectionately called "love bug." Ignoring the mess, I stole out into the forest.

I returned home a bit later, pleased with the discovery of many locals lurking out in the woods. I would need more supplies. However, once I entered my cave, I noticed the disturbance right away. The mess I had left - of blood on old bones - was gone.

I quickly kneeled on the floor and looked for any other oddities. There. Underneath a bearskin blanket on my bed was a small bump. I poised my knife in hand, ready to plunge it downward. With my left hand, I quickly ripped the blanket off the bed...

And saw the pile of bones. It rumbled quietly, twisted, and then peered up at me. Empty sockets assessing me. The hot blood had molded the original bones into a new creation.

"Desiderio."

I don't know what prompted me to name it, but it recognized the name right away. Yes, Desiderio the Bonedancer. A perfect companion to someone like me.

Faint cries began sinking in through the walls, the small makeshift militia heading toward my location.

"The Kill! The Kill! The Kill! The Kill!"

No, you fools. Eskill.

Victims

Tools of the Trade