Time Thief
Prologue: Crossover

The night sat over Oxford like a grim shroud, breached only by the diffused yellow light of street lamps. The late night revellers had all stumbled off to collapse on their respective beds, and Cornmarket Street was now empty of human life. A chill breeze wafted up the street, picking up discarded kebab and burger wrappers, flipping and spinning them into dark corners.

A large dark shape crouched on muscular haunches, blacker than the shadows of Market Street. It was angry and terrified. It sniffed at the air with a wide, whiskered snout, searching for some familiar scent. But it found none. Everything was alien to it: the sharp smell of diesel fumes and oil; the garish unnatural light, and the feel of concrete beneath its clawed, padded feet. It growled softly: a rumbling, pitiful sound deep in its barrel chest.

It sniffed the sharp air again and caught the scent of something it did recognise; something it both hated and feared more than anything else: The smell of man.

It leaped with feline agility from a dumpster, using the nearby building to launch itself into the black night and up towards the rooftop.

A tramp weaved across Cornmarket Street mumbling to himself incoherently, his steps exaggerated as he negotiated the curb. He giggled and raged, berating the world and cackling from the alcohol-fuelled madness that soaked his once strong mind. He spied the dumpster and smiled to himself. What small treasures would he find there?

The old vagrant lifted the lid and began to peer inside, cursing the darkness that concealed the plunder that lay within. He leaned forward and began to search through the rotten vegetables and other soiled rubbish. The smell was sickening and he pulled a stained handkerchief from the pocket of his army surplus greatcoat and held it over his nose.

From somewhere above he heard a harsh growl that sent a shiver of terror through to the core of his being.

He stumbled back a few metres.

Silence.

The old man wobbled on his feet and took a swig of cheap brandy from the bottle hidden safely inside his coat. 'Wha's 'at? Eh? C'mon yer...' he cursed. He took another swig from the bottle, finding courage.

Silence still.

He mumbled something about disputable parentage, then stumbled back to the dumpster.

He never even saw the creature that ripped his throat out, leaving his lifeless corpse in a pool of black blood on the filthy concrete.

Across Cornmarket Street someone

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5
• next page >>

---

Add your voice

Know something about Novel excerpts: Fantasy?
We want to hear your view. Write now!