Мгла
The First Night.
Hewentdownhard,catchinghisjawontheshelfthatranbelowtheshowwindow.
Oneofthealbinoflyingthingswassquirmingitswaythroughthejaggedholeintheglass.Icouldhearthesoftscrapingsoundthatitmade,nowthatsomeofthescreaminghadstopped.Itsredeyesglitteredinitstriangularhead,whichwasslightlycockedtooneside.Aheavy,hookedbeakopenedandclosedrapaciously.Itlookedabitlikethepaintingsofpterodactylsyoumayhaveseeninthedinosaurbooks,morelikesomethingoutofalunatic’snightmare.
Igrabbedoneofthetorchesandslam-dunkeditintoacanofcharcoallighterfluid,tippingitoverandspillingapoolofthestuffacrossthefloor.
Theflyingcreaturepausedontopofthelawn-Foodbags,glaringaround,shiftingslowlyandmalignantlyfromonetalonedfootto,theother.Itwasastupidcreature,Iamquitesureofthat.Twiceittriedtospreaditswings,whichstruckthewallsandthenfoldedthemselvesoveritshunchedbacklikethewingsofagriffin.Thethirdtimeittried,itlostitsbalanceandfellclumsilyfromitsperch,stilltryingtospreaditswings.ItlandedonTomSmalley’sback.OneflexofitsclawsandTom’sshirtrippedwideopen.Bloodbegantoflow.
Iwasthere,lessthanthreefeetaway,Mytorchwasdrippinglighterfluid.IwasemotionallypumpeduptokillitifIcould...andthenrealizedIhadnomatchestolightitwith.IhadusedthelastonelightingacigarforMr.McVeyanhourago.
Theplacewasinpandemoniumnow.
