Realisation dawned upon him, but too late. There was a rustling and parting of rushes, a grunting and rasping of laboured breath, and a choking, foul odour. Slime covered scales, gaping jaws, fish-like eyes...
The man screamed. He might have run had not his feet sunk above the ankles into the sucking mud. Too late. His finger caught the button of his camera as the first slashing blow tore the flesh from his collar-bone.
A blinding eyeball-searing flash. The man felt the pain in his shoulder, and warmth of the blood welling up inside his tattered shut. He closed his eyes tightly hoping the next blow would be swift and painless. A quick end to it all.
He opened his eyes again. Something was wrong. He was still alive. The beast was nowhere to be seen. Only its odour remained, wafting on the breeze until it was replaced by the sweet-sour aroma of seaweed.
Eventually his ears picked up a faint sound. Distant footsteps squelching and splashing across the salt-marshes, hurrying in fact, going towards the sea-wall. Perhaps the Slime Beast was not going to Sutton after all tonight. Or maybe it was just making a detour. The man forgot all about his camera lying there in the mud.
Tom Southgate would have been quite happy to have kept the bar of The Bull open until the morning. Nobody showed any inclination to retire to the rooms which they had booked for the night. Indeed he would have continued pulling pints until the first faint light appeared in the eastern sky had not the law poked its head round the door shortly after eleven o'clock.
"Ere, 'ere,' PC Thorpe tried to appear stern although his instincts told him to go home, change and then return to the flowing ale. 'This ain't New Year's Eve y'know Tom!'
'OK, OK,' Southgate began draping tea-towels over the bar-taps. 'Just closing anyway Joe.'
However it was twenty minutes before the bar was empty. Even those who had taken rooms upstairs did not mount the narrow wooden steps to the floor above. Instead they flocked out on to Main Street, Everybody in Sutton was on Main Street. One or two of the householders were selling tea and coffee from open windows. People laughed and joked. There was no hint of terror. Only curiosity. After all, the army would protect them!
"Aren't you coming to bed?' Marjorie Southgate wiped the last of the glasses and turned to her husband who had been looking out of the window for the last ten minutes.
'Wouldn't sleep if I did,' he replied without turning his head. 'Nobody'll sleep in Sutton tonight There ain't a soul who'd miss seein' this Slime Beast cop one of the big shells.'
"It probably won't turn up after all. Can't say I blame it with all that lot out there. It'd hear 'em a mile off. Well I'm going to bed. You can please yourself Tom Southgate whether you come or not!'
He grunted. His thoughts returned to the scene outside. Maybe those half-dozen boys in khaki would appreciate a crate of beer. Trouble was they wouldn't want to pay for it, so there was no point in taking them one.
He opened the door and stepped outside. It was warm, almost like summer, and too nice to stay indoors. He headed across the street to where the soldiers were grouped around the small tank. He noted that someone had already supplied them with beer.
'Could do with a job like this every week,' a corporal was telling some young girls who were hanging around. 'Gives a chap time to appreciate life. No fear of getting a sniper's bullet in the back every minute of the day. For me, this here beast can take its time. Keep showin' up just enough to keep the top-brass happy. After all we don't want to kill it too soon do we ?'
Peals of laughter. Southgate smiled. The Slime Beast was certainly doing everybody a big favour.
The slight breeze was blowing off the land. It made a pleasant change. Gave a man a whiff of the farms, of newly harvested potatoes and barley stubble.
Southgate paused. His nostrils twitched. It seemed like somebody's spuds were going rotten already. Or maybe it was the large pond beyond the village, stagnant after the dry spell, its surface covered with floating algae. Somehow the foul odour seemed familiar.
The laughter around the tank increased. Somebody brought some more beer. Then came the first scream. Loud and piercing embodying every vestige of human terror. It was one of the girls about a hundred yards inland from the tank. One of the young soldiers was with her. They had been enjoying themselves in the seclusion of a side alley... until they discovered that they were no longer alone.
The creature seemed to materialise out of the shadows. They might have smelled it first had their attention not been diverted elsewhere. The apparent slowness of the Slime Beast was deceptive. Its scaly webbed claw flashed up and down in one blur of shivering moonlight The talons touched flesh, closed and then pulled. The girl's left breast came away in one piece trailing bloody roots and exposing a pumping gushing heart in a gaping hole.
The soldier's reactions were hindered by the fact that his trousers and pants were around his ankles. His hand, reached for the .303 propped up against the wall but he never made it. The beast's other claw flashed down scraping the young man's thighs as it did so. Once again it grasped flesh, and gave another tug. There was more screaming, more spurting of blood, and the soldier sank down on top of the dead girl's body, his own life's fluid mingling with hers. The most pleasurable act available to mankind had ended in death for both of them.
'What is it? What's up?' The tall sergeant fought against the drink which was beginning to dull his brain and pushed the two girls away from the tank. "There's something going on up the other end of the street Come on you chaps. Rifles at the ready!'
Five khaki-camouflaged figures advanced commando-style, yet somehow they lacked professionalism. The surroundings did not blend with the school which had taught them. The relaxed atmosphere beforehand had dulled their appetite for action, and the beer had clouded their thinking. Their foe was unreal. Had not the CO in Lincoln joked and told them that their main enemy was the superstition of a bunch of east coast peasants? This was not war.
Then they saw it! Lurking in the shadows. Crouched, watching, waiting, but not afraid.
The sergeant missed with his first shot. Splinters of brick flew from the cottage wall above the Slime Beast's head, and the slug whined harmlessly, viciously into the air. The creature turned, moving out from the shadows. Now they could all see it clearly. Its slit-like mouth was open, steadily chewing and slobbering the human flesh. Blood trickled down the hideous countenance. It gulped, swallowed, and then it roared, bellowing with anger and frustration at the continual harassing by those who sought only to fire leaden missiles at it.
The sergeant's finger was tightening on the trigger for the second time. He paused. The noise seemed to have a paralysing affect on his brain. It was as though his whole body jarred and vibrated. His skin crawled. Everybody else stopped too. It was the first time they had heard the Slime Beast give full vent to its vocal chords. The previous raspings and gruntings were like sweet melodies by comparison.
The sergeant forced himself into action. He pressed the trigger and held it back. The stabbing flashes of flame from the barrel of the automatic weapon were virtually constant. The others were firing too. Yelling 'Give it to the bastard!' They were scared. They had to boost their confidence to stop themselves from running.
The Slime Beast just stood there. Bullet after bullet was on target. Jets of thick foul slime marked (he place where each slug had struck, like pebbles thrown into a pond.
It just stood there.
'Keep at it!' the sergeant shouted There was a lull as trembling fingers fitted fresh magazines into the rifles. 'Keep firing! Mow it down. It can't take much more. Corporal get the tank round. Blow it to hell! '