The Slime Beast

by Guy N Smith

  Their 'double-bed' was ready. She slid into the soft quilt as he put out the light. Then they were together, their naked bodies responding to each other's touches.

  Her shyness evaporated with the darkness, and her legs parted willingly to allow his eager fingers to probe between them. Her breath came faster and she moaned with delight.

  'You ... you've done this to a girl before.' It was a statement not a question. Immediately she wished she hadn't said it. She had no right to pry into his past. 'I'm sorry Gavin I shouldn't have said that It's just, that you... seem to know exactly what to do to me.'

  'There aren't many blokes over twenty who haven't been with a girl.' He chose his words carefully. He told her what she wanted to know. No details.

  There was silence for some minutes.

  'I ... hope you won't be disappointed in me.' She trembled as she spoke. 'You see... I'm a virgin,'

  He pressed his lips to hers fiercely. Gavin had never slept with a virgin before. He would have to go carefully. He would either make or break their relationship.

  Gently, very gently, he eased himself into her. A little at a time. Stopping and resting whenever she gasped with pain. At last he was there. All the way.

  'You're not a virgin anymore,' he whispered.

  'I wish you'd done it to me a long time ago,' she replied as he began to thrust gently. 'Oh God! Gavin, promise me you'll do it to me again... and again! '

  'I promise.'

  'What ... what if I become pregnant? The students at university take precautions. I've heard them talking about it'

  'I'll be careful,' he breathed. Trust me just this once. After this we'll use something more reliable.'

  She nodded and relaxed again. Perhaps she wasn't really bothered if he did get her pregnant.

  Half an hour later, after having rested every few minutes, he knew that this time he would be unable to halt his desires. Swiftly he eased himself backwards. Just in time! Liz felt the warmth spurting on to her thighs. He had not betrayed her trust.

  Then they just lay there, content in each other's spent body, quivering in the knowledge of what they had done. They dozed. Finally they slept

  But Liz felt as though her eyes had hardly closed before they flickered open again. Her tirednesss was gone. She was wide awake.

  She felt Gavin's body close to her, and heard his rhythmic heavy breathing. She glanced at the luminous dial of her travelling alarm-clock on a crate by her side: 2.20 am.

  She was puzzled. Very rarely did she wake in the night. Something must have woken her. Perhaps it was the excitement of losing her virginity. She felt her desires welling up again at the very thought. Her hand delved low and touched Gavin. His limpness excited her as much as his hardness had done. He stirred. She snatched her hand away feeling guilty.

  Outside, the breeze rustled softly through the spike-grass. Then she heard something else. She could not place the sound. It was louder than the sighing of the wind, harsher too, like an asthmatic wheeze magnified a hundred times.

  As she listened, it came closer. Now it was directly outside the boarding which covered the slotted windows and the doorway. Harsh and unreal, reminding her of the snuffling of some wild beast in search of prey.

  Suddenly she was afraid. There was something outside. Something or someone was looking for a way in!

  'Gavin! Gavin!' There was an urgency in her whisper. 'Wake up. There's something prowling round the blockhouse!'

  He sat up. The sound came again. Laboured stentorian breathing. But there was something else. Something which sent shivers down his spine without any logical explanation.

  The noise reminded him of something wet and slippery being forcibly dragged across terra firma, pausing every so often to rest as though the effort was too great.

  Their nostrils twitched. The scent of the saltings which had been with them since their arrival was now masked by a far more powerful aroma. The cloying putrifying stench was only too familiar ...

  'It's ... it's .. .' Liz choked and heaved and clung tightly to Gavin.

  'Yes,' he breathed. 'That foul smell from the pit—the Slime Beast!'

  'It can't be that foul thing out there...'

  Gavin did not answer. He did not dare. How could that loathsome creature have risen from its marshy grave to prowl the saltings? Yet it had not been dead! They all knew that. It had been breathing. Therefore it was still alive. So why should it be incapable of movement? That was logic. All the same it didn't bear thinking about

  The slithering stopped. The beast was outside the planking which served as an improvised door. A scratching sound—it had found the entrance, a flimsy structure which would be no match against sheer physical power. Liz felt the panic surging up inside her. Something splintered.

