Summer 1880 – Waiting for the Master to Come Home

 

The beast snarled from its lion’s maw and bleated from its goat’s throat. The combined sound was  not comical. It stalked forward. I jumped up and sideways, planting my feet on the nearest wall. Up to the ceiling I scuttled. The beast stared. Creation of gods it might have been, yet it had the ability to be surprised.