that had been lying in wait in this cursed pit.
And then, the thing was on him …
The weight of it crushed the air out of his lungs. He smelled its meaty breath, and moaned as taloned fingers wrapped themselves in his hair and wrenched his head up.
There was hardly any light, but he could see its eyes. They glowed in the darkness as if illuminated from within…
…and the color was a lambent red.
The thing hissed: “Yao si Croatoan? Yao si en draen?”
Ed could only moan again. He felt like he was drifting far away, his vision darkening, those red eyes dimming in his view, and he was glad.
“ Draen! ” the thing repeated, an urgency in its terrible voice. “ Waron si? ”
“I don’t know what you … mean,” Ed managed to groan.
A moment later, he was swallowed up by the welcome oblivion of unconsciousness.
Chapter 4
The storm was keeping Julia awake .
She was disturbed not only by the thunder, but by the periodically echoing howls and shouts from outside. Her father had said that the Master was hoping to capture some of the energy of the lightning using the needle they had erected on the faerie mound. Perhaps all the noise was part of this experiment…
Suddenly, Julia heard Reverend Mott’s hideous, deathly voice shrieking and screeching from outside. She thought she heard another voice, muffled by the storm…
She rose from her bed and peered out of her barred window, squinting to see through the rain. In a flash of lightning, she saw a figure running—a young man with a limp, moving fast despite his loping gait.
Constable Bolt? It had to be…
But another figure was chasing him, catching up with stiff, unnaturally long strides which were nonetheless carrying him quickly towards the young man.
And then, the young man dodged around the faerie mound, looking like he was entering the Master’s den.
NO! Julia thought. She’d never been permitted inside there, but if he disturbed the Master.
“Don’t go that way, Constable!” she shouted. But of course it was useless, her high, girlish voice all too feeble to penetrate the glass of her window and the noise of the storm.
He had disappeared, presumably now inside the Master’s cave under the mound.
A minute later, there was a ruckus from downstairs. She heard her father shouting orders to the servants, heard feet stomping urgently about.
Clad in her night-clothes, she opened her bedroom door—which upon this occasion had been left unlocked, thankfully—and crept down the steps to the parlor. It was now deserted. She went down the hall and tried the door to the basement… locked from the other side. She had to assume that her father and the others had gone down there.
Several long minutes passed until she heard voices, then footfalls coming up the steps from the basement. The basement door flew open and suddenly, her father, the Rector’s stern face met her gaze, his unholy crimson eyes looking at her with perplexity.
“Julia?” the Rector exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You should return to your bed, this matter does not—“
“Is it the Constable?” she asked him. “Is he all right?”
“What… How did you know that?” he asked.
Just then, Mister Starks and one of the other large servant men ascended the steps from behind her father, carrying a body.
It was indeed Constable Bolt, though he appeared to be breathing, at least. There was a bruise on his forehead and he had undoubtedly been knocked unconscious.
The laid him down on the couch, and she studied him for a moment. The dark hair, which hung down over his eyes, was wet from the storm… His powerful, well-muscled arms showed that he had some experience with labor despite his impaired leg. The bad foot itself—the right one—was covered in a large boot, and didn’t seem that awful to her gaze.
In fact, she thought him quite handsome, with the sharp, masculine angles of his face softened by his dark, close-cropped beard.
“Father,” she pleaded.
And then, the thing was on him …
The weight of it crushed the air out of his lungs. He smelled its meaty breath, and moaned as taloned fingers wrapped themselves in his hair and wrenched his head up.
There was hardly any light, but he could see its eyes. They glowed in the darkness as if illuminated from within…
…and the color was a lambent red.
The thing hissed: “Yao si Croatoan? Yao si en draen?”
Ed could only moan again. He felt like he was drifting far away, his vision darkening, those red eyes dimming in his view, and he was glad.
“ Draen! ” the thing repeated, an urgency in its terrible voice. “ Waron si? ”
“I don’t know what you … mean,” Ed managed to groan.
A moment later, he was swallowed up by the welcome oblivion of unconsciousness.
Chapter 4
The storm was keeping Julia awake .
She was disturbed not only by the thunder, but by the periodically echoing howls and shouts from outside. Her father had said that the Master was hoping to capture some of the energy of the lightning using the needle they had erected on the faerie mound. Perhaps all the noise was part of this experiment…
Suddenly, Julia heard Reverend Mott’s hideous, deathly voice shrieking and screeching from outside. She thought she heard another voice, muffled by the storm…
She rose from her bed and peered out of her barred window, squinting to see through the rain. In a flash of lightning, she saw a figure running—a young man with a limp, moving fast despite his loping gait.
Constable Bolt? It had to be…
But another figure was chasing him, catching up with stiff, unnaturally long strides which were nonetheless carrying him quickly towards the young man.
And then, the young man dodged around the faerie mound, looking like he was entering the Master’s den.
NO! Julia thought. She’d never been permitted inside there, but if he disturbed the Master.
“Don’t go that way, Constable!” she shouted. But of course it was useless, her high, girlish voice all too feeble to penetrate the glass of her window and the noise of the storm.
He had disappeared, presumably now inside the Master’s cave under the mound.
A minute later, there was a ruckus from downstairs. She heard her father shouting orders to the servants, heard feet stomping urgently about.
Clad in her night-clothes, she opened her bedroom door—which upon this occasion had been left unlocked, thankfully—and crept down the steps to the parlor. It was now deserted. She went down the hall and tried the door to the basement… locked from the other side. She had to assume that her father and the others had gone down there.
Several long minutes passed until she heard voices, then footfalls coming up the steps from the basement. The basement door flew open and suddenly, her father, the Rector’s stern face met her gaze, his unholy crimson eyes looking at her with perplexity.
“Julia?” the Rector exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You should return to your bed, this matter does not—“
“Is it the Constable?” she asked him. “Is he all right?”
“What… How did you know that?” he asked.
Just then, Mister Starks and one of the other large servant men ascended the steps from behind her father, carrying a body.
It was indeed Constable Bolt, though he appeared to be breathing, at least. There was a bruise on his forehead and he had undoubtedly been knocked unconscious.
The laid him down on the couch, and she studied him for a moment. The dark hair, which hung down over his eyes, was wet from the storm… His powerful, well-muscled arms showed that he had some experience with labor despite his impaired leg. The bad foot itself—the right one—was covered in a large boot, and didn’t seem that awful to her gaze.
In fact, she thought him quite handsome, with the sharp, masculine angles of his face softened by his dark, close-cropped beard.
“Father,” she pleaded.
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