The Giant Bat

In Market Square, a giant bat was hung on a lamppost, its wings spread outwards, its tiny vermilion eyes scanned across the angry mob. It hissed in defiance as torches were cruelly thrust into its side. The herdlike townsfolk milled about, curious children in shabby dress stood on tiptoe or climbed atop wooden benches or stone walls to peer over the heads of the adults at the proceedings. A nobleman distinguished from the rest by his groomed attire stood at the head of the throng, poised to speak. The swarming crowd was subdued to murmurs as he addressed the imprisoned creature in a controlled voice.

—We hereby charge thee with acts of terror, the spreading of ill-merited grief, nocturnal prowling and stalking, provoking fear and horror in the hearts of the innocent, and stealing the souls from the good people for your own villainous purposes. Your pronounced sentence is death.

The onlookers roared in agreement. An armored guard, stationed beside the beast, lifted his edged halberd from where it rested and, upon command from the nobleman, thrust it deep into the belly of the forlorn creature. The giant bat hissed angrily, fangs bared. Bloody spittle sputtered from its black lips and its wings quivered violently. Then the outburst quickly died away in its throat and its form grew limp. The square grew quiet as the fearsome head fell to one side, lifeless.

There were cheers and cries of celebration, victorious laugher, women spun in the arms of their husbands, children dashed amid the tangles of legs, elders looking skyward. All the while, a black ominous vapor spewed from the stabwound, thickly gathering in the torchlight. The onlookers ceased their merriment and turned their attention to the bewildering sight. The impenetrable mist quickly filled the square, choking the townspeople, stinging their eyes, burning their throats, biting into their flesh with unseen teeth. Dreadful screams escaped their lips. Their eyes bulged and they retched violently, the vile stench of vomit filling the nostrils. Some clawed at bleeding faces, wrenching out eyes with trembling fingers. One woman, seeking escape, slit her own throat with a ragged thumbnail. When at last they had all fallen, the deathfog began to lift. The tattered bodies lay horribly over one another, with twisted limbs and terrible wounds, ghastly faces of immortalized terror.

And in the center, the giant bat was gone. In its place lay the dead nobleman sprawled outright across the pedestal base of the lamppost. His grimy fingers were curled into a talon still quivering, his empty eyesockets turned towards the dark heavens as though trapped in a piteous deathplea with the immortal gods, seeking forgiveness for his grave misjudgment.