The thing cocked its head to the side. “You can see me?”
“Of course, I can see you. You’re right there.” Martin stepped back, herding the woman toward the main street.
The terrified woman clutched him from behind. “What is it? What’s there?”
The monster stood to Martin’s chest, shoulders broad, with a sloping forehead. The thing wore no clothes. Instead of skin, scales covered its arms and legs. “Can’t you see it?” How could she not see the hideous beast?
“She can’t see me. I wonder how you can.” The thing circled, flicking out a forked tongue.
Martin turned, pushing the woman toward the mouth of the alley. “Run!” Instead, she took two steps and fell.
No time to help her now. Not with the attacker still a threat.
Attackers. Another figure emerged from the shadows. Two. Two horrible creatures and him unarmed. Why did the guards insist he leave his sword in the arsenal?
With no weapon, he’d no way to defend himself against sharp claws. From the corner of his eye, metal glinted, a hook used for lifting barrels. Better than nothing.
He grabbed the hook and swiped at the horrible vision from nightmares. It danced back out of reach, the hook barely abrading scaled skin.
“Very interesting,” the thing closest to him said. The other loomed nearer. Both stopped suddenly, staring over Martin’s shoulder.
They ran. Still clutching his makeshift weapon, heart in his throat and pounding in his ears, Martin whirled, catching a brief glimpse of brown. A priest?
The woman moaned. Martin dropped beside her, releasing the hook.
“Wha… what?” Blood trickled from her mouth. Martin slid his arm beneath her shoulders, keeping her upper body off the ground. She stiffened, then relaxed in death, head lolling to the side.
Martin stared down at the unknown woman. Why hadn’t she seen her assailants?
They’d toyed with her, scaring her, enjoying her pain.
They would pay.
When he looked up, both the attackers and the figure in brown were clearly gone.
Martin filed his reports, how he’d found a man assaulting the woman, leaving off the part about scales. Who would believe him? Would they think he’d killed her? The undertaker asked few questions about casualties from the lower city, taking her body into his shop.
What were those creatures? Did anyone else know of those things? Martin could only imagine the laughter if he’d given more details in his report. He stared down at a smear of green on his clothing. Blood?
Upon arriving home, Martin checked the sturdiness of the lock on his door, ensured the windows couldn’t be opened from the outside, and settled into bed. He left a candle burning.
Those things haunted his dreams, chasing him. They turned into the villagers.
He killed them with fire.
The process started all over again.
He awoke the next morn, sweat soaking his bedclothes, the horror of the night still filling his mind. Visions of the woman, dealing with the undertaker and the night guards. The hook bearing no sign of red blood saved him from further questioning. No one he knew of could do such damage to the woman’s flesh with bare hands.
He rolled over in his bed and jumped back in alarm.
Next to him, in a sheath of tooled leather, lay a sword.
Martin sought out his commander, waiting by the gates until Enys strode through. “Good morn, Commander Enys. You were born to this city, were you not?”
“Aye. And my da and mum before me.”
“Have you ever heard of any creature covered in scales, with sharp claws and teeth, that stood on two legs and spoke like you or me?”
