The One-Legged Dog At The Gates Of Hell - A Macabre Encounter (Part The Fourth)

Part The Fourth -Hellish Portal


I'm not an overtly courageous fellow. I don't set out to immerse myself in a life of danger, dynamism and derring-do. I am perfectly at home reclining by the fireside in the Old Actonian Gentleman's Club with a glass of fine port. Yet, by some mysterious quirk of fate, I seem to find myself pushed, prodded and propelled into the realm of the perilous and hazardous.

I could tell by the expression of bovine surprise littering Arbie's jowls that this was not something that he had been expecting to happen. Harkworth continued to jibber and shriek and the portal began to pulse and oscillate with alarming frequency. Arbie rushed over to try and stop the raving little twitcher, receiving a sound clout to the head for his troubles. He dropped unconscious to the floor.

"You fools!" shrieked the insane little blighter. "You don't understand what this means, the power, the unimaginable power!" He threw back his head and laughed in what he obviously imagined to a be a maniacal fashion but was, in fact, somewhat asthmatic and rather damp.

It was at this point that I decided that discretion was probably the better part of valour and removed myself to a more secluded vantage point underneath one of Arbie's work benches. I was able to spy upon the wretch and the unearthly doorway from there.

There was a final resounding crack and the shimmering haze of the portal solidified. Murky figures began to appear and push their way through from whatever hellish dimension lurked beyond that archway. They had the mouldering grey skin and festering decrepitude of the walking dead.

Harkworth fixed them with a stare and declared himself their lord and master. Unfortunately for him, this had little to no effect on the shambling monstrosities as they descended upon him en masse and tore him rudely limb from limb. My best course of action at this particular juncture appeared to be curling up into as small a ball as possible and whimpering as quietly as possible. It was not looking good for your dear old Squire....



To Be Concluded