ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
The Dyrysgol Horror and Other Weird Tales. Edmund Glasby
Читать онлайн.Название The Dyrysgol Horror and Other Weird Tales
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781434447906
Автор произведения Edmund Glasby
Жанр Зарубежные детективы
Издательство Ingram
“It’s as good a plan as any. What with the alternative being a full-scale search of all the possible places where it could hide. This area is riddled with old mine shafts, ruined mills, caves, and goodness knows what else. We could spend a year combing the area and still not find it.”
“You may be right.” Ravenwood winced at the distinct animal stench that wafted out from the trailer, which had now parked up nearby. From inside, came the sound of bleating sheep. “I hope your men don’t mind getting their hands dirty,” he said, a wry grin on his face.
* * * *
From the bushes, Owen watched the moon come up from behind the castle; a great skull-white disc that glared down out of the star-strewn heavens like a huge, watching, evil eye witnessing their every move. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth was dry, and he was afraid.
It was the waiting that was the most terrible part of it; having to sit out there in the long and clinging silence, which seemed to throb in his ears, almost tangibly. He could do nothing to force the fear away, knowing that they were waiting in ambush for something abominable. Something seemed to clamp down upon his brain, allowing the horror and the black fear to rise a little higher, to grow a little stronger, until now he could hardly bear it. He thought grimly of the black thing that hovered somewhere up there in the dark sky, waiting to make its nightmare plunge. But there was nothing there. Nothing moved in the deep pools of ebony shadow. No sound. No movement. Nothing. He breathed in deeply, striving vaguely to still the sudden hammering of his heart and the violent pumping of the blood in his veins.
The stench from the scattered sheep viscera was repugnant, and he felt a little twinge of sympathy for the two remaining live animals which were tethered in its midst. Still, if the bait worked, it will have been worth it, he thought.
He almost jumped when Ravenwood grabbed his shoulder and pointed. He looked up, and there, silhouetted against the moon, he saw it! A chill of utter horror ran down his spine. It clutched at his body with ripping, seeking fingers, and it was only with a great mental effort that he stopped himself from screaming out loud.
The winged monstrosity circled lazily overhead before starting a descent, its twin claws extended. It swooped down like some hellish bird of prey and plucked one of the sheep from the ground before taking to the wing once more.
“We have to try and lure it down,” whispered Ravenwood, his longbow in hand. “If we can get it near enough, I will be able to shoot it.”
It had clearly devoured the first sheep in mid-flight, for Owen could see that it was now preparing itself for a second dive. This would probably be their last chance. With an insane compulsion, he broke from the cover of the bushes and ran out into the open, waving his hands and shouting at the top of his voice.
Hellish, lambent red eyes fixed on him from high above. For a fleeting moment, he was the rabbit in the eyes of the hawk. And then it plummeted towards him, its wings outstretched and membranous, horn-like spurs at their tips.
At that moment, Ravenwood and the two constables charged into the clearing. The viscount launched an arrow, and then a second whilst the policemen discharged their shotguns, which Franklins had purchased from the farmer earlier that day. Caught in the crossfire, the wyvern whirled and spun, its poison-barbed tail lashing at the air and dripping venom.
Owen scrambled clear. “Shoot it! Kill it!” he hollered.
The wyvern landed on its two legs and turned to face Hughes and Jones. It screeched directly at them. Its voice—the voice of the dark and its power over the light—sent a wave of fear through the two constables, for it touched upon the primal fears buried in the marrow of all living creatures. Their knees buckled under them and they fell screaming to the ground, covering their ears with trembling hands. And in that moment, it flapped towards them. Its huge jaws clamped around Hughes and, shaking him from side-to-side, it tossed his headless body away.
It was just about to snap down on Jones, when another arrow struck into its left flank, causing it to spin round and face the advancing archer. A second arrow sunk deep in its chest, drawing a further snarl of rage and anger from it.
Suddenly the terrible carnage was illuminated in ghastly detail as Franklins turned on the headlights of his car and came speeding towards it.
Owen stifled a cry as he saw the reptilian horror turn to face the oncoming vehicle. He felt helpless, unable to intervene, rooted to the spot. Paralysed, all he could do was watch through horror-filled eyes.
And then all hell broke loose! There were cries and shouts and shotguns blasts and that infernal screeching. The wyvern had been wounded, whether from the impact from Franklins’ car or from the half dozen or so arrows which now protruded from its bat-like wings, he could not immediately tell. In one terrible moment, he witnessed the manservant’s car being overturned and the unfortunate being inside horribly rended by the monster’s snatching claws.
With a cry, Ravenwood, now out of arrows, leapt into the fray, swinging his broadsword. Hacking and chopping with abandon, he threw all caution to the wind and set about the beast. With a mighty two-handed swing he completely severed one of the wyvern’s wings. A follow-up chop sliced a great gash down its flank. Dark greenish blood spattered.
But then, just as it appeared as though Ravenwood had the upper hand and was about to vanquish the beast, its snake-like tail lashed forward, the barbed stinger striking him in the right thigh. He screamed in agony. In one final, desperate act, with the lethal toxin spreading through his body, he drove his sword through the dragon-like head, silencing the Dyrysgol horror forever.
Stumbling, staggering, Owen lurched forward. Ravenwood was not quite dead but he could see that there was nothing he could do to save him.
“And so it ends,” Ravenwood managed to gasp. “Get rid of the body if you can. Burn it.”
“Inspector!” Jones came rushing over, trying not to look at the bloody aftermath of their confrontation. “How in hell’s name are we going to explain all this?” he cried manically.
Owen shook his head, unable to take in the reality of what had just transpired. “I—don’t know, I really don’t know. But hopefully the nightmare is now over.” He could see that Viscount Ravenwood was now dead, and he had to hope that with his death Dyrysgol would now be safe.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.