The Shadow Man

I'm certain we've all heard tales of adventure, fantasies and magic. This particular tale happens to be about a convict; condemned to the rope, escaped and then disappeared.

Gerald Mastos was a man of few words. Suspicious demeanor, cool tempered and was never seen dressed in anything but a black silk suit and a tall hat. He stood six feet even, with a lean build and somewhat lanky. He gained a reputation similar to that of a shadow.

He often trapsed from town to town, here one day gone the next. Nobody really knew much about him other than his title "The Shadow Man". The town mayor had called a meeting on a gloomy, overcast day.

"I don't want excuses, I want results!" Mayor Thoms bellowed. "By god, if Oliver Jenkens isn't found within a fortnite, I'll find one of his lazy guards to take his place!"

Gerald slinked into the back of the room, listening to the ruckus from the far corner. Rain had started to trickle onto the roof adding volume to the already present noise. A breeze swept under the door and added to the draftiness of the wooden floor.

"I'll bring the bastard back for fifty gold peices!" one man shouted.

"One Hundred!" Shouted another.

The mayor then knocked a gavel against the wooden block on the podium, "Quiet!" He banged a few more times. "QUIET I SAY!"

The dusty room settled to whispers and muffled grunts. "I'll give whoever catches Mr. Jenkens 1000 gold peices! 10,000 even! I want him caught alive or dead!"

Gerald had made his way out of the building right before the shouting started again. He'd found his target prize not to be the money, but Mr. Jenkens himself! He strode down the muddy road in search of his target, a Cheshire smile sprung onto his face and he licked his lips in anticipation.

Although he was human, Gerald Mastos had the uncanny ability to be unseen naturally. He could slip past any guard, enter any room unnoticed and his first stop was the jail in which Oliver Jenkens escaped. He heard through the bantering guards about which cell he was in and how he managed to escape. What he did to deserve a death sentence was trivial to Gerald.

Like a ghost, he wafted into the cell and began his study. The chains that previously held Mr. Jenkens were undamaged but worn, he could have easily picked the lock with a straw.

Gerald then studied the small window adjacent to the cell door and noticed rubble beneath the window and the bars containing Mr. Jenkens to be lopsided and looked to be tampered with.

Gerald licked his lips again as a beaming smile tore through his face. The evidence showed the direction Mr. Jenkens went and Gerald followed suit. There was a known tavern nearby not a league away. He followed the muddy trail and was soon upon the steps of the Tilted Tankard.

He took a step back from the door as a pair of drunkards rolled out in a fight, the rest of the tavern clamoring after them. Again, he sneaked in unnoticed and sat at a table in the far corner. A fair haired tavern maid greeted him with a tankard of ale and offered him something to eat.

"I'd rather have something else," he said grabbing her hand out of nowhere. She tried to pull away, but he held tighter, his grip like a vice on her wrist. Her red lips parted in protest as he put a finger to his lips then reached into his coat and placed something cold in her hands. Her had shot to her chest as she look at the metallic items; three gold coins.

"What's ya pleasah?" She asked quietly. Gerald gave a smirk, "I'm looking for an old friend of mine. He recently came from the town over not but three days ago. His name is Oliver Jenkens."

The tavern maid gulped, her pale face turning white, "They say 'e doesn't 'ave a soul...it's gonna take more than three coins to-"

She stopped mid sentence as Gerald threw a bag of coins on the table. She stared at the bag, her mind visibly debating her decision in her green eyes. The tavern maid gently reached a hand out and lifted up the bag, coins jangled as she assessed its weight.

The tavern made gulped again as sweat beaded her forehead, Gerald watched in anticipation as she licked her dry lips and took a seat across from him.

" 'e 'appened to pass by yesterday. Only stayed till this morning, paid in silvah then left." She gulped again, taking a swig from Geralds tankard before continuing.

"I ain't know where 'e got the clothes 'e left in but last I saw 'e found a tattered shawl and what looked like a leathah tunic. In passin', 'e mentioned somethin' 'bout a farm."

Gerald smiled and stood from his seat, tipped his hat and gracefully left through the doors. He had a strong guess of exactly which farm she was referring too. There was an old butcher's barn about two leagues west of the tavern that he knew of. Abandoned and condemned by society. The perfect place for an escaped convict to hide.

Gerald licked his lips again, contemplating how crass Mr. Oliver Jenkes really was. Stealing noticable clothing and letting it slip where he would be....the fool. Gerald let out a grim chuckle at the thought as his steady footsteps approached the abandoned barn.

Old rusted chains hung in the mouth of the building and clanked together as the frame swayed with the wind. The rain had died out but it was still noticeably blustery.

A sudden clamor erupted from deeper in the barn and Gerald slinked into the shadows again, skimming the drafty walls, his heart beat with excitement, his prize was within reach.

Gentle muttering could be heard in the direction of the noise, "I've got till nightfall to set this up...." Oliver Jenkens' voice has quieted due to his mind trailing off. Gerald neared the opening of the room, listening intently between the wind whistling through the creaky walls and floorboards.

He peeked between the slits in the walls and lo and behold, his prize! slumped over a bale of hay, trying to fit and old cloth over it making it resemble a makeshift bed. Mr. Jenkens sighed in defeat and muttered a dissapointed curse before laying down on it.

Gerald waited as minutes passed by like seconds, the snoring of Mr. Jenkens soon echoed through the building. Now was his chance! He peeked his head gently around the door frame and immediately spied the handle of an old cleaver, the remnants of slaughter still clinging to the blade.

He gently crept into the room following the light of the flickering candle to the cleaver. Geralds hand grasped the handle delicately as adrenaline replaced the blood in his veins. His heart raced as his mind slowed down, he could taste it; the last breath of Oliver Jenkens.

Mr. Jenkens laid on his back fast asleep, snoring like thunder. Gerald stood over him, lurking in the dim light of the candle. He couldn't contain his glee anymore as he let out a loud cackle, his eyes widening.

Mr. Jenkens woke with a start, terror shone in his eyes, his skin whitening, watching The Shadow Man himself looming over him like a raven waiting to hunt. His dark eyes wild and crazed as he let out another cackle, bringing the cleaver down across Mr. Jenkens face, blood fell in beads down the incision as Mr. Jenkens let out a heart clenching scream. Another crazed cackle rang out as the cleaver severed Mr. Jensens neck. Blood pooled around his head and spattered Geralds attire. Again and again he struck the late Mr. Jenkens. The tearing of flesh and the breaking of bone could be heard between the cackled of Mr. Gerald Mastos.

Gerald admired his work as the old barn began to smell of iron. Blood speckled his face and he licked his lips, satisfied as his demeanor changed yet again to calm and collected. Gerald dropped the cleaver where he stood and left without a word. The rain had caught up to him and heavily showered him clean of his disposal the late Mr. Jenkens. He made it back to the town by sunrise and tipped off a young boy of the whereabouts of Mr. Oliver Jenkens. Gerald Mastos continued on his way to the next town, seeking to sate himself yet again.