  Gavin leapt out of the sleeping-bag. He wished he had a gun but it would probably have been useless. Nothing would penetrate that slime-covered, armour-plating. He found Liz's torch and switched it on, sweeping the beam round the small enclosure.

  A weapon! He must repel this loathesome creature. Then an idea filtered through his fear-crazed brain. He saw the box of matches and the three-day-old newspaper. Fire! The scourge of all beasts of the wild.

  Swiftly he opened the paper and rolled it into the shape of a giant spill, but as he did so there was a loud crack and further splintering of wood. He fumbled for a match and the flame caught, licking hungrily with each second.

  The draught in the corridor fanned the fire and the flames filled everywhere with their golden glow, casting eerie shadows. He forced himself to look at the door. Pieces of broken wood lay inside on the concrete and something glinted in the jagged hole: a shimmering of greyish-green slime on a webbed claw which was already snapping off another length of wood.

  For a second Gavin stood as though transfixed. Every movement in his body seemed to have been halted by some invisible force. He had read of people being paralysed by fear. He had never believed it... until now!

  The flame wafted back towards him. He felt the heat on his face. He stepped back. He could move again.

  Another chunk of wood bounced on the floor. Gavin leapt forward. There was no time to lose,

  The gap was larger now. Something was thrusting itself inside. A head. Squashed scaly features, bared reptilian lips, gaping quivering nostrils, eyes glinting evilly, reflecting the light from the dancing flame.

  The stench was overpowering. Gavin retched even as he threw the burning newspaper into the face of the fiend. He staggered back narrowly missing a blow from that mighty claw which would have meant instant death had it connected He stumbled and fell hi a heap on the floor.

  A wild unearthly scream of rage and fear filled the night air. A thousand souls hi the torments of hell could not have sounded more terrible. It seared his mind. He wanted to scream as well. Liz was already screaming.

  Then suddenly there was silence for a few seconds. Nothing moved. Shambling slithering footsteps faded away across the marsh,

  'What's going on?'

  The beam from the torch blinded him but he recognised the Professor's voice. Gavin struggled to his feet Liz appeared on the scene also and flashed her own torch revealing her uncle, hair awry, clad hi shirt and long pants.

  Gavin fought to remain calm. 'We've had a visitor, but he's gone now. It was the Slime Beast."

  'Nonsense, you've been dreaming. . .'

  'Just look at that then I' Gavin pointed to the splintered wood on the floor and the jagged hole in the door which was still dripping with foul-smelling slime. 'Can't you smell it, Professor?'

  Lowson nodded dumbly.

  'Well it's on the loose.' Gavin retorted, 'and we're responsible. We freed it from the mud. We must report it first thing tomorrow morning!'

  'Oh yes,' Professor Lowson's tone was laced with sarcasm, 'and subject ourselves to ridicule. It might never be seen again. Then we should look fools in the eyes of the public. I think we agreed among ourselves that we should devote tomorrow to researching it. Then, in t
he light of our discoveries, we can determine our next course of action.'

  'I suppose you're right,' Gavin began pulling on some jeans and attempted to make it look as though he had come out of his own room to repel the Slime Beast. 'There's one thing we must remember though. This beast is highly dangerous. Whatever the outcome of our research it has got to be destroyed. It's a menace to mankind!'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THEY slept badly for the rest of the night Gavin knew well that his improvised repairs to the door of the blockhouse were not enough against the Slime Beast should it return. However it could not enter without making a noise and Gavin was relying on sufficient warning to enable him to use the burning paper again.

  After the Professor had returned to his quarters Gavin and Liz went back to their sleeping-bag.

  'It's too horrible for words,' Liz sobbed, pressing her body close to his. 'I mean it's all very well Uncle Jack wanting to keep it a secret, but we can't keep quiet about a monster like that on the rampage.'

  'We'll have to for the moment,' Gavin replied. 'If we go and tell the authorities that this thing's on the loose without proof of its existence they'll put us in the nut-house for a spell! '

  All three of them were up soon after dawn. Liz prepared a breakfast of bacon, beans and coffee after which they felt considerably better.

