Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #13 April 2015 | Page 121

really wanted that drink.
As he rounded a corner the vegetation dropped away
on one side. Below him he could see the sea, people
swimming in moon silvered waters. This looks like it,
he thought, maybe it’s bit of a party scene down there.
I’m going to deserve it after this hike. After a hundred
yards or so, the bushes sprang back up and so did the
noises, sounds of branches snapping and leaves being
crushed underfoot. He tried to convince himself that
the unusually bright moonlight meant the creatures
of the island were going to be especially active, but
could not shake the thought that the noises were made
by something a lot bigger than a badger. Do they even
have badgers in Greece? he asked himself, and picked
up his pace. The noises grew louder, as if something
was approaching him. He felt a child’s fear, and told
himself not to be so stupid, just as a hunched figure
burst from the hedge in front of him, rushed across
the track, and dived into the bushes on the other side.
He had an impression of something manlike, a beard,
a naked torso. There was something not right about
the legs, though, as if they had been covered in dark
fur. And the way they bent at the knees… Jesus, he
thought, I don’t have a drink for a few hours and I
begin to hallucinate?
He picked up his pace, the longing for a drink replaced by a more basic need to get off this track, and
find somewhere he could talk to another human being
under bright electric lights, and leave the dark and the
moon behind. He was out of breath and huffing when
he rounded a corner and saw he was standing at the
top of a small beach, not much more than a tiny strip
of sand, enclosed at either end by cliffs. There was no
welcoming tavern, no string of lights, no people. He
was alone.
Out to sea, he could see the figures in the water he had
spied from above. He took a few more steps forward
and was about to call to them when he saw a small set
of buildings to his left, carved pillars holding a roof
over a statue shining white in the moonlight. Going
closer, he could see the statue was of a robed woman
with an owl perched on her shoulder. At its feet were
a few small piles of foodstuffs. Offerings, he thought,
and instantly wished he hadn’t. This was getting too

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weird to be some kind of alcoholic delusion. He was
turning to walk away when something stepped out
from behind one of the pillars, the same creature he
had seen on the track. As it walked forward into the
moonlight, he could see that its legs were indeed furry,
ending in hooves instead of feet. Small horns grew on
either side of its head, and when it grinned he could
see sharp teeth. Some schoolboy part of his memory
kicked in and he knew he was looking at a satyr. “But,
but you’re not real!” he spluttered. He turned and ran,
to find another of the creatures standing across the foot
of the path he had come down. He had nowhere to
go but towards the sea, where the figures in the water
had come closer. He ran down to the water’s edge and
began yelling, “Help me! Help me!” He could see that
they were all female. Of course they are, a voice in his
head told him, the men aren’t allowed out tonight.
The leading swimmer stopped and stood waist high in
the water several meters from him. Stewart realized
that this striking figure was the model for the statue
behind him. She was tall, with shining silver skin,
not the simple reflection of the moon but from a light
burning inside her. He sank to his knees in desperation
and confusion. Shaking his head, he saw that the satyrs
were close behind him, kneeling on the sand, heads
dow