The Ghosts Of Iowa: Olov's Land

By Jaysen True Blood

Olov fled from the old world to get away from his crimes. But he could not hide for long for he had left a path of death and destruction wherever he went. a path easily followed west.

 

Settling in the new Louisiana Purchase Territory, most notably what would become Iowa Territory, he settled into a life of peace and contentment. Having bought a rather large tract of land, he called to those wanting to leave the civilized world behind. And when they came, he helped them build. And kept them safe. then, he resumed his old ways. But this was only the beginning....

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaysen True Blood
• Release date: Dec 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215592908

Jaysen True Blood

Jaysen True Blood was born and raised in the Midwest where he currently resides. His first taste of writing came early in grade school with a class assignment. a few years later, his love for writing would return as he found himself with another class assignment, this time a poetry unit. through junior high, he would write a series of novels, many poems, and begin his long interest in writing song lyrics as well. In high school, he would learn the value of tall tales, myths and other kinds of stories as he continued to build his store of stories. upon graduation, he went for a semester at a university, where he would write two stories, one of which would become a serial online for about six months. Returning home, he worked at just about anything he could find, but never strayed far from his love of the story. After his first marriage, he signed on with Keep It Coming, an e-zine, where he wrote two serials, "Tales From The Renge" and "Breed's Command" (the same characters appear with Fancy Marsh in several subsequent westerns. The serial was taken from a manuscript written for a class assignment while in high school). H also wrote writing and music related articles for the print version of KIC that came out for just three issues. When KIC went under, Jay was once again forced to work at different jobs just to make ends meet. between 2007 and 2010, Jay would release "Seven By Jay: Seven Short Stories", "The Price Of Lust: Book One Of Faces In The Crowd" and "So Here's To Twilight And Other Poems".

Book preview

1.

Olov Jergensen frowned . At seventeen, he was apprenticed to Jens Olovsson. Jens was the local blacksmith. The man was also a harsh man. A hard man.

Olov felt slighted. He felt he should have moved up before Albrecht. And before Haarald.

And yet, he was still at a lower position even though he felt that he was good enough to pass. His work was excellent. At least he thought it was.

His father, Jergen Svensen, had placed him in the apprenticeship in an attempt to better his social standing. After all, blacksmiths were in high demand. And his son deserved the best.

Jergen was the chief magistrate in Pello. It was a modest success, though not something the man wanted for his son. And though it made him a wealthy man, he knew well the dark side.

It drew enemies of all kinds.  Criminals. Political rivals. Citizens who believed themselves slighted by the courts.

He had not wanted that for Olov. Or his brothers. His sisters had been married off to wealthy men when they were of age, one of whom had married someone in the court.

Olov was the youngest child. He had not yet reached his teens when his youngest sister was married off. He had barely reached his teens when his youngest brother had left, leaving him the only child in the home.

His father had apprenticed him out to the blacksmith when he was ten. Or had he been nine? He couldn’t remember.

Now, at seventeen, he was still lower than those who had been apprenticed after him. This angered him. Enraged him.

He felt he should have been already on his own, a blacksmith with at least three years of solo work under his belt. Yet, here he was. Still an apprentice.

This, in his mind, was unacceptable. He had been wronged. It had to be righted.

Come on, boy, Jens bellowed, what’re you waiting for? Are you a man or a mouse?

He bristled at Jens’s tone. The man was drunk again. And wanting to scrap.

Take care, old man, he warned, you’re in no shape to fight me. Besides. You owe me a few chances for all the refusals to pass me on.

Bah! Jens spat. You’re not good enough to be a blacksmith. You’ll never amount to anything.

And who are you to claim such? He returned.

I am the teacher! Jens snorted drunkenly. I know you aren’t worth a thing.

He knew this was a lie. He had done all the work that Jens, who had been too drunk to lift a hammer, had claimed as his own. His work was superior to that of his master.

And now, the man disparaged him. Belittled him. Browbeat him.

Then, something seemed to snap. He no longer seemed to be in control of his own body. And everything went a hazy red.

He absently took hold of the heavy hammer. Advancing upon the older, stronger man, he swung it wildly. And yet, he felt as if he really wasn’t the one swinging. It was as if someone else was.

HE GATHERED ALL THE tools he could. The anvil. The hammers. The most essential.

He took care to hide them well where none would be likely to find them. Then, he set the smithy on fire to hide his crime. Or had he witnessed it?

He threw his bloody clothes into the fire. He had no need for them. Not after changing into some of the dead man’s clothes.

