“Who told you?” the creature replied.
“But everyone knows that.”
“Well, everyone’s wrong, aren’t they? I’m AC/DC. I just happen to like a little blood now and then.”
Thaxton opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He turned and left.
“Have a nice night,” the voice behind him said.
Thaxton stalked across the fairway grumbling, “Have a nice bloody night,” all the way. He came up to Dalton, who was sizing up a seven-iron approach shot, and threw his clubs down.
“I’ve bloody well had it.”
“What’s up?”
Thaxton delivered a mighty kick to the golf bag. “I didn’t mind the weird stuff, didn’t bat an eye at the volcanoes or the earthquakes or the acid hazards or even the bloody mythological beasts.” Another kick sent the bag rolling and the clubs flying. “But when scrofulous horrors insinuate disgusting things at you out of dark corners, that’s when I bloody well have to draw the line.”
“Whoa, what’s this all about?”
“Damn it all to hell. They’ve just got no right.”
“Take it easy, old boy.”
Thaxton smoothed his ruffled hair. He drew a couple of deep breaths and let out a long weary sigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go on like that.”
“We have problems on the green, if you haven’t noticed.”
Thaxton pivoted.
“Don’t look at it!”
“What?”
Dalton reached and whirled him around. “Don’t look at the face. It’s a basilisk.”
“But how can you —?”
Dalton glanced over his shoulder. “It’s turning the other way now. Take a quick gander.”
Thaxton took a gander. The magenta-skinned hulk sprawled alongside the green was a lizardlike creature about thirty feet long with a semicircular sail or crest running along its back. Its birdlike head was proportionally larger than a lizard’s.
“A bloody pink iguana, that’s what it is,” Thaxton said.
“It’s a basilisk. Look it in the eyes and you’re a dead man.”
“I wouldn’t give it a second glance.”
Thaxton retrieved his bag, took out a new ball, and threw it over his shoulder. He picked up the scattered clubs and rebagged them. Having scoped out his shot, he chose an iron and addressed the ball. He swung. Clinically eyeing the ball’s trajectory, he picked up his bag and made his way toward the green.
The basilisk was lounging in the grass near the greenside bunker, into which Thaxton’s ball had dropped. When Thaxton, wedge in hand, came trudging into the sand, the creature lifted its head to watch.
“Pretty good lie,” the basilisk commented. “But that’s packed sand. It can be tricky.”
Thaxton ignored it.
“I’d say your best bet was to use the pitching wedge, not the sand wedge. You’re not going to get very far just trying to blast it out.”
Thaxton gritted his teeth and took his stance. He swung mightily. Exploding out of the sand, the ball ricocheted off the lip of the green and arched back into the bunker.
“Damn it all!”
“Told you,” the basilisk said.
“Oh, go to blazes!”
The basilisk chuckled. “Temper, temper.”
Thaxton took a few practice swings, then addressed the ball, now nearer the green. He changed his mind and fetched another club, the pitching wedge.
“Good idea,” the creature said.
Thaxton mumbled something and swung. The ball bounded across the green and wound up a good distance from the cup.
“Best you could hope for,” the basilisk said. “Not a bad shot, actually.”
“Thank you,” Thaxton said sardonically.
“You know, it’s impolite not to look at someone when you talk to him.”
“Sorry, busy day, you know. Can’t stop to chat.”
“Well, fine. No one ever does. Why should you be any different? It’s still very rude.”
“Look,” Thaxton said heatedly over his shoulder, “I’m bloody sick and tired of being chatted up byphantasms. So if you don’t think it too awfully rude of me, I’d like to play a bit of golf without being continually bothered by something out of a bleeding nightmare.”
“I bet you can’t look me in the eye and say that.”
Thaxton spun around. “Look here, I can bloody well —”
The next thing he knew the bunker was in his face. He got up on his elbows, spat sand, and twisted around to see that Dalton had him by the legs. It had been a pretty solid tackle for an elderly man, and Thaxton was amazed.
“I knew the thing would goad you into it,” Dalton said.
“Oh. Uh, thanks. Thanks, old boy. Lost my head, I’m afraid.”
They got up and brushed off sand.
“One look at that fellow,” Dalton said, “and you die.”
“Next thing you’ll say,” the basilisk said peevishly, “is that my breath can kill, too. And then you’ll repeat that old libel about my kind being hatched on a dunghill out of cock’s eggs.”
“Sorry,” Dalton said. “Nothing personal.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet some of your best friends are basilisks.”
With a haughty shake of its head, the creature wheeled its scaly bulk around and slithered away.
“The damnedest thing is,” Thaxton said, “they’re all so bloody sensitive.”
“Well, minority touchiness. Are you ready to putt?”
Both putted, both for a bogey.
Walking away from the green, Thaxton yawned.
“Excuse me! God. Dalton, how long would you say we’ve been at this?”
“I’ve lost all track of time.”
“Seems it’s been days to me. Couldn’t be, though. We haven’t even played eighteen holes.”
“Time runs differently in different universes.”
“Yes, but I’m speaking of subjective time. I think we’ve been at this for over twenty-four hours.”
“Could be,” Dalton said. “It’s been slow going. We lost a few hours resting your leg after lunch.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m bloody fagged out.”
“Then let’s book a room at yonder hotel.”
“What?” Thaxton halted and looked. “Oh. Well, that’s convenient, I must say.”
“Told you this course was well designed.”
“By an inspired psychotic. Look at that thing.”
TARTARUS INN
Bed and Breakfast
All Gentle Beings Welcome
The building was a Gothic monstrosity with turrets and cupolas, widow’s walks and rosette windows. Rolling moors surrounded it, wreaths of mist draping the withered sedge and gnarled clumps of grass.
Lightning split the sky, and thunder rolled across the bogs.
“Oh, I can see I’m going to get a lot of sleep here,” Thaxton said. “By the way, how do we pay for this?”
“Well, I still carry my American Express Card, out of habit,” Dalton said. “I was going to flash it at the restaurant, until events obviated it.”
“Why of course, sir,” the gargoyle desk clerk said. “We take all major credit cards.”
“Good,” Dalton said. “A double with a private bath?”
“We have a wonderful room in the east wing with a view of the Blasted Heath.”
“How nice,” Thaxton said.
Dalton signed the guest register while Thaxton inspected the gift shop. Talismans, pentacles, and other occult paraphernalia were plentiful, along with the usual scented soaps, inscribed mugs, and saltwater taffy. He stared in fascination at the Cthulhu dolls. The bellhop came and he had to tear himself away.
The room was full of quaint furniture draped with lace doilies, and the beds had canopies.
“Charming,” Dalton said. “You could have quite a nice weekend’s dalliance here.”