The soft silver moonlight filtered through the broken slats in Alfred's roof, leaking a stain across the sparse bedroom. Alfred himself laid fully clothed atop his bed covers, staring without seeing at the white ceiling. Flashes of colour flew around his vision like fluttering butterflies or twittering birds, twisting into rainbow ribbons when he squeezed his eyelids shut.
Thoughts seemed to twist and jump in exactly the same way, from one direction to another in split seconds.
Thoughts of burning heat, of a dark, deep red liquid dripping from ivory fangs, of a roar that could penetrate flesh and bone and the mind.
Thoughts of rough, ritualistic chanting, of a forest blackened by a layer of soot, of glinting, inhuman eyes.
These sights had been haunting him for days, ever since the two mysterious men had left the oh-so-pretty pendant in his care. He was sick and terrified of the dreams that accompanied his every waking hour, but if he fell asleep, the images didn't stop. Instead they just grew hazy and noisy.
Alfred had the sneaking suspicion that he was starting to go mad. He knew it was the pendant's doing; it had to be, it was the only Magical thing he owned, as well as the fact that the dreams started as soon as he had acquired it. Laying on his bed still, he rolled over to face the wall and the door, clutching the pendant tightly in his fist. The dawn would peek over the horizon soon, a curious creature come to investigate a new beginning. The minutes trickled over Alfred like bugs over a fallen tree, but he couldn't tell how long he had been simply staring into space. He needed to climb out of this terrible spiral of crazy and work out what to do; he was a hero of the people, he couldn't just lay around like the drunkards in the taverns! He had a job, a purpose in life that helped people, and like Hell if he was going to let them down.
Waiting patiently and trying to ignore the flashing images still swirling like tornadoes in his brain, Alfred toyed with the idea of going for help. He hadn't opened his shop for the last few days, and had only left the house to fetch bread and meat, but if he didn't start to pull back his business, he wouldn't have one to return to. Money, too, was going to grow tight and he would end up starving in his own home. This fact cemented an idea in the corner of his brain. He could go to see the witch in the town a few miles south of Washington, like he had originally planned, but rather than see if she could help him control it, maybe she could help him rid himself of it.
With that thought comforting him, Alfred fell asleep and unclenched the muscles in his hand. The pendant fell to the dirty wooden floor with a soft thump, landing in the dust and sending a cloud of it into the air. Sitting innocently in the muck of the floor, it slowly began to spin, re-churning the settling dust. The red glow emanated from the rubies again as it span through the air like treacle, but after a minute it stopped.
The arrowhead was left facing east as the eerie glow faded, but then the pendant itself started to pale, as if the metal was being scrubbed away. After a few minutes, it was barely a ghost, just a whisper of the previous elegant enigma on an ordinary silver chain.
Alfred had no dreams that night.
The morning came in a burst of golden sunlight through Alfred's old and moth-eaten curtains, filling the room with a warm feeling of contentment as he awoke fresh for the first time in a week. No dreams had plagued him at all, not even a strange flash of colour or muted scream, and for that Alfred could have cheered. In fact, he nearly did, then remembered that he still needed to find out exactly what the pendant was; one night of peace didn't mean that he was going to be free forever. A clanging noise echoed up from the kitchen downstairs but Alfred was too wrapped up in sleep to care, so he ignored it. But a plain white ceiling wasn't the most entertaining thing on the planet and Alfred had an exceptionally short attention span. Boredom grew from a niggling seed to a huge, hungry tree inside his stomach, and curiosity soon followed it, albeit sleepily.
Probably only that stupid cat next door, he registered vaguely, I'll check it out I suppose...
Clambering out of bed with a groan and one hand threaded in his hair, he padded his way across his bedroom to the chair where he had flung his clothes the previous night without a thought. He stared at them blankly for a minute, blinking slowly to rid himself of the tattered cobwebs of his sleep that were preventing him from thinking straight. The hand not tugging knots of his bed-head reached out for the rumpled shirt without Alfred even realising it had happened, and he slipped it over each shoulder with more than a little difficulty. As he finally managed to dress himself without completely ruining his outfit by punching any holes through it, another crash (although it should have been called a crashing tinkle, as the sound was recognisable as shattering glass) crawled up through the wood of the door. This noise finally shocked Alfred out of his it's-too-early-in-the-morning-for-this-shit daze and he stood up ramrod straight, straining to hear any more clues.
Come on Al, it's just the cat. It's got in somehow, broken some stuff in a panic. You can shoo it out, then get some breakfast. Right? Let's go then!
He crept across the room without putting his shoes on, easing the door open without a sound. The carpeted hallway muffled the gentle padding of Alfred's footsteps, but he still grabbed the rough sword he kept by the entrance to his bedroom, just in case. The occasional loud bang continued to float up, becoming louder as Alfred made his way to the kitchen.
He stood in front of the closed door, sword clutched so tightly in both hands that his knuckles were as white as spider's webs and his nails gouged half moons into the leather of the grip. Noises that were too quiet to be heard before were loud now: huffing breaths; grunts of pain; footsteps; the odd curse in a strange language.
So, it's not the cat at any rate...
Alfred took a deep breath in, filling his lungs with air in order to calm his shaking arms and sweating hands. This... intruder would regret doing, well, whatever they were doing, in his house!
Still grasping the sword by the worn grip, Alfred kicked the door open, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Get the fuck out of my house, asshole! You have no idea who you're- OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?"
Alfred's kitchen was not what anyone could call small, although it wasn't the largest in the world either. However, it was by far the largest room in his house, taking up the majority of the ground floor. Cupboards lined all the walls in uniform rows, some too full to close properly and where packet edges spilled out of the small gaps in the doors. An elegant oak table stood proudly in the centre of the room with 6 hand crafted chairs tucked neatly underneath it. But it was dwarfed by the sheer size of the creature that sat on top of the table, swinging its tail in undulating circles.
Although its body was mainly humanoid and appeared to be male, its arms and legs were covered in a layer of light green scales and huge yellow bat wings that sprouted from its shoulder blades were pressed up against the ceiling. A ruff of skin the same colour and texture as the wings mimicked hair and fell to the nape of the creature's neck.
At the sound of Alfred's screech it span around to face him and its eyes burned an unearthly yellow. A red mouth full of long curved fangs hung open, a purpling forked tongue sliding through the gap between the front two. Heaving breaths pushed its barrel chest up and down and Alfred felt every single drop of blood drain from his face individually.
AN - I'm so sorry I haven't posted in so long but I wanted to concentrate on schoolwork for the first half term, which pushed fanfic writing to the bottom of my to do pile. However, now I can write again!
But seriously. I can't apologise enough. Also, when did this turn into some crazy fantasy thing, it was supposed to be more normal for at least a little while...