He rubbed his eyes. He would have to tend to the subject of his father and mother. And his brothers and sisters.

He would need his father’s wealth to rebuild elsewhere. He could not have any coming forward to contest his ‘right’ to his parents’ wealth. Nor could he risk allowing any to discover what he had done once he did it.

If asked, he would claim that his parents had died of natural causes. He would also claim to be the only child.  An orphaned only child would not be looked at suspiciously.

He smiled darkly. He had made it look as if Jens had fallen over in a drunken stupor and caused the smithy to catch fire. His crime had been as close to perfect as any could.

He ran his fingers through his red-blond hair and stubble. A beard would hide him well. He would not look like a child once a beard had grown.

And if he grew out his hair, even fewer would recognize him. His only problem was how to deal with his name. Should he remain Olov Jergensen? Or should he take another name?

No, he would remain Olov. For now. Unless it became apparent that his safety was threatened.

He owed his father that much. If nothing more. And he felt that he owed his father very little.

After all, the apprenticeship under Jens had been his father’s idea. Perhaps the blacksmith’s hardness had also been his father’s idea. Something to toughen him up and make him a man.

And his mother had not stepped forward to defend him. Or protect him. She had remained indifferent.

Or so it seemed. And in doing so, she had sealed her doom. It made her just as guilty for his madness as his father.

He furled his brows as his thoughts became darker. His humanity was now completely gone. He was no longer the man his father had hoped he would be.

SCREAMS FILLED THE air. He had killed his father in the study. Hacked him to bits. He had pushed his mother over the bannister to the floor below. Now, he slaughtered the servants.

He showed no remorse. No empathy. No quarter.

All had become his enemy. They all had to die. Every single soul.

He could not allow any to survive. He could not afford the chance that someone would turn him in. They all had to die.

Even those he had loved. They had to die. He had to make sure they were dead.

He would burn the family home down once he had finished. It would cover his wrong. It would hide his evil act.

He had made his father write out a writ for all that now sat in the bank. He had forced his father to sign it all over to him.

You’ve gone evil, his father had snarled defiantly, what you do now will return to haunt you.

I doubt that, old man, he had laughed evilly, for when all is discovered, I shall be long gone.

Perhaps, the magistrate returned coldly, but it will follow you. It won’t matter where you go. It will be waiting there for you to answer for your deeds.

The warning had fallen on deaf ears. He had relished killing his father. The feel of the blood as it splashed against his skin intoxicated him.

When his mother opened the door, interrupting him, he had shoved her from the balcony onto the floor below.  He had looked down at the growing pool of his mother’s blood with glee. He felt—free.

One by one, he had chased the servants down. One by one, he had slaughtered them like pigs. They had deserved their fates. All of them.

Now, he searched the house for any who might have escaped his first onslaught. Once he was sure that all had been silenced, he would set the manor ablaze. The fire would hide his crime.

2.

Olov stood before the town’s banker. He had handed the banker his father’s note requesting all the fortune be placed into Olov’s possession. The banker stared at the note for a short time, then turned to go and retrieve the requested money.

Olov was amazed at how easy it all was. All he’d needed was a single note. He smirked behind the banker’s back.

He watched the man vanish, then return with a bag.

The account will be closed as requested, the banker assured him, then looked up at him, did your father say where he was going?

Not at all, he shook his head, he simply left without warning and took my mother. I was to join them as soon as they called for me.

I was not aware of any changes in who the magistrate was, the banker shrugged, but Stockholm rarely tells us much here. Your father will be greatly missed.

I will tell him when I see him again, he lied.

Hope he visits from time to time, the banker smiled.

I’m sure he will, he responded without the slightest sign of emotion.

We’ll miss you too, of course, the banker added, Jens has always spoken highly of you, just as your father has.

He has? He was genuinely surprised. I-I was unaware of this.

I’m sure, the banker nodded, Jens was never one to praise his students in their presence. Only when they were not around.

I will have to thank him, he lied again, and have him recommend a suitable new master to apprentice under.

I have no doubt that he will send you to the best, the banker remarked, he relies upon you for quality work, you know.

He was now growing uncomfortable. He had suddenly learned that Jens had been relying on him for what he had done. Now, the murder of his old master was seeming to be a mistake.

I had no idea, he shook his head, he has never said such things.

You were always his star pupil, the banker concluded, that is why he has kept you for so long. He hated to lose such a great talent.

I-I will have to beg his forgiveness for some things I have said to him in our last parting then, a tear came to his eye.

