by Dan O'Brien
Robert’s mouth hung open as he realized that the voice had come from the sock with the malignant red stripe. “What did you say?”
“The Scourge calls,” spoke the voice once more.
The pike came forward again, this time knocking Robert aside. He could feel the heat all around him––and all at once, he knew it was real. The pain in his arm and the smell of churning sulfur stifled any previous doubts.
The other two socks came forward.
Though they lacked faces, the tilt of their pikes and the force of their thrust made Robert quite certain that they would run him through if he did not follow as they instructed. The sock bearing the cruel stripe stalked out ahead, its figure seeming to glide forward––as it did not possess real feet.
The open mouth of the cave narrowed and became a thin walkway of jagged and heated rocks that ran into the darkness above. There was no way to tell how high or to where the cavern lead, but Robert could be certain that the Scourge was not far away.
Darkness closed in around Robert. He trudged forward; without a weapon, there was little else that he could do other than to follow.
He felt the heat grow.
The perspiration that ran down his face was a testament to the rising temperatures. The hallway of rock and stone ended and opened into another chamber much like the one into which he had arrived.
The far end was a wall of molten magma.
It ran down the rock like living art, darkened spots twisting into unnatural shapes that Robert had once glimpsed upon the canvases of Renaissance painters.
“Human, why do you come to this place?” boomed a voice larger than any Robert had ever heard. Set in front of the wall was a mammoth throne carved of darkened metals and cooled bone. He backed away only to be pushed forward again by one of the musty sock soldiers that now filled the entire chamber.
“The sprites have gone too far,” called the grandiose voice.
Robert swallowed hard, the lump in his throat heavy as he visualized what sort of creature must have made such a sound. And then as appearances often are, he was deceived.
A gray creature moved out from behind the behemoth. Dark bulbous eyes protruded from the wide head and thick black nails clicked along the stone.
Robert held back a laugh as the creature approached him and stood shorter than his knee.
The monster that Robert had envisioned was a gigantic troglodyte, but instead a scaly, hairless dwarf stood before him. Compared to the leprechaun, the Scourge was much larger––but still just a footnote in the eyes of a human.
“You’re the Scourge,” he whispered.
The thing leapt from the ground and crawled up Robert’s body with a fluid grace unbecoming of the cruel-looking creature. “That is what those damned sprites call me. Did they send you here, human?”
Robert grabbed the gremlin and pulled it away from his chest easily. “A wise friend once said that that would be like me calling you, gremlin, wouldn’t it?” joked Robert and then adding with a tilt of his head, “laddie.”
An obsidian jewel hung from the gremlin’s neck and as the creature spoke, it swayed back and forth, catching Robert’s eyes.
“You even talk like them,” growled the gremlin.
Robert leaned back and threw the gremlin from his grasp as the socks closed in around him. “Hold on here, can’t we talk about this?” reasoned Robert with a helpless shrug.
The gremlin disappeared beneath the musty rags of his sock army, but his voice echoed. “Kill him,” called the hoarse rasp.
Robert opened his mouth to speak once more, but the impact of a wooden pike shaft against his chest stopped him. He turned and punched at the sock, toppling over as he fell forward, dragging the disoriented sock with him.
He blew out air as he pushed the sock aside and chuckled despite his situation. Robert reached over and grabbed the pike lying beside the fallen cotton form. He parried the next thrust of the closest sock and pushed the blow into the adjoining sock, pushing his way toward the throne.
The leprechaun’s words echoed in his mind: you will know what to do when you see it––the medallion.
Robert pushed aside the sock in his path. The gremlin turned his confused stare to Robert and leapt upon his throne, brandishing razor-sharp teeth.
“I will kill you myself, human.”
The gremlin leapt forward.
Robert dropped the pike from his hands and caught the creature with both hands at arm’s length. The little monster snapped and clawed, carving thin lines on his arms.
“Stupid little gremlin,” muttered Robert as he dropped the creature, though not before snatching the obsidian charm from around its neck. The gremlin spun as it collided with the ground and reached up with a clawed hand.
“Stupid human, give that back, it’s mine.”
“Not anymore.” Robert cocked back his arm and chucked the charm against the side of the wall, the black stone sparkling with each revolution. It shattered against the rocky walls with a bright flash. Robert covered his eyes as a white light consumed him.
His head snapped up and he ran his hands over his body. Turning his head, he saw that he was once more in his home––the bright light of the new day shining through his window.
He laughed and ran a hand over his head.
“Sun woke me up….”
As he leaned forward, his laughter stopped. There was a four-leaf clover on the table in front of his couch with a shard of black obsidian right next to it.
There was a dark script scrawled on a thin scrap of paper:
Thank ye much, Robert.
Sincerely,
Colin McMasters, Director of the L.C.C.A.
Robert held the paper for some time, merely gazing from it to the four-leaf clover and the dark chunk of rock. Had it not been a dream after all?
