This month’s flash fiction was inspired by this image I saw in a Facebook group. I’m sorry, but I forgot to make a note of which group and any attribution. Anyway, I hope you enjoy The Night Watch.
A shadow moved at the edge of his vision.
He flinched and spun, raising the lantern high above his head.
The orange glow of the candle within did nothing to illuminate the alley. The overhanging buildings on either side provided cover for anyone who could be lurking in the darkness.
A shiver ran down his spine. The night watch was the worst.
Where was Cobin? He should be on duty, too. The lazy bastard was probably out tupping some wench instead of doing his duty. Like every member of the youth militia, Cobin was only here because he had to be.
Why did the council not revoke the militia service law? There had been no disturbances in the town for decades, yet every able-bodied male and female had to join the militia and serve three years as soon as they turned eighteen.
He wasn’t a soldier. He failed miserably at every task, from weapons training to guard duty.
A clatter of metal against stone echoed down the alley.
He swallowed, then called out, “Who goes there?” The tremble in his voice made him cringe with shame. If only he could return to Pa’s art studio. His mind wandered, conjuring up images of the wide windows on one side of the studio, illuminating the rows of canvas—portraits commissioned by the wealthy merchants in the town. His father’s “bread and butter” trade, as Pa liked to call them. How he longed to breathe in the mix of oil and turpentine that clung to every surface.
His heart skipped a beat when a tall shadow broke away from the walls and headed towards him. Damn it, he had lost concentration again. “Do not move!” He stepped back. “Identify yourself!” He should draw his sword, but damn and blast, he carried the lantern in his left hand instead of his right. Again, he could not even remember the simplest of rules, namely be prepared to fight at any moment.
The shadow continued to saunter towards him, shrouded in a black, hooded cloak.
The lantern clattered as he transferred it between his trembling hands. “I said don’t move!” his voice squeaked while his left hand fumbled for the hilt of the sword that hung from a scabbard at his waist.
“You’re a pathetic night watch guard.” Cobin’s sardonic tone eased the tension within him.
He lowered his sword. “At least I’m here. Where the hell have you been for the last hour? I should not be left to patrol the streets alone.”
“Relax.” Cobin rested an elbow against the corner of a building. “Nothing ever happens on the night watch.”
“That’s not the point. I’m a level one guard.”
“But you’re doing such a good job.” Cobin scoffed.
He held back the desire to tell Cobin to skulk back into the shadows. Instead, he pulled back his shoulders and said, “I may not be the best soldier, but at least I’m trying, which is more than can be said for you.”
“Watch it, runt.” Cobin pushed away from the building and loomed over him. “Just remember, I am your superior and one word from me will have you on latrine duty for the next month.”
His stomach turned. How many times would he be subjected to latrine duty?
“You should be used to it by now. It’s all you’re good for, seeing as you cannot even hold your weapon correctly.”
He adjusted his stance and grip. The leather bindings twisted around the hilt dug into his palms as he lifted the heavy weapon and pointed the tip in Cobin’s direction.
Cobin snorted. “It’s a good thing I turned up when I did. Who knows what would happen to you without me? You couldn’t fight off a rodent.”
A deep rumble echoed off the walls of the alleyway. They both spun to face the long, dark chasm.
“No more practical jokes, Cobin.” His voice wobbled.
The sharp scrape of metal against metal rang out as Cobin drew his sword. “It’s not a joke.” Cobin stepped forward, acting as a shield between him and the alleyway.
His heart picked up its pace. “What is it?” he peered around Cobin’s thick bicep.
In the darkness, two balls of fire appeared to float in mid-air.
Dread pooled in his stomach. It couldn’t be. No one had seen one for centuries. They were just an old folk tale told to scare children.
The glowing balls of fire edged closer. A loud snort sent a plume of smoke towards them. The foul stench of rotten eggs burned the back of his throat.
Cobin shuffled on the cobbles beneath his feet, pushing them both away from the hulking creature heading towards them.
“What should we do?” He whispered.
Cobin’s chest heaved before he shouted, “Run!”
