The Troll by Brian Darr Read Free Book Online Page A

shrugged as he tried to think of
what to say. “I used to be an acrobat. My whole family was
circus.” The Acrobat fidgeted and hesitantly sat with nothing
more to say. The Troll couldn’t imagine being killed by The
Acrobat…he seemed harmless…nervous even. Maybe even a
potential friend.
    The
Pilot was next in line, but never moved. He stared forward, the same
way he had in the plane. It was scary at first, but The Troll found
it annoying now. He wondered if The Pilot would be too focused to
come after him, but feared what the man would really be like if he
came out of his trance.
    “ He
won’t talk,” the next in line said, standing and
straightening his collar. The man was The Mortician. He had a pale
face, slicked hair and wore a black suit. He was tall and skinny and
The Troll wondered if he really had wanted to be The Vampire until he
found the name was taken. “He is The Pilot,” The
Mortician said. “I’m The Mortician. Death is a hobby…in
the sense that I’m intrigued to know what happens when we pass.
I’ve watched many men die. I look deep into their eyes. I want
to know what they see…what they think…in that moment…
I am death. My very touch will rot your insides until your last
breath is taken...”
    The
Mortician went on, but seemed only to be talking out loud to himself
in a long drawl, pausing between random words mid-sentence. The Troll
watched him carefully, trying to find the threat. The man seemed as
if he was just a gentle giant…too slow to kill. But he’d
watched many die…whatever that meant. He was creepy, but not
in a violent way. He finally sat and a minute passed before the next
decided to break the awkward silence.
    He
had a gray beard and bloodshot eyes, and a drunken swagger. He was a
mess of a human being, with scars on his face and pockmarks on his
nose and cheeks. He was cross eyed and under his cowboy hat, leather
jacket, and boots, was a man dying on the inside. “The
Gambler,” he said with a slur. “Interesting fact: My mama
and papa took their lives. Papa first. Used to walk around with a
noose tied round his neck. Went to work at the factory with that rope
tight around his neck sometimes. Finally went through with it. Mama
followed a week later after she shed all her tears. I didn’t
have the balls…”
    He
sat down and the room became quiet again. The Troll almost slipped.
He wanted to ask “what the hell?” but stopped himself.
He’d always assumed Chicago was a little classier, a stronger
group of people. Hadn’t The Moderator told him they dispelled
the bad habits and valued strong character? The Gambler was another
non-threat, but The Troll refused to believe that he was supposed to
survive this game. Something about this group of people was a very
real threat.
    The
sixth man stood. He was more along the lines of what The Troll had
expected. He had a firm tanned body and a neatly combed part in his
hair. He stood six foot two and wore a red scarf around his neck. He
smiled politely. “I’m The Telepath,” he said. “I
was one of the founders of Circular Prime and assisted in the
creation of the product line. The reason I am called The Telepath is
because I have a special version of Psi in my brain. It was
experimental, but the design was destroyed when we lost our jobs, but
not before I had it injected.”
    “ What
does it do?” The Troll asked, fascinated.
    “ I
can connect with anyone within a quarter mile radius. I can tap into
their Psi and take over their body by using their Psi to control
their neurological system through the brain.”
    The
Troll stared at him in disbelief. The Telepath caught his eye and saw
his disbelief, and before the Troll could say anything, his hands
were suddenly moving without permission. He stuck a finger into his
salad bowl and began to stir it around. He wanted to fight it, to
pull away, but his body was taken over. Moments later, he was
released. He grabbed his hands and shoved them under the table,
afraid