Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #11 February 2015 | Page 19

and three hundred years old, the entire length of the
club was covered in tiny lines and marks that swirled
and came together in patterns.
Every line had been filled with hand beaten age blackened silver no thicker than a woman’s hair. Every line,
every sigil, part of a single pattern of silver.
There was no magic to the club, no spells had been
cast upon it, no enchantment lingered within it. It had
no power. But that was its purpose. For as it came into
contact with the monster’s skull the magic that surrounded the monster flowed into the silver patterns
and reached the sigils.
Magic was drained away, splintered and shattered and
thrown to the void.
The ironwood club smashed the scales and cracked the
mighty skull beneath and the monster knew pain such
as it had not felt for centuries.
I saw the sergeant’s blow and I saw the creature begin
to turn, Peck was so close he would be torn into pieces.
Suddenly the revolver was a feather and it floated into
position.
The boom was less than before but I could hear nothing else, every sound had died around us.
The bullet struck the monster in its side, just above the
waist where the scales were smaller. It bellowed in pain
as the bullet smashed deep into its flesh and a great
gout of thick greenish fluid spurted out and splattered
across the deck.

ture’s knees shattered.
One leg collapsed and it half fell, blocking its fall with
one clawed hand.
It lifted its face toward me and roared its hatred, teeth
like daggers spread wide, tentacles writhing from side
to side.
I took careful aim, so close now that my outstretched
arm could almost touch it.
Time slowed, everything stopped moving, the gentle
breeze stopped, gulls hung in the sky overhead.
The boom was muffled, the cloud of smoke hid the
monster’s face from me and the revolver floated upwards.
Then everything started again. My wrist was screaming
in pain from firing the oversized revolver so often, the
deck beneath my feet was heaving and bucking, I was
falling.
But as I fell I watched my last bullet fly past the tentacles and enter that fang lined mouth, I saw the bullet,
more than half an inch of lead shot strike the back of
the creature’s throat and punch straight through. I saw
flesh and fluid pulverised to a mush. I saw the bullet
pass through the creature’s brain and strike the back of
its skull. I saw shock waves ripple across its head as the
skull shattered sending shards of bone through what
remained of the brain and head.
I saw the back of its skull and head collapse, fragments
of bone held together by flaps of skin and scale.

I fought the revolver down and back onto the creature
and fired again. It was trying to turn back toward me
but slowly now, it was hurt. My shot struck it in the
belly and tore through flesh and fluid and great loops
and strands of grey.

I saw the stained wooden deck of the ship race toward
my face and everything became fire and pain and
darkness.

It staggered toward me and once more the sergeant’s
ironwood club came from behind, so vast was the creature that as it stood this close I could not see Peck at
all. Still he struck hard and well and one of the creatu-

Normally I never notice myself waking up, I am just
awake. But sometimes, if I am very tired or hurt I wake
slowly. The world comes into focus from nothing to a
blur and then to clarity.

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