by Greig Beck
He reached back into the capsule to open the box that held the small piece of sacred Black Stone. If he was to be judged, he wanted the sacred relic with him to show his worthiness.
He inhaled the earthy odour of rotting vegetation and caught a slight whiff of sharp vinegar and almond. He racked his brain for any references to such a place as this in the Qur’an or the Hadith – could it be Jannah and he just needed to find the bridge to paradise?
Someone was coming; he could hear footfalls in the mud – lots of them, stealthy. The smell of vinegar grew stronger, and the short hairs on the back of his neck rose as his primal instincts went into overdrive. Now he could make out giant shapes in the mist – the Almighty was coming and bringing all the prophets with him.
The president fell to his knees in the mud and started to sing loudly and strongly to show his faith. The shapes stopped just out of sight in the mist, as if waiting for something. The president’s singing slowly tapered off and he held out his hand to show the Black Stone. His knees began to shake in the crawling mud. Something was wrong; this couldn’t be heaven.
When the attack came, it was swift. The mist swirled violently and the creatures came through it from all sides. The largest shot out its raptorial claws and pinned the man face down on the boggy ground. The others darted forward to claim a piece of the body and insert their sharp proboscises. The largest bent its eyestalks towards the man’s face, as if searching for some sign of intelligence. Then its gristly mandibles opened.
The creatures began to feed.
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