He lit his pipe and settled down to wait It was going to be a long, cold night
The moon was high above him when he heard the first squelching splash of lumbering footsteps. The Slime Beast was coming up out of the sea! He fumbled for the net and released the four grappling hooks. There would only be one chance!
The mist seemed to thicken still more. It swirled in front of his face blotting out everything. There was only silence, nothing moved. He listened again, as the minutes ticked agonisingly by. What was it doing? Had it sensed his presence? Perhaps it could see through fog! If so, surely it would attack him.
Then he heard it again, rasping, grunting, far away behind him. He was angry, perplexed. How had it passed him without him hearing it? It was far from a silent mover.
He walked a little way to his left following the line of spartina grass where it adjoined the mud-flats. Then suddenly he stopped. Another step and he would have fallen into the muddy depths of the big creek where it ran into the sea.
Realisation dawned upon him. The Slime Beast had floated inland on this deep rivulet! Blast the fog! He would have seen it otherwise. He swung the bundle of netting on to his shoulder, consulted his compass, and trudged back into the spike-grass. It would be hopeless to try. and follow the beast. Maybe tomorrow night there would be no fog ...
Sutton village slept. The mist which had filtered up from the salt-marshes became thick fog which seemed more eerie in the bright moonlight which struggled to penetrate it.
The rows of cottages and houses were reminders of a past era, of primitiveness, and poverty. Even in this affluent age they had not moved with the tunes. That was the way these people of the Wash wanted it: static; removed from the outside world.
Far away across the Fens the church clock at Holbeach struck one. The sound was muffled by the thickening vapour yet almost every inhabitant of Sutton heard it. Almost all were in bed yet none slept Few had slept easily in Sutton these past few nights.
Some remembered the legend of the guardian of King John's treasure. Tom Southgate had seen ,to it that those who had not heard of it were duly informed. The story spread faster than the fire which had once ravaged Harrison's Mill, fanned into further destruction by the sea-breeze.
'It's them lot in the old blockhouse .who've stirred it all up,' the landlord had boomed countless times from behind his bar. 'There'll be no peace in Sutton until they've gone!'
Angry murmurings had run through the crowded bar. Yet there had been a reluctance to go out and 'do 'em' in contrast with the other night. There was something unnatural about the whole business. Why should a man like Glover decide to help the party? Without his interference the archaeologists would have been deep in the quicksands, by now.
Silence, except for the clattering of a dustbin lid behind Growson's shop. Everybody heard it. They knew what it was and breathed easily. Rex, Growson's massive black Alsatian was always loose at night, prowling like the wolf it resembled. It harmed none. It just scavenged.
People tossed restlessly in their beds. Some dozed. Few slept deeply. The Holbeach church clock chimed the quarters. Two am. More dustbin lids clanged.
Rex reached the wharf and sniffed the river. Usually he liked a foul stench. It reminded him of the food he ate. It was worse than usual tonight though. His hackles rose slightly and a low growl rumbled hi his throat. There was something that he did not understand in the night air; something evilpowerful. It frightened him a little. He decided to head back home.
The smell seemed to follow him. It was pungent and penetrating. He growled again and increased his pace to a steady lope. The fog did not worry him. He knew every alley in Sutton by scent He did not need to see. He ran past The Bull into the Main Street, then suddenly he stopped.
There was something in the road. He could make out a vague shape, similar to Man yet it was not Man! The stench was stronger now, halting him like an invisible barrier. He looked up. The thing was much bigger now than it had at first appeared. A breeze was blowing, dispersing the mist with every second. Slimy scales glinted in the moonlight Rex wanted to flee, but his muscles refused to yield to his natural instinct He barked. It sounded feeble. The beast let out a low rasping growl. It took a step forward. Then another. Then it had him.
The long drawn-out howl of canine fear brought the usually slow-moving Tom Southgate from his bed to the windows in a single bound. He peered out. The mist had cleared completely. Then he saw the Slime Beast for the first time. It was holding Rex at head height. The Alsatian was struggling desperately, snarling and snapping at the scaly claws which held it. Vicious canine teeth clamped down on a stinking slimy arm. They crunched and snapped, and a smattering of broken bloody fangs dropped to the road.
'What is it?' Marjorie Southgate sat up in bed. 'What's going on out there Tom?'
The publican clutched at the window-sill for support. 'It's a... beast! It's killing Rex! It really exists.'
The Slime Beast had got Rex by the neck now. Snapping the vertebrae was a simple matter. It flung the lifeless Alsatian to the ground. Claws sunk into the fur and ripped at the flesh, then the beast dropped down on all fours in order to dismember its victim more easily.
Rex was disembowelled in a matter of seconds. The Slime Beast grabbed ravenously at the heart and liver, stuffing them simultaneously into the slitted mouth. It gurgled and squelched as it masticated, blood and entrails dripping.
Tom Southgate pushed Marjorie back roughly as she approached the window.
'Don't!' he yelled, 'for Christ's sake don't look. It'll send you out of your mind! '
She flopped back on the bed quivering.
The landlord rushed to the far comer of the room. He grabbed the twelve-bore which lay on top of the wardrobe and fumbled in the dressing-table drawer for cartridges. It seemed an eternity before he located a couple and pushed them in to the open breech. He did not speak. Words just would not come. Possibly because there was nothing to say. nothing intelligible anyway.
The window-sash was stiff, and he had to use all his strength to force it open. The beast was still there, but there wasn't much left of poor old Rex now, he noted. Head. Legs. A few strips of fur. He remembered the reports on Manton Haywood's corpse. There was no doubt what had been responsible for that.
The thing stood up and turned in Southgate's direction. Did it see him? If so, it gave no sign. He sighted it. The fearsome countenance was directly in line with the twin barrels. He squeezed the triggers, both together. Take that you bastard!
The recoil from the double charge flung him backwards. He staggered, regained his balance and rushed back to the window. The beast was still there, unmoved, just looking up at him. Sightless or seeing?
'Jesus wept!' He pushed Marjorie back again. 'More cartridges, quick woman. Tip those drawers out. Shell the bastard.'
Windows were being flung open down the street. A man cursed. Some women were screaming. The men folk had been roused by Southgate's shots. The idea caught on. Moonlight glinted on several pairs of gun barrels. Breeches snapped shut. Safety-catches and hammers clicked.
But the Slime Beast appeared not to heed them. It had fed and was satisfied, so there was nothing further to detain it here. It began to lumber off up the street in the direction of the salt marshes, greyish-green slime dripping from its scales, blood trickling from its jaws.