03/27/2020 Snippet (Final), THE WOLF-MAN OF WESTHAVEN.

I powered through and finished it up. Gonna polish it a bit over the weekend, then make it this month’s Patreon short story. I should just really concede that I don’t do a mere 3K word short story a month over there anymore.

The atrocity ghost screamed into existence with the sunrise, and it glowed enough with its own pain and rage to make Jack and Jill twitch at the sudden, cruel brightness. The ghost was a hideous thing, full of right angles and crackling razor-sharp (and straight) segments and a metallic whine that the party felt in their teeth and inner ears. Every line seemed to have its own mouth; and every mouth howled through serrated teeth.

Anton struck first, this time with shield and sharktooth club. His shield bash knocked the atrocity ghost back, and the gutting-stroke that followed it ripped a handful of the hateful lines free — but the atrocity ghost recovered quickly, slashing a glittering lash of light back at Anton. He fell back enough to avoid being gutted in his turn — but there were now deep grooves on his breastplate, and the top of his shield had been lopped off.

At their feet, the hacked-off pieces of the atrocity ghost stirred, and began to crawl back to their host. From Jack’s fingers flew whirring throwing-bones, to pin them to the ground, quivering. And then it was Jack’s turn to be lashed by the atrocity ghost, in a blur of motion that ended with Jack sprawled at one end of the room, clutching at splintered and bloody ribs.

Hands writhing in complex patterns, Maddie yelled to Jill. “Get its attention! I need it trying to whip you!”

“That’s not gonna be hard!” Jill snarled as she threw a handful of glass spheres at the atrocity ghost. They exploded in gouts of acidic gasses, scoring the spirit’s ‘hide.’ She feinted and rolled as the atrocity ghost lunged, its whip blurring ahead of it.