eerieindiana | Advent Calendar Challenge, Day 12

Written for

lipstickcat's prompt, "biology"

It's three in the morning when a piercing wail jolts Simon awake. He sits upright in bed, heart pounding, a cold sweat of primordial terror breaking out along his spine. Outside, in the hallway, something claws at his bedroom door. There's a rending sound as talons dig and twist and tear at the cheap industrial carpet that lines the corridor. Down the hallway, there are raised voices, and a light appears in the gap beneath the door. The hideous, sanity-scouring screams continue, rising and falling in pitch and volume, an ululation of grief and agony combined.

Simon rubs his eyes, sighs, and reaches for the worn flannel bathrobe draped neatly across the end of his bed. Crossing the room, he fumbles in his pockets for the tatty catnip mouse, kicks aside empty or discarded packets of Dreamies, and, one hand up to shield his eyes from the yellow glare of an uncovered bulb, opens the door.

The manticore glowers at him as it shoves it's way inside, but at least it stops shrieking. In one smooth motion, it leaps onto Simon's small bed, plucks daintily at the covers with seven-inch claws that curve like fish-hooks, and curls up in the nest of blankets, purring like a belt-sander. Simon closes the door and returns to sit on the edge of his bed, one hand buried in the thick ruff of coarse golden hair around the manticore's ears. The manticore leans into his touch with an approving rumble.

With his free hand, Simon gropes under the bed for a pair of kevlar-weave socks, pulling them on before he slips back under the duvet. The manticore's whipcord tail lashes as the mattress shifts beneath it, but it's eyes don't open. Beneath the sandy coat, muscles ripple as it breathes slowly, in and out, filling the small bedroom with the scent of hot desert sand, and the wyvern eggs it had for dinner.