Here’s your father’s funds, the banker stated, changing the subject by setting a bag of gold and silver in front of him, be sure to give our regards to your father.

Many thanks, he took the bag and shook the banker’s hand, I will be sure to pass along your greetings.

HE HAD RETURNED TO the scene of the crime. The manor had not caught on fire on the first attempt. He smiled.

Perhaps it was a good thing. He could now eat his father and mother’s hearts. And possibly a sliver of their livers.

In that way, at least in his fevered brain, they could live on. He cared nothing for the servants. They had all been nobodies. They did not matter.

He entered the manor. He stopped briefly at his mother’s side. He was in awe how alive she still looked.

He took out his knife and began cutting her chest open. After all, he was on a mission. He wanted to have done with it before the village realized that there was something wrong and came in search of the servant that generally went into the village to get fresh food.

He chuckled madly as he dug his mother’s heart from her opened chest.he would cook it in the fireplace before he set the house ablaze again. Rising, he went in search of his father’s remains.

Soren, he muttered as he passed one of the servants, you were never too bright. And always dull. Your jokes bored me.

Margarita, he smiled as he passed another servant’s remains, you could have shared my bed, but you thought yourself too important.

He entered his father’s study and sought out the old man’s torso. He rolled it over and cracked the ribcage open. Cutting the heart free, he rose again and headed for the kitchen.

He cleaned himself up and changed his bloody clothing. He would be sure to buy new when he reached Malmberge. Or, perhaps, the first village he reached.

It all depended on whether or not he decided to stay and set up a smithy. Or whether what he was wearing now was worn enough to warrant purchase of anything new. He did not want any extra weight at the moment.

All he wanted to do was get away before his crime was noticed. His perfect crime. A smile flickered across his lips at the thought.

At the same time, he wondered just how long it would take the villagers to find Jens’s body. Would they miss the drunken bastard at all? Or would they only notice when his smithy began to reek of death?

He lit the tapestried and curtains with a candle as he made his way back to the door of the manor house.  He knew that the fire would take time to become a roaring inferno. Especially since he was only lighting certain spots and leaving a great distance between each thing lit.

OLOV WAS GONE WHEN the village noticed the fire. The bank had been emptied of all the family’s wealth as well. By the time the fire had been put out, there was little left of the bodies except smoldering piles of flesh burnt so far beyond recognition they could not tell who they were.

Olov had made sure that the fire would not be visible until he was gone. He had made sure that he would be far enough away that no one would try to catch up to him. He did not need any complications.

He would go to Strangnas via Malmberget. He would not search out his siblings. Yet.

That would be reserved for times of desperation. Besides. It would take time for word of what had happened back in the village to reach his brothers and sisters.

He was safe for now. Still, he knew not what awaited him in Malmberget. Or in Strangnas.

Who knew who he would run into in those places? Who would he be forced to kill next? And for what reason?

Mind if I walk with you? A voice inquired, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Not at all, he shrugged.

Where you headed? the stranger asked.

Malmberget he shrugged, or, maybe, Strangnas. After that, I know not.

I will accompany you as far as Kiruna, the man offered, then, from there, you can find your way on your own. the man paused. Why you heading to Malmberge? Where’s your people?

I am an orphan, he lied, my father, a magistrate in a small village, died of fever. So did my mother.

And you have no brothers or sisters? The man pressed.

No, he lied, I am an only child.

Well, fellow traveller, the man smiled reassuringly, let us be friends. None deserve to go through life friendless.

As you wish, he responded.

3.

Maxen looked at what was left of the manor. How had they been so trusting?  How had Olov fooled them so thoroughly?

Has anyone visited Jens? He inquired.

Yes, a fellow villager nodded, poor Jens looked as if he didn’t have a chance.

Well, he sighed, "Jens did love his mead."

Yes, another villager averred sadly, he did.

Any guess what happened here? He returned his thoughts to the scene before him."

I saw the lady of the house a few hours before Olov pulled money from the bank, the banker, who was just now realizing what he had done, and thought all was well with the magistrate and his family.

Olov was at the smithy until about noon-day, another villager admitted, Jens had left him there to finish some repairs on something this morning while he got drunk.

So, he took in a deep breath, Jens was the first to die.

It would seem so, the villager nodded.

I assume that these are his parents,  he grimaced at the stench, and their servants.

But who is who? One of the villagers  queried.

