The raincoat hung limply over the top of the door, blue and shapeless and covered in scorch marks. Marshall snatched it up as he passed, juggling the huge bundle of keys from hand to hand as he pulled it over his head. The hood had an elasticated drawstring and he pulled it tight, tugging it up over his nose and mouth so that only his eyes remained.
From it’s perch stretched full-length across the back of the sofa, the manticore watched him. It’s tail waved lazily, the great black stinger almost brushing the tips of it’s ears. It turned desert-yellow eyes to the window, where the summer sky blazed azure blue and cloudless, casting great patches of light onto the worn and patchy carpet.
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” said Marshall. “But trust me, if you knew what I knew, you’d take precautions.”
The manticore yawned, it’s teeth the colour of old bone against the glistening pinkness of it’s mouth. Marshall shook his head, and left the apartment.
The manticore lay very still, listening to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The heavy front doors opened and closed. A moment later, a roll of thunder echoed through the tiny living space and rain began lashing against the windowpanes in sheets of grey. The light in the room changed, becoming grey and hazy, and the manticore’s eyes dilated, huge dark pupils drinking in the attenuated illumination trickling through the dirty glass.
Lightning flashed outside, white and blinding. Far below, there was a scream, and the metallic cacophony of somebody falling against the trash cans in an effort to avoid vengeful, sentient weather.
The manticore purred. It hopped down from the settee, crossed to the hanging rack of freshly washed laundry left out to air, and coughed up a hairball.
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