I was part of a squad of commandos. Our mission was to infiltrate a medieval stronghold in the mountains. The mission was simple enough at the outset. When confronted by the reinforced door, we tore it down with machine gun fire from our M-16 rifles. From there, we stormed the gates and began our mission in earnest.

Out of the corner of my eye, I kept spying a shadow. The deeper we went into the fortress, the more frequent the distraction of this dark figure at the periphery of my vision. I stopped in the middle of a catwalk and turned in its direction. Here's one of those "you hadda been there" moments. Standing on a stage about thirty feet away and below me was a dark grim reaper-esque figure. Nearly everything about the form was black except for his teeth which were a dark gray like newspaper. My lagging behind caught the squad's attention and they came back to check up on me where they also found the figure. Within seconds they were shouting "Move! Move! Move!" and began getting the fuck out of Dodge while I stood there dumbfounded by the horror before me. Whatever it was, it embodied every nightmare and waking-life fear in its simple presentation. I was certain our differences couldn't be expressed through a lively game of chess.

Common sense jolted me out of my trance and I made tracks for the door with the nightmare man running after me. Fortunately I didn't have that annoying dream cliche of running really slowly as if I was mired in cold molasses. Back outside, I realized that this was my only real chance to do anything so against my better judgement I re-entered the building. I found a long sword on the wall which I figured would be more useful than any modern firearm. A maze of twisty little passages, all alike much later I found the nemesis standing on his stage with his back to me. With all my fury, I hacked at it without regard to my own safety. Now the thing was less tall and gaunt but made up of two sections like a spider with a face which was rapidly becoming pale. By the deathstroke, the nemesis was reduced to a pile of gray bones with shreds of shadow clinging in a non-sequitor breeze.

Ting-ting. A sound caught my attention. Rolling from beneath the pile was a tarnished ring which I immediately identified as the Ring of Thrift. Out of curiousity I placed it on my finger and underwent a frightening change into the new nemesis. Any attempt at speech only served to release a luminous torch of frost from my mouth. My body twisted into two arachnoid sections as shadows gathered around me. My former teammates found the cajones to storm the castle and I was the primary target. Fortunately the ring conferred knowledge about its use. If I dipped my ringed hand into one of the numerous lava pits, I could perform the touch of death. Touching lava with my unringed hand would lead to horrible burns. The latter was learned by trial and error. Soon I was surrounded by the bodies of my comrades.

When I left the castle, I was outside my paternal grandmother's house and heading into a two level RV parked in the driveway. My folks were heading out to Colorado to see Pikes Peak in person. My little sister was along for the ride and she kept interrupting me while I was trying to convey the importance of this nemesis's existence. She wouldn't even let me ask if my dad or mom knew about this thing. For a two level RV, the vehicle was really, really cramped.

Our trip was uneventful and took less subjective time than I would've feared. I blame this on the lack of windows. Kinda like a watched pot never boils. A neverending landscape means you never reach your destination.

The top of Pikes Peak was much greener than I rememeber from my September trip. Plus there were several false peaks before one reached the true peak. My dad navigated our behemoth through narrow and packed parking lots. At this point I had a brief bird's-eye view of the situation and I was giving him assistance on where to park. Outside the parking lot was one of the false peaks. Rambling down the side was a clear, blue waterfall. I stood beside it, feeling the water run through my fingers while contemplating my situation until I heard my parents yelling after me to join them. Up ahead I could see the true Pikes Peak. A grassy spiral spun its way higher and higher to our final destination.

Halfway up the spiral, a storm erupted overhead with fierce winds blowing dark clouds and driving rain on all the tourists. Before long the wind increased in strength to the point that it would blow people over the sides. I made it to safety but I knew nothing about the fate of my family. Later my shelter in the tourist shop became a triage for the wounded who weren't blown over the side. Outside the skies were still menacing with shadow as if its work wasn't done.

One of the new stretchers had someone wearing an oxygen mask. I ran over and tore off the mask only to find my father who was barely clinging to life. He didn't acknowledge me. Within moments, dad started turning reddish-orange like a sunset before turning a steely blue with a cast of death. A tall, bald doctor with cokebottle eyeglasses stood over him holding a syringe. The contents of that syringe could save my father but the fucker didn't do a damned thing for him. Herr Doktor just stared off into space, talking to an unseen audience while gesticulating with the needle. The only bit that could be considered as funny was from my father. Now and again Dad would reach up to his right shoulder with his left hand and poke the doctor to remind him that eventually he needed his shot.