Dark Thorn - Grim Oak Press

S HAWN S PEAKMAN
The fairies suddenly lost all importance.
Bran backed away. The unnatural hound’s large paws were
silent on the gravelly pavement as it crept toward him, its muzzle
pulled back against canines. Sweat broke out in hot beads over
Bran’s body, infusing him with wildfire.
The only thing he cared about was escape.
The dog boomed a bark, spraying saliva everywhere.
Manically, Bran ripped the area apart, looking for a weapon
or escape. Two doors with steel screens were closed and locked,
the windows nearby covered in bars. A dumpster pushed against a
wall wafted its damp contents. Freed bricks, wet cardboard, and a
scurrying rat were his only other options.
There was nowhere to go. It was over.
The beast knew it. Eyes burning like coals in the darkness,
it took slow steps forward. It grinned its intentions, pointed ears
twitching in eagerness.
Dread threatened to overwhelm Bran. Alone and without a
weapon, it was only a matter of time before the huge demon creature
rent him asunder. Rather than cower in fear, fierce anger as he
had never known rose within him like a tidal wave. It swelled until
it crested, setting him in motion.
He grabbed up the only items he found at all useful. Two broken
bricks.
And waited for the beast to attack.
“Get away!” he screamed, brandishing the weapons.
“No,” it growled lowly.
“You speak?” Bran asked, surprise mingling with his fear.
“As thou do, child of man,” the creature mocked darkly.
“What do you want?”
“Thy death,” the creature salivated.
From a window ledge above, the fairies watched what transpired,
goading the beast forward with squeaky voices and glee in
their eyes.
“But why?!” Bran yelled, his heart pounding.
The animal stopped. The light in its eyes dimmed briefly
before flaring anew.
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