The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery by Brandon Berntson (books under 200 pages .txt) 📗

“Millie, honestly,” Macky said.  “Make this easy for everyone, will ya?  Pack your things, and let’s go! This isn’t you.  You’re in danger.  The people of Sarnath are in danger!  What do you think all the commotion is for?  The tribe of Ib is coming this way.  People are dying!  Can’t you hear the screams?”

“My name, you peasant,” she said, “is Queen von Clydesburgh.  And you will address me as such.  Off with his head!  Off with all their heads!”

“Oh, sure, that’s rational!”

Capshaw and Armitage acted quickly.  They rushed the guards, managed, somehow, with sheer surprise, to snatch their swords out of their hands and point them back in their direction.  Macky was in awe watching it.  The two guards stood staring in stunned disbelief.

“Oafs!” Millie said.  “Useless, brainless, oafs!  I’ll have your heads before this night is through!”

She turned her ear to the window and the balcony.  “What is that infernal racket?”

Macky saw her eyes widen; her face paled.  He was behind her in seconds.  The tribe was moving in from the lake.  They hadn’t reached the square yet.

“Hold tight to Mr. Kalabraise, Mill,” he said.

She was about to reply when he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and turned, heading out of the room as fast as he could.  Millie dropped Mr. Kalabraise who went after the guards.  She started beating on Macky’s back with both hands.

“Let me go, you tyrant!  You oaf!  You cad!  Let me gooooo!”

“Ouch!  Millie!  Stop that!  I’m trying to save your life, you shrew!”

“How dare you call me—”

One guard stood in the way.  He spun around with Millie’s feet in the air and clipped the man in the chin.  The guard fell with a thud.

“Ow!” Millie cried.  “You broke my foot!”

Capshaw held the sword out toward the other guard.

“Grab Mr. Kalabraise,” Macky shouted.

“Huh?” Armitage asked.

“The dog!  The dog!” Macky said.

Armitage reached down and grabbed the cocker spaniel.  Millie continued to pound on his back.

“Let me go, you oaf!  You brute!  You savage!  Do you have any idea who I am?”

Macky hurried to the door.  He took the stairs. The other followed.  Mr. Kalabraise barked the whole way.

—

“Brute!  Braggard!  Villain!  Rogue!  Hands off!  In the name of Sarnath and the wickedness of Ib, let me goooo!”

The place was in pandemonium.  Sarnath was under a full-scale attack.  Tall, moon-faced warriors with big lips, sallow faces, moony eyes stormed the square.  The people of Sarnath fell one by one.

Macky, Millie, Armitage, and Capshaw maneuvered as safely as they could.  Macky watched Capshaw swing at one of the tribesman.  He parried, injured the man’s arm, and hurried away, following Macky out of the square.  They hurried to the trail and toward Millie’s apartment at the top of the hill.

The citizens of Sarnath fled and screamed in all directions.

“Dang it, Millie, stop it!” Macky shouted.

“How do you know my name?” she cried.  “Tell me you cut-throat.  Villain.  Rogue!”

“It’s on your resume, pumpkin,” he said.

“Cad!  Brute!  Heathen!  Scoundrel!  Off with their heads!”

“That line’s getting old, Mill.”

“Thief!  Braggart!  Ruffian!”

“Harridan!” he fired back.  “Battle-axe!  Frump!”

Millie gasped.  “How dare you use those baseless words with me!  No one calls me a harridan, let alone, a frump!”

“You’re not getting lighter, toots!” Macky said, running up the trail as best he could.

“Did you say I was fat?”

“You’re no ballerina, my dear,” he said.  “That’s for sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He was arguing with a woman he’d slung over his shoulder.  He looked back and saw one of the tribesman of Ib following them.   Armitage was close behind Macky.  Capshaw was behind Armitage.

“Don’t worry, sponge-cake,” Macky said.  “We’ll have you back in no time.”

“What on earth is a sponge-cake?” she asked.

“Lemon-drop?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Pudding-pie?” he said.  “Daffodil.  Any of these things ringing a bell, Your Majesty?”

“You finally got the title right, you blundering oaf!”

“Temporary business,” he said.   “Just to humor the ladies.”

“Where’s my dog?  You better not hurt Mr. Kalabraise.”

He was halfway up the trail.  Despite the pounding she continued to deliver, he cantered up as fast as he could.

“We’re not out of this yet,” Armitage said, huffing and puffing behind him.

Millie’s apartment was coming into view, the chairs, kitchen, everything blending into the hillside but slowly overrun by the natural growth of Sarnath.  The front door leading into the hallway sat at the top of the hill like a lone portal.

Screaming continued from below.  Flames were bright in the dark, the city of Sarnath under siege.  Draperies were on fire outside balcony windows.  The shouts and tribal calls of Ib echoed over the square and up the hill where Macky, Capshaw, and Armitage continued to run.  The lights and flickers from across the lake grew dim with the onset of fog.  The moon shone like a single, approving eye.

Macky was in what should have been Millie’s apartment.  In some aspects, it was still there.  He grabbed the front door, pulled, and made it into the hallway.  He set Millie on her feet.  She turned and slapped him as hard as she could.  The jolt stung and warmed the side of his face.  He saw stars, swooned, and put a hand to his face.

“That’s what I get for saving your life?” he asked.

She reared back to slap him again.  He grabbed her wrist.

Armitage told Capshaw to hurry.

Capshaw stopped and turned.  He grabbed the sword in both hands and hurled it at their attacker.  It somersaulted through the air and sank into the tribesman’s belly.  The man stopped instantly, dropped his sword, fell to his knees, and pitched forward.

Macky raised his eyebrows.  Armitage looked stunned.

Capshaw turned and hurried into Millie’s apartment, still holding his bowler’s hat.  He made it through the door and