Dark Thorn - Grim Oak Press

S HAWN S PEAKMAN
Danger could come from anywhere.
The face of Merle’s visitor flashed in his mind—the haunted
eyes, the emaciated frame. Richard, the bookseller had called him.
Was it that man out in the gloom, watching Bran now?
Bran didn’t think so. Whatever followed him felt different. It
was not the police, a thieving addict, or any of the commonplace
threats that used to confront him daily. With the feeling came a
stabbing hatred, one not tired like the streets, but fresh and vibrant.
A shift of gloom at the corner of his eye raised his fight reflex.
Heart racing his mind, his feet picking up the pace, he probed
the world.
Nothing.
The movement came again, closer, accompanied by a highpitched
whine. It came once again from two directions, and he
understood with stunning clarity why he hadn’t caught sight of his
pursuer earlier.
It was in the air.
Bran ducked self-consciously as tiny flying shadows materialized.
They were gone just as quickly, darting back into the night.
Bats would buzz people, but with autumn come, the bats had gone
into hibernation. When the fast-moving creatures came again,
crossing over his head almost at the same time, Bran got a closer
look at them—and couldn’t believe his own eyes.
They definitely weren’t bats.
They were something else entirely.
It was enough to set him running. The things came again,
swooping in on sleek dragonfly-like wings of gossamer that shimmered
in the weak light. They were each the size of a bat, but any
other resemblance disappeared with their human-like arms and
legs and tiny leaves sprouting in patches over cocoa-colored skin.
Panic quickening adrenaline, Bran dove behind a parked car,
keeping low, watching. He was still several blocks from the safety
of Old World Tales. What he had seen gave his sanity pause and
his fear rein. Uncertainty pulled him in multiple directions—run,
scream, fight, or all of them.
The chittering returned and he picked out intelligible words.
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