Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Page 43

were trying to copy all the magic spells out of them.
It all died down after a while. The downstairs
neighbour, the ex-aristo, moved out a few months
later, saying he was sick of the heat, and the Post did
a little story about that. After that, I think everyone
forgot about it.
There was something else though. As we were
leaving, we were scurrying up the stairs out of the
basement, and I was the last one at the back. I heard
something behind me crash, and clatter, like the big
metal table had suddenly fallen over. I spun round
with my torch, and saw...

a private one, that my police pension pays for. I’m
getting these bad dreams, that’s all. It’s nothing
serious, but sometimes I wake up in the night and
the dreams don’t seem to stop. I reach down, and my
bed’s covered in feathers, all old and flaky and warm
to touch. Then standing over me in the bedroom, in
my shitty flat, in the dark, I see these two great, big,
stinking things waving around.
They’re big lumps of flesh and bones, like
sides of beef that’ve been left out in the sun for too
long, all wet and maggoty and old. They look like
rotten wings.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I quit my job
right after that. I’ve been seeing this doctor recently,

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