Her mind raced for some solution – she was frozen in place. A black form passed over the window, the head, turning to face her, she fired another shot – the window cracked more.
“MotherFUCKER,” She whispered. She kicked out the glass from the window, walking backwards she rammed the revolver into its holster and picked up the rifle.
“I CAN SEE YOUUU!” she screamed hoarsely. “YOU COWAAAARD.”
She heard running outside, thundering steps from the side of the house. She stepped to the centre of the room. There was an explosion of noise and soot, the golem had punched the wall, denting it and leaving two small holes. The impact rocked the room. Alana was regaining her balance when the opposite wall was hit, the wood denting inwards, soot exploded into the air.
She had had enough. She pushed the wardrobe aside and swung the door open. The creature crashed into the wall again. She tiptoed down the stairs and exited from the shattered front door. The crashing had stopped. She bolted out and swung round, alternating aim between the two sides of the house, walking steadily backwards.
She heard a rustling behind her, she flung around again and –
“I’m a friend. Don’t shoot.”
It was a figure, too small to be the creature, the voice was a young man’s.
“Don’t shoot.”
There was another crash into the house.
The man raised his hands above his head and walked past her slowly. It was a shabby figure, wearing layers of soiled rags. Hoodies and coats, and pants, and military boots. All a weird pale colour, splattered with mud. On his forearms, hands and calves were bandages. He lowered his hood, and turned to face her. He revealed a mane of dirty brown hair, blood seeped from one side of his face – like he had been hit in the ear. He seemed woozy – like he was drugged, he was not threatening in his demeanour.
“Run away.” he muttered, then walked by the side of the house to the golem, he balanced himself with a hand on the wall for a moment, then continued out of view.
Alana stood in silence – a look of frozen, exhausted confusion on her face. A crash into the wall broke the spell, and she turned slowly to the forest and ran – she looked back once, still confused, then continued on.
8
Kirwyn emerged at the side of the house, he saw the golem – or GMH as he knew it. It was clamped to the window, one arm scratching uselessly inside. Kirwyn studied the beast with dread fascination. It froze, then it snapped its neck to study him in turn.
“You there,” Kirwyn called out, softly.
With inhuman speed the golem jumped back and twisted mid-air, so its body faced him, it landed on all fours. Kirwyn put his hand on his sword and stepped backwards. The beast crouched down and it too crept backwards into the shadow of the forest, till only its bulbous ghoulish eyes were visible, greedily absorbing the light from the half moon.
“I am Kirwyn… May I ask your name?”
The eyes blinked slowly, one at a time.
Kirwyn coughed. “Please… sir… do not destroy this house, I wish to sleep here tonight.”
The eyes half closed, a horrible laugh emerged from the darkness, it was bizarrely high pitched – squealing like a stuck pig, then it went down into a bassy guffaw. Kirwyn’s eyes narrowed and he smiled painfully.
The GMH began to speak, its voice was that of a clever animal imitating humanity, the tone, the intonation – almost perfect but unmistakably wrong in some indistinct way.
“Tis my house to break on whim, Kirwyyyyn,” It moaned.
“Then I’ll – I’ll take my leave sir, do you know of some other place where a… weary traveller might rest his head?”
“In mine maw! betwixt mine teeth, no warmer pillow will thou meet.” The GMH prowled around and snapped his jaw shut loudly.
“You speak well,” said Kirwyn, wavering “You must have read a lot of books.”
The GMH made a strangled choking noise, feeling bolder, it walked out of the shadows, pacing around Kirwyn. It was the tallest animal – or man – he had ever seen.
“You are mad,” it said, smiling its cavernous smile. “There’s no sport in hunting thee. Tell me, whence the girl-child fled? I ate her friend, it would be a sin to let her grieve.”
Kirwyn’s smile hardened. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” he said. “But you’ll never catch her.”
The creature’s smile turned blank, it retreated back into the shadows. “Pray tell me why?” it boomed.
“I’m going to break your legs.”
The creature howled in delight. It let its mask slip, the laugh became deeper, more guttural – the breathing was loud, air whistling through meaty nostrils into giant a cavernous chest.
Kirwyn stopped smiling. He dropped his coat, revealed the sword of Barabbas. Still sheathed, covered in parchment, he paced towards the GMH with it raised to the side.
The GMH spat out a spray of suppressed mirth “A knight art thou?” it squealed. “My sword, my kingdom for a sword!” It hopped away into the forest, chuckling its pig-squeal chuckle. Kirwyn stopped short of the trees, unsure whether to follow it. There was a loud cracking noise, and then rustling, the twisting of bark, deep in the blackness. Then he heard it bounding out towards him, thumping the ground and slapping trees as it came. Kirwyn stepped back towards the house.
It emerged standing straight, illuminated by the moon. It was about 9 foot tall, thickly muscled with odd proportions. Its legs and head were too large, even for its size. It stared with eyes the size of fists. It dragged along with it a makeshift club, the size of a man.
“I grow hungry,” it moaned and then swung the tree at Kirwyn with freakish speed. Kirwyn ducked down and walked backwards, narrowly avoiding it. The beast swung down – Kirwyn hopped to one side, avoiding the blow and then he ran straight towards the creature. The GMH swung high, Kirwyn rolled down and struck its foot with all his might – the blow hit ankle bone squarely, a strike that might have crippled a man.
The beast screamed deafeningly in surprise, dropped its club and leapt backwards, twisting in the air and climbed up a tree. Its face was blank, but in an instant, much too fast, it twisted into a smile with the sound of the skin rubbing saliva soaked gums. It receded into the dark.
“So strong for one so young,” it crooned. “Not quite a man art thou?”
Kirwyn followed the voice from left to right, he raised his sword – he was out of breath.
“Not—” he began – but somehow the creature had blindsided him – it was too fast, he was too tired. It was on him, pinning him down. Giant fists around his wrists, clamped and pressing down with more and more pressure. It grinned madly, breathing hot steam into his face, crushing his organs and ribs with the weight of its body.
Time slowed for Kirwyn, the rapid breathing of the beast quietened and became peacefully sluggish. He had nothing. No way out. Nothing to say, even. The beast looked at him with covetous joy. Kirwyn pushed against it with all his strength, but his strength was waning. The beast leant in, its massive teeth bared. Kirwyn closed his eyes.
His face was splattered with hot spit. He was deafened, then a whining tone accompanied the muffled, clearing sound. He looked up at the GMH. There was a hole in its cheek. The giant looked to the side, frailly, and then another hole went through its forehead, almost silently.
It slowly released its grip on Kirwyn, then rested its giant bleeding head on his chest. Kirwyn wriggled out from beneath it, staring at it all the while.