The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 47 - The Devil

England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
Unknown place - Somewhere in the woods
November 5, 1898, 10:26 p.m.

"Dear Doctor, over the centuries I have been given countless names, none of which I consider my own. The Israelites in Egypt called me Balam during their captivity. When the Nemesians sailed for Ireland and I settled here, I became known as Goemagot. Later I was called the Witch of Vixentor. The Serpent of King Teudar, the Black Rider of Poundstock, the Devil of Brantor Church, Cutty-Dyer, and finally the Black Dog of Richard Cabell. But my favorite name and the one that best describes my nature is the Dragon of Manaton." as he spoke his voice swelled. It grew fuller and the words more accented. 

He even spread his arms as if to present himself in his full appearance before Benjamin. The expression on his features, full of anticipation and flashing eyes, raised brows, and jutted chin suggested that he was expecting a bow or shaking knees.

Benjamin perceived the aura of menace that would probably have sent any smaller creature with less self-control running. Assuming, of course, they didn't immediately suffer a heart attack from bottomless fear. But Ben did not understand. And so he only frowned.

"What?"

There was no such thing as dragons. Whatever this man might be, he was without a doubt completely insane. To the doctor's great concern, the one who knew about such creatures and could have guessed the truth behind all the boasting was not here right now. And that gave him another attack of trepidation as if someone were stabbing crystal with a knife.

At Ben's unsuspecting question, he saw the change in the arrogant man's expression. His features slipped, then distorted for a split second into a stunned and then furious grimace. The facial expression the figure presented was pure nightmare material. He drew back his lips and bared the inhumanly long and polished rows of teeth. The blackened gums gleamed wetly in the glow of the red feather and the pointed teeth gleamed greedily in the moonlight. Ben felt as if he were once again staring directly into the face of a snarling beast.

Then the creature let out a rumbling snarl, took a step towards the viewfinder and Ben inevitably backed away. He almost tripped over a larger branch, but quickly regained his footing and the creature stopped abruptly. It regarded him closely, eyed Ben appraisingly, and seemed to regain control of its surging lust for murder.

Meanwhile, the former soldier gritted his teeth and felt the grip of his revolver under the firm pressure of his fingers. It was the only thing that reassured him and gave him steadiness and self-assurance in this situation. Every rough edge where the wood turned to metal. Every engraving, and the tiniest screws now undoubtedly left their mark on his skin. Only with the weapon could he at least defend his life. As long as he had a weapon, he had a chance. But he was well aware that he would probably need more than a revolver. Damn it, WHERE was Crowford?!

The dark eyes with the chasms of burning coal pits regarded Benjamin like a naughty sheep that had run in the wrong direction due to his lack of intellect. As if it was up to him to correct this sorry mistake like a shepherd dog, he started in a now thoroughly precocious tone.

"I'm the reason for the dead in this dump," he explained to the doctor and he licked his lips with his long tongue as if he could still taste their blood like delicious wine.