I would wager that the magistrate will be the one hacked to bits, he assumed, and his mother is likely the one near the stairs. The servants are most likely those bodies scattered throughout the manor ruins. He paused in mid thought. Though I doubt we will know for sure.

And Olov? Another villager inquired.

All we can do is send out word, he began, hoping that someone catches him for us.

And if he is not caught? A villager pressed.

Then, he started, let us hope that he does not do this again. We do not need him leaving a trail of bodies.

Indeed, came the response.

Right now, all we can do is sift through the ashes, he concluded, and see what we can find. Then, we need to bury the bodies properly. With rites.

Then, the villager nodded, we will need the priest.

Yes, he admitted, we will.

OLOV’S COMPANION HAD kept his word. Now on his own, he was nearing Malmberget. His first destination.

Something told him that he would not be staying.  Malmberget was too close to his old home. Too close to his crime.

No, he would continue on to some town further south. Arvidsjaur or Umea. or somewhere further south.

He didn’t know yet. It all depended on how fast news from the north moved. And whether he was forced into a corner.

He frowned. He needed to settle somewhere. Even if it was for a little while.

The wagon he pushed was getting heavy. Perhaps he would have the blacksmithing tools shipped south when he reached Malmberget.  Perhaps he would decide where he was going by then.

Or maybe he would simply send it on to Arvidjaur or Umea. From there, who knew where he would go. All he knew was that he needed to lighten his load.

He couldn’t continue to push or pull the cart he was currently encumbered by. It was more work than he wanted to do. Not that he was lazy, he wasn’t.

But pushing and pulling a cart filled with blacksmithing tools for miles was not his idea of work that he wanted to continue to do. No, he wanted a more leisure journey. Something to ease his rage.

Could you use a bit of company and help with your burden? A voice interrupted his internal dialogue.

As long as you ask no questions, he snorted, turning to see the origin of the voice.

Where you headed? The youth he found behind him inquired.

South, he frowned, that is all you need to know.

Then, the youth grinned, I will not be with you long. Possibly just long enough to get you to Malmberget. I have business there.

Fine, fine, he murmured, but no more questions.

No more questions, the youth assured him.

OLOV HAD LEFT A TRAIL of bodies from Malmberget to Arvidhaur and on to Umia. Even the road to Strangnas had been littered with bodies. After all, no one would miss those wanderers. At least, not right away.

He had been very careful to stash the bodies in places where they would least likely be found. Not by any who were not familiar with the trails. Not unless a bear or some animal dragged the body out into the open.

He planned to get his papers renewed in Strangnas. That would hide his place of origin. It would keep anyone who got suspicious from seeking answers back where he had come from.

He would also buy land to the northwest in Strangnas. Then, he would send for his smithing tools when he reached his lands. Or when he had his new home built.

As far as others were concerned, he would be from Strangnas. No one would know that he was from some little known village on the northeastern side of the kingdom.  A village near the Russian border.

He remembered well when the Russian Tsar won Finland, trimming the kingdom down to where mere miles sat between his village and Russia. He had been in his early teens. Some would say that he had still been a child.

But he had not seen himself as a child at the time. He had wanted to go and fight. He had wanted to restore the kingdom’s greatness.

But he couldn’t. The king had ceded the land to Russia. As a result, his father’s lands had been diminished as had the man’s region of influence.

His father had accepted it and moved on. But he had not. He had turned the bitterness inward.

That bitterness had become something else. A monster that lurked just beneath his serene exterior. A monster that destroyed everything and everyone who brought it out.

Not that it took all that much to bring the monster out. It took very little. Almost nothing.

Mostly, it was brought on by his obsessing over things. Perceived wrongs. Decisions he was not allowed to make for himself.

Or the refusal of someone to shut up. He hated people who were too talkative. They grated on his nerves.

And he loved his silence. Especially while walking. It allowed him to obsess.

It also allowed his paranoid delusions free rein. They fueled his murderous rage. His monster.

4.

The magistrate in Strangnas had been sympathetic. Though Olov had lied about losing his papers, the magistrate had created new. And though they were based on the vague information he gave the magistrate, they gave him the history he desired. Far away from the origin of his madness.

In Strangnas, he had seen an opportunity in a small village just north of Are. There was no magistrate there. No law. Just farmers. And a need for a blacksmith.

His kind of place. He had shipped his smithing tools on ahead when they arrived in town. Once his business had been taken care of, he made his way back north.

In Are, he stopped long enough to commission a construction crew and architect to build his manor house. He even took time enough to shop for furniture and the like. Everything a home