It did not matter that blood trickled from both nostrils in a steady stream, or that one of his ears dripped a clear fluid down one side of his neck.
He felt exhilarated. He knew what was coursing through his veins in that moment.
This is what power feels like. Real, dangerous power.
Jackson had been about to put leather to his lovely Sara. He had hauled up his arm as high as he could manage, and not without some difficulty as weakness continued to steal through him. He had been about to strike with whatever strength was left to him and the sounds of his woman’s screams only confirmed that what he had been about to do was right and just.
But, before he could begin the work of a good husband, what sounded like hundreds of crows surrounding the barn on all sides began squawking, making him hesitate for a split second.
And, in the next instant, he had felt a bony hand upon his shoulder, then heard a voice in his ear say, “Oh my, Jacky. What a bad boy you have been. Turn around and let me get a look at you.”
The voice was terrifying in its coercion and before he could decide what he would do next...and running away had not been entirely out of the question...his feet were moving under him, paired traitors turning him round to face his master.
“Hmmmm....tsk tsk, Jacky. You’re looking more than worse for the wear,” said the thing that towered over him as he fell to his knees before it.
Unable to help himself, Jackson began to kiss its knees and through the threadbare pinstriped pants, he could feel how horribly misshapen the bones were that held the thing upright.
“I’m afraid you’ve gone a little too far to being a creation in my own image,” it said, half whispering to itself.
“And that won’t do. Not at all. I have work for you, dear boy, and time is pressing. So, how about a nice pick-me-up before you get put down?”
A long fingered hand had hooked itself under his chin and tilted his face up, and while Jackson would have done anything to avoid looking at it, he was helpless to do otherwise. It was with great relief that he saw his master wore a burlap sack with a single eyehole torn through the filthy cloth.
It brought its other hand into view and Jackson watched, horrified, as it drew a long and ragged thumbnail across its opposite wrist. Blood welled, but it lacked a bright and healthy red color.
No, what welled up was as black and dead as coal tar, and before he could stop himself, Jackson’s mouth was at that wrist and sucking the foul substance down like a man dying of thirst in the desert.
Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.
His heart lurched in his chest. It did it again and fear shivered through him while he could not stop drinking at the fount his master offered, suddenly convinced he would simply drop dead, his heart stopped cold.
Instead, the foul liquid began to pound inside his chest like a hammer, then it roared with the avalanche of his own blood rushing through him like fire.
It felt as though he was expanding, becoming a giant capable of tearing down entire cities, of swallowing men and women whole.
His master’s power blazed in his own veins and he knew that if he wanted, he could move worlds.
“There, there, Jacky. That’ll do quite nicely, I think,” his master had said while it forced his blood streaked face back.
Jackson had leaped to his feet, all weakness gone, all doubt with it. He felt as though he could run for a thousand miles without taking a breath and did not realize that he was bouncing crazily in place from one foot to the other.
“Now listen carefully, Jack. There are some nasty dogs coming our way. The sort of hounds who are too stupid to know they’ve already been beaten.
“It’s your job to give them...how does one say it...the run around. Yes, that’s it. Jacky, you get on out there and head them off at the pass, m’boy, then keep them chasing after you just as long as you can.”
The burlap sack leaned close and, despite the sense of extraordinary possibilities roaring through his soul, all Jackson wanted to do was to step back away from it.
“Can you do that for me, Jacky? Can you keep those hound dogs at bay for me?”
Jackson felt his mouth drop open and words began tumbling from his lips.
“I can do it, I can do it...can do it, can do it...can, can, k’can can....”
The burlap covered head nodded and said, “Thatta boy, Jacky. Now have at them.”
He had done an about face that any drill sergeant would have been proud to see and then Jackson beat feet out of the barn and into the woods without a second look back.
And, as he ran through the forest with the howling of hunting animals not far behind him, Jackson tried not to think too much about what had come to his ears just as he was leaving.
He had heard the somehow nasty sound of quiet laughter in the evening air and then a muffled voice had said, “Now, Sara, I think it’s high time for us to have a little chat....”