On the Far Side of Darkness by R. C. Graham

without looking back, leave her and the library.
     
    * * * *
     
    Hours later, huddled against the chill both inside and out, I am on my bench at Poet’s Walk, desperately trying to subdue my emotions. The battle between man and monster is more intense than it has been for a long time.
    My human feelings; sorrow, longing and anger surge through me. Diane and what has happened to her make my mind boil. The fate of Mandy’s other victims adds a little heat.
    They slop over to the monster, make its presence intense. It takes all my strength to keep from searching out my student to make her pay in terror and agony.
    You don’t have to be a monster, even now, I tell myself. Ms. Richardson can meet my demands. If she does, our war is over. Like most wars, nothing will be gained, save the freedom of the people damaged by her. To me, that is more important than victory.
    I tense as a fluttering sound comes from my right. It sounds as if a large bird is moving nearby, almost. But not quite.
    The noise comes again, in front of me and I look to see if I can spot whatever is there. Nothing.
    Again the rustling reaches me, left side this time. I recognize the pattern now. Whatever is out there is running a circle around me to check my awareness and for defenses. Which means…
    I roll off the bench and something flashes by. It would have landed on my back if I had stayed still. A rank, fetid smell fills the air.
    I come to my feet, facing the thing as it lands. For thing it is. It’s shaped vaguely like a whippet, spare and lean. But it’s three times the size of animal it is patterned after. Large wings resembling a bat’s are furled against its back. The body appears to be made out of rotting meat, the surface is scabrous, decomposing in places with maggots dripping from its interior. The eyes are milky but also glow with a dark intent. The jaws contain large, undamaged and very sharp teeth.
    I can’t help myself and use a line from a movie I quite enjoyed. “You are one ugly motherfucker.”
    A feeling scratches at the edge of my mind. I sense that the hell hound finds me amusing. I’m the first victim in a while who has shown defiance. It likes that, bravado will make my destruction more savory.
    During that very short interval of distraction I prepare myself. My fingernails lengthen, thicken and become razor sharp. I pull a fair amount of blood from my stomach and convert it to energy. The sounds around me change in timbre as my speed climbs to far past human limits.
    Without a noise it leaps for me. A mortal would die before this aberration’s assault. I take what seems to me a second to consider my response, step straight in and shove the spear point of my hand between its eyes. That’s followed by pivoting to my left like a matador and I hurl the demon into some bushes beyond the bench where I sat. Something black and slimy is wrapped in my fingers, the hell hound’s brain I’m hoping.
    It would appear so. The creature in the shrubbery twitches, scrabbles at the air and bursts into blue flame.
    So does what I grip in my hand and coats my lower arm.
    The pain is enormous, beyond description. My head rolls back and I howl with my suffering. The ululation is utterly bestial. What I try to be is swept away and the monster screams free.
    The light and my torture end. As my awareness returns I find I’m on my knees. It takes effort but I manage to focus on my hand. Little remains but a large chunk of charcoal, desiccated digits sticking from it. Without thought, I use my power. I can almost feel the liquid in my stomach gurgle as it’s changed into flesh and bone. My hand goes through a transformation like a movie playing backwards.
    Soon I’m whole again, and hungry, ravenous. I’ve had to use nearly all my blood to heal myself.
    There is a light touch on my shoulder, a young woman says, “Mister…”
    Then my teeth are sunk in her neck. I shiver with pleasure as the delicious liquid fills my mouth and runs down my