  Professor Lowson stuffed tobacoo into his pipe. 'Well, we can't make a move before nine o'clock. The tide doesn't turn until eight and we shan't be able to cross the big creek on to the other side of the saltings until then.'

  It seemed a long wait. The Professor retired to his stuffy compartment, rummaging through books and papers. Gavin and Liz sat on the spartina grass outside the blockhouse and watched the sun come up.

  'I wish we didn't have to go back to that awful hole.' Liz squeezed his hand as she spoke. 'Right now I'd like to pack everything up and go home. I don't ever want to see this horrible place again.'

  'Don't worry,' Gavin tried to reassure her. 'Maybe as soon as your uncle's carried out an examination on the ' Slime Beast we'll be moving off. I guess poor old King John's treasure will take a back seat for a while.'

  Liz suddenly sat bolt upright and pointed towards the sea-wall. There's somebody coming. Looks like quite a party too.'

  Gavin focused his binoculars on the distant group.

  'That's funny! They're police. Three in uniform and two who are obviously in charge. Plain clothes men. And somebody else. Seems to be showing them the way. It's that character your uncle punched on the jaw last night. The wildfowler fellow.' He lowered his glasses. 'Maybe he's come to prefer assault charges against the Professor. Still he'd hardly bring half the local police force with him. One constable would be enough.'

  'Poor old Uncle Jack,' Liz moaned. 'Always in trouble over something.'

  They sat and watched as Glover led the small parry across the saltings, taking a winding course in order to avoid the deep creeks. They could see them clearly now. The fowler had a worried, almost frightened, expression on his face. Hardly a trace of anger. The leading police officer was tall and austere, his companion short and stocky. The three constables had an air of perplexity about them.

  They came to a halt in front of Gavin and Liz.

  'Is Professor Lowson about?'

  There was nothing friendly about the official man and Liz felt her stomach muscles tighten.

  'Does somebody want me?' the Professor appeared in the doorway of the blockhouse, pipe in mouth, and an expression of annoyance on his face. Glover scowled at him but it appeared to go unnoticed.

  'I'm Chief-Inspector Harborne,' the policeman held up his official card. This is my colleague, Detective-Inspector Borg.'

  'What can we do for you?' Lowson was puzzled. He was not used to dealings with the law and felt at a strong disadvantage.

  "There's been a ghastly murder committed.' Harborne's voice was terse, matter-of-fact 'A terrible mutilation with no apparent motive. I understand from Mr Glover here that the murdered man called upon you in the early hours of yesterday evening; a Mr Manton Haywood'

  Gavin and Liz gasped audibly. Even Professor Lowson was shaken.

  'What! ' he croaked. The bird-watcher ?'

  That's him,'

  While Harborne talked, Borg and the three constables wandered about the outside of the building. Mallard Glover fidgeted with his hands and looked down at the ground.

  'He lived in the old lighthouse which you can see from here at the end of the sea-wall. I wondered if you saw or heard anything unusual during the night.'

  Lowson became off-hand. 'Nothing at all. He did call here just after dark. Claimed we were disturbing his birds with our presence here, but he didn't stop long. Never came inside in fact.'

  'I see.' Chief-Inspector Harborne fixed his gaze steadily on the other. 'Might I infer from that that it was not exactly a friendly meeting?'

  'Not particularly.'

  'Well,' Harborne's tones were grim. This is one of the vilest killings I've come across in my thirty years in the Force. The body was,' he lowered his voice so that Liz would be unable to hear him, 'mutilated and dismembered. The entrails have disappeared. Everywhere there was blood and ... slime! A horrible greyish-green slime that smells of putrifaction. The experts at this moment are trying to identify it. It's not of these marshes, that's a certainty! There was a trail of it leading from the sea-wall to the lighthouse, along the road into Sutton and back again out on to the marshes. Already most of it appears to be evaporating. Like some behemoth had risen from a watery lair and then gone back again. Trouble is you can't trace the stuff on the marshes otherwise we'd track it down without any trouble. My theory is that the murderer is a homicidal maniac. He used this vile stuff as part of a ruse to try and throw us off the scent Pretty crude, but its no monster! That stuff's for horror movies and comics.'

  'Seems a bit far-fetched.' Lowson lit his pipe as though in boredom. 'If we see some monster about we'll get in touch with you.'

