The air outside was chilly for early Autumn. The sky had turned a mottled gray, and heavy storm clouds sat on the horizon.

  “That’s not ominous or anything… Jesus,” Adam said, glancing at the sky and quickening his pace into the parking garage. The place was nearly deserted. Almost no cars remained in the three-level structure, which was often still half full by the time he left.

  He made his way up to the second floor, thumbing his key fob’s unlock button several times out of habit. His compact SUV blinked to life, headlights flaring in the gloom as he popped the back door. He pulled out his athletic bag and aluminum bat, nudging the door shut with his hip, then opened the rear hatch.

  “No batting cages tonight,' he grumbled, tossing the bag into the trunk while still holding the bat in his right hand. “Leave it to Thursday to screw everything up.”

  He stepped away from the vehicle, closed his eyes, and settled into a batter’s stance. The form came naturally from practice. Coiling his shoulders, he opened his eyes and executed a smooth half-power swing."

  "On second thought..."

  A dragging sound cut him off. It came from the right, near two expensive-looking cars parked about twenty feet away.

  Adam turned. Mr. Dixon was limping toward him, dragging his left leg.

  "Help..." the man wheezed.

  "What's going on? Are you okay?" Adam took a few steps forward, concern overriding his sense of caution. Mr. Dixon's pant leg was soaked through, and even in the dim garage, Adam could see a trail of dark fluid behind him on the concrete.

  "Was there an accident? I'll call 911." He fumbled for his phone, but the man lurched forward and grabbed a handful of his jacket. His hands were slick with blood.

  “Stabbed me. It fucking stabbed me. Why…?” he trailed off, sagging against Adam.

  Adam caught him, but it was obvious he was blacking out. His eyes rolled back, and his body suddenly went limp. As he eased him to the ground, he felt a sticky wetness across the man's back.

  He knew a little first aid; apply pressure, pack the wound, and call for help. Laying Mr. Dixon on the concrete, he quickly checked him over. A dozen small puncture wounds dotted his back, and a series of jagged slashes ran from his shoulder to his neck, roughly the size and shape of a small hand.

  Adam stowed the bat in his trunk, grabbed a cotton T-shirt from his athletic bag, dialed 911, and put the phone on speaker. As it rang, he tore the shirt into strips and started stuffing the pieces into the worst of the bleeding. The phone was still ringing when he ran out of strips.

  That was a bad sign. If 911 was already down, people had to be panicking.

  The sound of light footsteps cut through the silence behind him.

  He turned and a small child walked toward him from the same direction Mr. Dixon had come.

  "Hey!" Adam called, his voice sharper than he intended. He knew there were a few daycares nearby, and maybe Mr. Dixon had a kid. "Is this your dad? Do you need help?" He hoped the kid wasn't hurt.

  “Nope!” The child replied, walking toward him out of the shadows.

  Its voice was ragged and low, like a three pack-a-day smoker. Adam blinked. When had it gotten so dark? He was barely able to see the kid until it stepped into a shaft of light near the edge of the garage.

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  It wasn't a child. Not even close.

  And Adam wasn't sure it was even human.

  The figure stood about three feet tall, like one of those commercial cookie elves, but with skin the color of rotten avocado. It carried a short bloody knife in one hand. The creature was bare-chested and wore filthy, torn burlap pants tied at the waist with a length of string.

  Adam gagged as a wave of stench hit him. It was like week-old roadkill. The thing gave him a wide, toothy grin full of broken, needle-sharp teeth and skipped forward.

  Backing up, Adam fought the urge to bolt. He reached into the car and yanked out his bat. "No. Nope. Not a chance. Fuck this," he muttered. "I am not getting murdered by a toddler." He raised his bat and momentarily forgot the man that lay crumpled between them.

  The thing skipped right up to the unconscious Mr. Dixon, leaned down, sniffed him once, and then slashed his throat without warning.

  "No!" Adam shouted, but it was too late. The cut went deep, slicing clean through his windpipe. Blood surged from the wound as Mr. Dixon started convulsing and then went still. A pool of blood spread out on the concrete and the monster jumped up and down, splashing in the tacky liquid.

  "Tasty piggy," it said, grinning, before skipping toward Adam while taking advantage of his momentary shock.

  He swung the bat in a panic, his shaking arms making the swing go wide. The thing ducked low, darted in, and slashed a shallow cut across his left thigh.

  The burn of the wound made him hiss in pain and he backed up further, brandishing the bat at the tiny psychopath. He forced himself to focus, before slipping into a batter's stance.

  The creature crouched and flicked the knife between its hands. Sweat ran into Adam's eyes as he held position, his heart hammering while the tension hummed through him. It winked and wiggled the knife.

  Then it leapt.

  Adam pivoted and swung.

  The bat cut the air and smashed through the creature's arms and into its ribs with a thick, splintering crunch. The torso collapsed inward like dry kindling, and the creature flipped end over end into the open trunk of Adam's car. It landed upside-down, grinning up at him as it wheezed, bloody froth bubbling on its lips.

  It stuck out its tongue in a lewd licking gesture, gurgled, and rolled upright with jerky, spasmodic movements. Black blood oozed down its chin as it coughed and began crawling toward him with the knife still in hand.

  “You know what? No. This is not happening.” Adam pointed the bat at the ceiling of the parking garage. “You don’t get to show up one day, throw a wrench in everyone’s lives, and then have little evil elves show up and start killing people.” He stepped forward and brought the bat down square between the creature’s eyes, making them bulge as grayish-pink liquid leaked down from its nose.

  “You do not...” he slammed the bat down again, the head caving further. “Get to fuck...” he reached up and grabbed the hatch to his trunk before slamming it down on the creature’s exposed neck, “With ME.”

  The creature flopped once and went still, dropping the knife. It clattered off the bumper and bounced against his shoe. Adam felt his head swim. A wave of dizziness overtaking him and he clamped his eyes shut. He turned to the side and vomited, splattering the cold concrete with a slurry of half-digested bagel and coffee. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve he straightened and pulled the decimated body from his trunk.

  Adam took a moment to examine the creature, then it hit him.

  It was a goblin. A fucking goblin.

  Looking down at its smashed head and broken neck, he noticed his pant leg was soaked with blood. “Shit.” He dropped the body and tore another strip from the shirt he'd used on Mr. Dixon, tying it tightly around his thigh. The cut would probably need stitches. “Yeah. If this is all real, hospitals are going to madhouses. Also, I’m talking to myself. Great.”

  He stooped and picked up both his cell phone and the small knife the goblin had dropped. The phone was still ringing. He checked the call timer. Three minutes, twelve seconds.

  Three minutes. In three minutes he’d watched his boss die and fought a creature out of either mythology or a fantasy game.

  He brought the knife up to eye level. The blade was nothing more than a jagged piece of scrap, sharpened on one edge. The handle looked like a crude afterthought, just a bit of cloth loosely wrapped around the dull end.

  The wrapping abruptly came free. Slipping from his grip it nicked his palm on the way down.

  “Damn it.” He shook his hand, more startled than hurt.

  The blade hit the ground and shattered, breaking into a dozen rusted flakes. Adam stared at the broken remnants scattered in the growing pool of blood at his feet.

  He rubbed his face with his shaking hands. Breathe. Just breathe, he told himself. I can get through this. I just need to get home.

  A screeching sound tore through the quiet, jarring him from his thoughts. The sound was a mix between a train braking and a pressure valve exploding. His ears popped painfully and he rushed to the edge of the garage, scanning for the source of the sound.

  A massive shadow stretched across the ground, racing away at impossible speeds. He looked up just in time to see a long, reptilian tail vanish into the clouds overhead.