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   THE TALE OF BRAVE BRIAN PRATTLE
                                           By Gregory L Hall

"Impressive scrapbook," the voice hissed. "But do you know what it's
missing?" Brian Prattle shook his head no... although he knew the answer.

                                                   *

"Welcome home, hero!"
He could still hear it as if it were said today. Crossing the street and waving to
the people in his small town. He could still see the bright red colors on the
banner that hung in front of his family's hardware store. Brian Prattle had
returned from the war a local legend. Newspapers near and far bragged
about his well decorated service. The President of the United States actually
congratulated him by name in a speech. Of course, his war was many
decades ago, in those godforsaken jungles, and there had been many wars
since then. But time only enhanced his worth as a man. His worth as a hero.
Brave Brian Prattle. He could stare death in the face and walk away
untouched. He served two tours of duty and faced countless battles. No
matter how much blood soaked into that pungent soil, it was never Brian's.
Lives were lost all around him like continual spins of a carnival wheel but he
suffered not a scratch. There wasn't a bullet out there with Prattle's name on
it. He could walk through cross-fires like a ghost. If there was a greater
inspiration to the men, it wasn't in that foreign land.
When he returned to the states, Brian's first year was filled with dinners and
parades and entire afternoons dedicated to handshaking. He dated
Senator's daughters and models and was even rumored to have been
engaged to a movie star. But it didn't take long for the spotlight life to grow
weary. Brian craved something else. Something to fill the huge void he had
in his gut. He wanted action. He had to face death again.
The next decades were an endless series of dangerous challenges. Foolish
for anyone else but when it came to Brave Brian Prattle; the world held its
breath and waited for another tale to be added. He suffered frost bite and
starvation when his party lost three men in the Himalayans. His leg snapped
during a locally televised skydiving accident when his parachute didn't open
until the last possible second. He swam with sharks and wrestled crocodiles
in Australia with famous zoologists. His mantra rang more from fact than of
boasting.
"Broken bones and wounds heal quickly once you've stared ole Death down."
By the time he reached the later third of his life, many thought Brian Prattle
was immortal. He was that rare individual who would only go when Death
agreed to his terms. Anyone who had the honor of meeting him saw a man
who truly owned every minute of his life. A man who had complete control of
his own fate. His eyes were always clear and determined and confident.
That's what happens when a man knows no fear.
And so that October night was like any other night for Brave Brian Prattle.
The wind howled past a full moon and there was an off-kilter chill to the air. A
stray tree branch tapped against his second story bedroom window. The
shadows seemed a tad bit darker than usual. Almost any other human being
would feel the hair stand up on the back of their neck. Maybe pull the
blankets tighter up under their chins. Any other person would keep alert eyes
darting back and forth across the room when the lights went off. But not true
heroes like Prattle. He fell into sleep's waiting arms without hesitation knowing
he would wake tomorrow untouched.
He paid no attention to the swirling mist in the comer of the room.
Brian Prattle was deep into a wonderful dream about his upcoming African
hunting expedition when a figure emerged from the lifeless black smoke.
Prattle was shooting a seven hundred pound man-eating lion at dangerously
close range as the figure sat on the small couch across the room . Prattle was
posing with a lion carcass for yet another picture as bone fingers opened the
thick scrapbook on the tastefully matching display table. The figure silently
turned page after page while Brian Prattle slept the night away.
Then after the last page was read, the figure closed the book on the
celebratory life of one of the bravest men who ever walked the Earth. It glided
across the room without a sound.
And Death sat upon Brian Prattle's chest.
"Impressive scrapbook. But do you know what it's missing?" The hollow voice
crawled inside Prattle's ear like a worm.
Brian the Brave felt his chest pressured into short breaths. Oxygen seemed
more and more difficult to suck into his compressed lungs. And yet the figure
on top of him flowed unstable like oil in water, with little weight to it. Cold
tendrils snaked up and down Prattle's muscular body and they froze his spine
harsher than any night lost in the Himalayans. It seemed contradictory that
he would be drenched in sweat then but he was, soaking through his sheets.
He squeezed his eyes shut and with clenched jaw wished this rare nightmare
to be gone.
The whisper from the deepest of graves continued almost lyrically. "Open
your eyes, fragile little Brian Prattle. Come look upon your old friend. Stare
long into my empty ashen eyes. Then brag that you walked away again."
Brave Brian threw his arm across his face and a fire flooded inside his body.
A foreign inferno whose name was fear. He shook uncontrollably as he found
himself pleading with the inhuman creature like the foes he thought were so
weak groveling at his feet during the war.
"I'm not going to open my eyes! I don't want to know who you are or why you
came here! I did nothing wrong. Please just leave me alone! I beg you,
spare my life!" An ice cold hand lay on his flesh, its bony fingers spread apart.
Then it plunged deep inside his chest to clutch his panicked heart.
"I could easily take your life this way. Your existence I could erase. But for
such a hero as you, false as it may be, I demand you look upon my face!"
The legendary man among boys sobbed like a wounded child. His twitching
fingers clutched desperately at his blankets as if they would provide
protection against his netherworld threat. Another wave of sweat washed
over him to mix with the urine that had escaped his bladder. He felt Death's
whisper come closer in frigid jabs of air that pierced his ear.
"You've claimed to have always beaten me. Challenged me with endless
dares. But the only reason you escaped me, dear braggart," the specter
chuckled like an echo in an abandoned tunnel, "was because I was never
there!"
Brian's eyes flew open to stare upon blackness, hellfire and bone. Sound
ceased to exist. The hooded creature cupped the hero's handsome face
then leathery wings sprang forth. A scream pierced the silence and Prattle
recognized it as his own. The demon-angel's smile shared pure glee. It threw
its head back and unleashed a laugh that drowned out all other noise.
Another tale was born in the name of Brian Prattle.
"Although mystery and rumor surround the details of that night most folks will
tell you Brave Brian Prattle died painfully of fright. His hair shock white, his
eyes locked in place, his lips straining for something to say. Possibly a
warning to other fools... that no man ever looks upon Death and then simply
walks away."

THE END

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