  'Never mind the monster,' Harborne's tone was acid. 'It's a murderer we're after and we shan't rest until we've got him. So just keep your door locked at night if you must camp out here.'

  Ten minutes later the party departed, Glover slowly leading them back to the sea-wall. Gavin turned on Professor liowson. 'Why the hell didn't you tell them?' he snapped. 'You'll be in serious trouble for not disclosing valuable evidence. I wasn't going to show you up in front of them but if you don't go to them with the full story in the next twenty-four hours then I shall! We're in deadly danger out here. It could have been us three who were dismembered and mutilated instead of Haywood!'

  'Now hold your horses. Another few hours won't make any difference. I want a chance to examine this monster.

  If you ask me, it slumbers by day and prowls by night. That gives us the rest of the day. Better start getting your things together. The tide should be well on the way out by now and we'll be able to get across the big creek easily.'

  It was unusual for the bar-room of The Bull to be crowded so early in the morning. Usually for the first half-hour after Tom Southgate opened the doors he rarely saw a soul. A few drifted in for a pint and a sandwich around midday and then it went quiet again.

  Not so this sunny autumn morning. Fishermen, whelkers, and local tradesmen all seemed to have taken the day off. Yet there was no holiday atmosphere in the place. Smiles were few and far between. Instead they were sombre and afraid.

  'What the 'ell was it?' a small whelker croaked, turning to face the silent assembly. 'Musta come right by our cottage. Left a trail o' that filthy stinkin' stuff all down the lane. I see'd the slime with me own eyes. Not o' this world. Never. Not o' this world. You could smell it!' He paused. 'It smelt o'... the dead!'

  'I reckon Glover knows sommat about it.' another one put in. 'Queer bloke. Spends most of 'is time out on the salt marshes. The trail led back out there. Besides,' and he leered, 'him and that bird-watcher bloke hated each other's guts. Glover's threatened to shoot him more than once. And
now 'e's done it in a way so they can never pin any-thin' on 'im !'

  'Rubbish!' Tom Southgate slammed an empty beer-mug down on the counter. 'You don't know what you're a-talkin' about Sam Slights! It's got nothin' to do with Glover, queer cuss as he is. Whatever killed Haywood is not of this world! And mark my words, it'll kill again... and again.'

  'What're ye babblin' about, Tom?' one of the fishermen bawled out. Yet in spite of his dissent there was uncertainty in his voice. There's a maniac at large. You know that. We all know it. The police said so didn't they ?'

  'Aye,' Southgate turned on the speaker. 'The police said so right enough. They had to. They don't want to spread panic do they? Treat us like children. Think it's best if we don't know.'

  'Then what do you think's behind it all Tom?' someone else called out.

  'Shall I tell you?' the landlord lowered his voice and leaned across the bar. Everybody became silent Fidgeted. Uncertain of themselves.

  'Well,' he paused for effect, 'it's these treasure-hunters who are to blame!' He looked round. Murmers of astonishment 'It's them who've stirred it all up. Perhaps none of you know the old legend. King John's treasure shall remain hidden for all time. It is no man's to claim. It belongs to John himself. To the dead! A sea-monster guards it night and day. Yet if any mortal shall dig close to the treasure this beast shall rise and go forth to seek vengeance. That's what it did last night Only the bird-watcher happened to be handy. It wasn't satisfied though. Oh no! It had slept for seven hundred years and it must've been mighty hungry. It came up to the village but found nothin'. Everyone was indoors sleepin' and it couldn't get at 'em. But it'll come back. Just you mark my words. It'll come back!'

  'Where'd you get all this from, Tom?' a man from the back of the room called out

  'Me ole Dad,' was the reply, 'and 'e got it from 'is dad afore 'im, who got it from 'is dad afore 'im, who got...'

  'Yeah. Well suppose this is what's happenin' right now. How d'we get rid o' the curse?'

  There's only one way as I can see.' Tom Southgate thrust out his bearded jaw and glared at the whole company. 'We gotta get rid o' these bastards from out of that bloody blockhouse. Drive 'em away. Worse if we have to. We'll know no peace until they're gone from the marshes. Alive or dead!'