The needle moved to point right at the opening.
The opening was getting larger even as they looked at it. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna be a big mother fucker,” muttered Luke.
Sheila held the strange compass in her left hand. Her robes suddenly felt heavy on her, as if they would encumber her if she tried to run. “I believe,” she said, “We should run.”
Sparrowhawk raised his sword in defiance. “A Sparrowhawk never runs from a fight!” he cried, as he headed forward to the opening.
“Fuck.” Luke grabbed the knight by the back of his shirt. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Running? How about tactical retreat?” said Sheila, shoving the compass in the folds of her robes.
“Now you’re speaking my language,” said Luke. He wasn’t a runner, either. And he knew Sparrowhawk wouldn’t run.
Sheila lifted her robe just as the roar came out of the opening.
“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh fuck – Sparrowhawk, move your fucking ass!”
Sparrowhawk turned reluctantly from the opening. The beast beyond the opening lashed out with its tail – or tentacle – even Luke wasn’t sure which. Shiela was already running to the other side of the room, while Luke kept pulling on Sparrowhawk’s shirt.
The tentacle – or whatever – tagged Sparrowhawk right in the chest.
(A race between me and ZAP – write 200 words in 30 minutes with the prompt: “The needle moved to point right at the opening.” which was a sentence from The Man With the Golden Torc.)