Not quite a "Short" story, but I came up with this on the spot. Therefore, it will be worse then most of my terrible writing attempts.
The Case of Mr. Jennings
As he ran through the woods, the man kept looking behind him to make sure that those things weren't following him. Checking again, he saw that they were still there. "I'll lose them in this cave," he said to himself. As he looked out the entrance at the things running past, he remembered....
July 15th, 1943.
"Captain, it's your turn to go on patrol," said the flight leader. Just weeks before, Wilson R. Jennings had joined the RAF, hoping to look after his cousin, but ended up in a different squadron. As he climbed into his Hurricane Mk II, Wilson noticed that his victory marks- 10 of Jerry's fighters he had scored since arriving-were missing. Shrugging it off, he started his engine, rolled down the tarmac, and soared into the skies.
About 20 minutes into his flight, Wilson spotted a Panzer column advancing towards what he knew to be an underground unit's HQ. Banking to left, he dove on the tanks. By the time the lead panzer blew, his twelve 7.7mm Vickers machine guns were overheating. Pulling out of the dive, Wilson radioed the tank's position to a nearby yankee artillery emplacement. Knowing he could put one more marker on the nose of his plane when he returned, Wilson did a half-loop and headed home.
His victory was short-lived, however. On his way back, Wilson spotted five Messerschmitt Bf. 109 E-3's diving at him. Immediately, he pulled the stick back, and opened up on the lead 109. He laughed as it burst into flames, only to watch in horror as it pulled up and swung onto his tail. The other four followed suit. "Blasted Jerries!" Jamming the stick into his stomach, Wilson looped over his pursuers.After finishing his loop, Wilson had put himself directly behind the 109's. Almost afraid of what would happen, he fired into the German fighter right in front of him. This time, his rounds hit home, and ignited the 109's fuel tank. The explosion launched pieces of aircraft into Wilson's flight path. Narrowly avoiding several pieces of the 109's prop, he pulled up next to the remaining 109's. Noticing he was out of ammunition, he looked over to salute the enemy, for they were truly worthy adversaries. To Wilson's surprise and horror, he saw not a young German flyer in the pilot's seat, but a half dead, disgusting, corpse. To stunned to do anything he watched as the other pilots-also these "things"- saluted him. Quickly he pulled away and sped back to base.
"Wily, you seem disturbed," said the Squadron Leader. "Anything odd happen up there today?" Not wanting to talk about it, Wilson responded that everything had gone well, talking about the two victories he won. "Nice shooting, chap."
The two talked the rest of dinner about past flights. When the pilots turned in for the night, Wilson still couldn't get his mind off the odd occurrence of the day. Finally, he dozed off for the few hors he could.
The next two years went by almost without incident. The only appearance of these living corpses had been when Wilson was shot down over Hammelburg in 1945.
A routine flight they told him. It'll be a milk run they said. Not any more. At the end of '43, Wilson had been transferred to a heavy bombardment group. On his most recent mission, a Focke Wolf 190 A-5 had torn of both wings of the Avro Lancaster he was in. The lone survivor, Wilson had been on his way to the famed Luftstalag that helped downed flyers escape.
On his way into town one day, he was stopped for an identity paper check by three Gestapo men. He calmly gave them the false papers issued to him. Then he saw their faces. By now, they looked as if all the flesh on their faces ad melted off. Their skeletal grins were the most terrifying thing Wilson had ever seen, and that was saying something. He began to run, but was quickly grabbed by two Wehrmacht guards. He was turned over to the Gestapo, and shoved in a car. Before long, they arrived at a camp. Not a POW camp, but a camp out in the woods. As he looked around, Wilson noticed the torn uniforms of RAF and USAAF flyers lying around. One of the things grabbed him by the collar and tied him to the makeshift table. One can only guess what they were planning. Then it hit him. He hadn't slept for three days. Surely he could just take a little nap. No harm there...
Wilson woke up the next morning, and noticed a bustle of activity. After ducking behind a fallen tree, he noticed something rather odd. There were hundreds of U.S. and Royal British soldiers taking care of normal camp duties. Suddenly, a voice behind him said, "Awake I see. Must've been out for several hours. We were about ready to call it quits on you." Nervously, Wilson asked the man, "W-where am I?" The answer came as a horrible surprise. "You're in England, buddy. Where did you think you were, Germany?" The man gave a smile and helped Wilson to his feet. Shaking Wilson's hand, the man introduced himself. "Lieutenant James William Jennings. My brother and I are in the RAF. And you are?" To shocked to speak, Wilson stammered, "I-I don't know." James looked confused at this, but told him to not worry, that he would let Wilson sleep in his brother's bunk. At the mention of his brother, James looked depressed. "He was shot down over Germany three weeks ago. I have been contacting Stalag 13 and the Underground everyday since his plane was reported missing." He then had a sudden change of attitude. "Call me J.J. Everyone does. I'll let you freshen up a bit before I take you to the Squadron Leader." Left in the barracks to think, Wilson wondered a few things: (1) Why were those things in Germany trying to kill him? (2) How did he end up in England? and (3) What should he do now? He dismissed the first one as unimportant. The second one he decided he didn't want to know. The third one was troubling him, though. Then it came to him. He would come up with his backup ID card he always left in between his bunk frame and the pad he slept on. Was it there? YES! He would tell the officers who he was, and then request to be discharged. After all, Wilson R. Jennings was the top ace in the RAF.
His encounter with the CO went exactly as planned. Within hours, Wilson and J.J. were on their way to London. While driving with the radio on, a exciting news bulletin was announced: "ATTENTION ENGLAND! THE WAR IS OVER! Yes folks, only 5 hours ago, the Western allies met the Red Army in the center of Berlin." The two stared at each other in silent joy. They rode the rest of the way home celebrating the hard fought victory over the Third Reich.
The two brothers established a law firm, as had been their post-war dream. Over the years however, Wilson had turned into a bit of a psycho. His wartime experiences had taken their toll. Or so everyone thought. Really, "they" had come for him. And one night, they got him....
1953
As he cautiously glanced outside, Wilson knew that the things chasing him now were the same things that had chased him 10 years ago. They were getting close now. He couldn't fight them like he used to. Knowing what he had to do, Wilson picked up a heavy tree limb and waited for "them."
When they came, Wilson R. Jennings, England's top ace, the World War Two hero, charged his otherworldly foes.
