“Out of the way, devil,” Ghale said, forcing himself to speak. “I do not fear you.”
The monster gave a growl which was simultaneously shrill and impossibly deep. Then, it spoke. And Ghale groaned as the words sizzled against his eardrums. They made no sense, and they sped across the surface of his mind like shadows across a wall, burning and fading before he could discern what they had been. He hunkered forward, his hands clapped to his ears. The beast’s eyes blazed like two simmering coals as it examined him.
The lorry took a sharp turn, and the crates shifted. One barked against Ghale’s shins painfully and he staggered, falling against the side of the lorry. The fiend was on him in a moment, teeth snapping at his throat, and gangly arms wrapping around his neck and head. Its hooves dug into his side and stomach, stamping on him. He thrashed against its hideous strength, chopping at it with khukuri. He felt its foul breath wash across his face. Ropes of acidic drool dripped onto his collar and coat, burning the material.
Unable to resist, Ghale found himself hefted into the air by the bleating monstrosity, and then he was flying backwards, out of the lorry. He struck the street and rolled until he came to a halt in the gutter. Ghale tried to get to his feet, but he felt as if he’d been trampled by a team of horses. He toppled forward and unconsciousness clawed at the edges of his mind.
His last sight before darkness claimed him was of the red-eyed goat-thing turning and vanishing into the lorry. And his last thought was that Mr. Melion was going to be very, very angry.
About the Author
Josh Reynolds is a professional freelance writer who has contributed to numerous publications, including such anthologies as Hills of Fire: Bare Knuckle Yarns of Appalachia from Woodland Press and Use Enough Gun from Emby Press. He has also contributed to Gold Eagle’s Executioner novel series and Black Library’s Warhammer Fantasy and Warhammer 40,000 tie-in fiction line. Visit his site at:
http://joshuamreynolds.wordpress.com/
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