Sherlock Holmes: The Shadow From Beyond by Erik Branz Page A

surrounded him. The grass and trees were burning, all was an inferno, yet he was unaffected; the heat did not reduce his breath, the flames did not blister his skin. It was then that he heard the shrieking of children, and recognized the blackening forms of youngsters that ran about. Their bodies were enveloped by flame and sickly black plumes of greasy smoke flowed off their flailing limbs. Eventually they stopped, collapsed upon the scorched ground and in time the breeze scattered their ashen bodies to be lost to the winds.
    He pulled himself from the ground and stood in shock as all around him had been destroyed. All proof of life reduced to grey ash and dust. He stared in silent awe and tears streaked down his soot covered cheeks.
    A smell assaulted him then. Strong, sharp and overpowering. Brine, salt, sea. It originated from the maw of the cave. It flowed over him from behind. Like a moist blanket it smothered him. He tried to cover his nose with his hand, but the smell permeated and he gagged violently. The ground shook once more, accompanied by a high pitched piping of flutes that resounded in a cacophony of rhythmic madness. He watched, waited, he stared intently at the gaping maw as the audible effect increased. Then something emerged, it spilled out of the cave like thick rubbery petrol, all tentacles, eyes and mouths. It coiled toward him, increasing in size as it poured from the hole. The smell of decay it emitted was beyond human description. He crouched low and extended his hands in hopes to stop it, to protect himself, but there was no need as the entity passed through him as if he were a ghost, immaterial.
    He looked back over his shoulder, toward the town in the distance, yet untouched by the destruction around him, and sighed. The creature was heading right for it, and all the people within.
    Watson watched as the mass of churning darkness sped on, and within moments hovered menacingly above the town. It hesitated only seconds before it plunged down upon the hapless people below.
    A thousand voices assailed him then, voices filled with fear and suffering. The cries grew in volume, they became louder, agonized, tortured. He covered his ears to shut them out, but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried he could not avoid the horrific screams of those helpless tormented souls that resounded within his mind!
     
    Watson awoke to the screeching of train brakes and Holmes eyeing him curiously from over the afternoon paper. “Bad dreams old boy?” he enquired. “I have had them too. Very odd imagery in mine, stuff that could easily turn one toward the needle, if you understand my meaning. At some point, when I get a moment, I will have to try and deduce their exact context. Meanwhile, a spot of tea should calm your nerves, enjoy while it’s still hot.”
    The doctor pulled himself upright and poured himself a steaming cup of Earl Grey from the breakfast tray delivered earlier, its aroma seemed to sooth him and the horrible images of his imagination quickly faded.
    The remark concerning Holmes’ cocaine addiction did not go unnoticed by the good doctor and considering these recent events he could easily understand how a dose of that seven percent solution may help calm one’s nerves. So far though, he had yet to see the detective remove that certain small black case from his travel bag, so far.
    Watson sipped the flavorful drink slowly while Holmes quoted from the newspaper he held in hand, also delivered with their breakfast tray. “It mentions here in the harbor news section of La Gazette that the Aurora had still not docked at port this morn, over six hours late from its original posted arrival time. It was confirmed to have left Dover, England on schedule and was due to be at the port of Le Havre at 3 a.m., but neither sign nor word had been heard since just after 11 p.m. when a slight course update had been received by wireless. The article states that a French navy ship will be sent to look into the