Before leaving for the day, Gil stopped to admire the twin lions guarding the end of his employer’s driveway. Almost as large as life, dense and muscular, each statue must have weighed a tonne even discounting the plinths they sat upon. The artistry that had gone into them was obvious even though the granite had been weathered by long decades of exposure. With their blunt faces they looked more like dogs, foo dogs as they were sometimes called. Although identical, both with thick, coiling manes, Gil knew one was meant to be male and one was female. The male’s right paw held an ornate ball while the female had her paw resting on the belly of a cub, much smaller but otherwise identical to its parents.

For years, locals called the property ‘The Lion House’ because its two noble guardians were the only things that could be seen of it from the road. Built in the 1920s, the estate had been the project of some eccentric merchant who’d visited China and fallen in love with the architecture and culture. Besides the guardian lions, the buildings of the estate were clearly inspired by Chinese pagodas. Gardens and other original statuary evoked China in the early 20th century. It hadn’t just been a home but open to the public, the merchant had his own small movie theatre as well as a tearoom, swimming hole, and sporting grounds, but when the original owner died the estate was lost to limbo. Abandoned, the gardens and buildings became overgrown and vanished behind a wall of vegetation and vines. It turned into the stuff of local legend, with stories of ghosts and strange beasts that walked the grounds at night. The Lion House remained that way for decades until it was bought and restored by media millionaire Michael Lu as a private residence.

Carrying his gardening tools, Gil returned down a drive lined with well tended bamboo. He’d only taken half a dozen steps when he stopped and looked back. For just a moment, he thought he’d heard a sound. Sometimes he could swear the lions turned to watch him, and he could actually hear the granite of their necks or limbs softly grinding. But of course, that was just his imagination. Chuckling and shaking his head, he returned to the house where a van waited to shuttle him and the rest of the domestic staff back into town. He failed to notice the dark sedan that idled at the foot of the driveway, rolling by a little too slowly, as it had already done a couple of times that afternoon.

When the van steered its way out of the estate grounds, the same dark sedan had circled around. Because the estate was so far outside town, Lu had a driver who picked up his staff from their homes each morning and dropped them off at night. Only Lu and his family stayed at the house. There were few other properties in the immediate area and the road was quiet. The van and dark sedan were the only two vehicles in sight.

“Don’t get too close, back off!” one of the men in the sedan said.

“I’m just trying to count them, make sure he picked them all up,” the driver said. “That gardener, the maids, cook, they’re all there.”

Todnam, the driver, eased off and let the van accelerate away from them. The atmosphere between the four men in the car remained tense. Beaumont, the crew’s unofficial leader, sat in the passenger seat. In the backseat were Smithy and Dees. None of them were small men, mostly they were burly, well muscled, and the car felt cramped. Nervous anticipation tightened their faces and the lines of their shoulders.

“So we’re on for tonight, we’re doing this,” Smithy said.

“Once it gets dark, we catch the whole family sitting down to dinner,” Beaumont said. “All in one place, no stumbling around after the lights go out trying to find them all.”

“If this guy is so rich, why’s he living out here in the middle of nowhere?” Dees asked.

“That’s exactly why we’re hitting him,” Beaumont said. “He’s afraid of some kind of collapse happening. My guy says he’s got a big stack of money, all different currencies, as well as gold bars, silver, in case the economy goes fucking sideways.”

“Yeah? But the guy’s into newspapers, who the fuck reads newspapers anymore?”

“He’s famous for the media stuff but he’s into all kinds of shit, tech, mining, weapons, no one even knows how he made his money to start with. It’s not like he’s so rich he’s got a bunch of bodyguards around him twenty-four-seven though, he’s a perfect fucking mark.”

The four of them had a place nearby where they intended to switch cars after the robbery. There, they parked, talking only sporadically, and waited for darkness to fall.

When they were almost ready, the four men changed into dark clothing. Beaumont got Smithy alone and fixed him with a probing state. There was a certain layer of trust between the two of them. At least, as much trust as there could be between two guys who met in prison and stole for a living. Smithy had saved Beaumont’s life, mostly by accident, when a Latin King rushed Beaumont in the yard with a plastic shiv. Without thinking, Smithy had put a hand out to stop him and took the shiv right through his palm. He still had the scar, a puckered, star-shaped mark of stigmata. It disappeared beneath a black glove he pulled over his hand.

“You’re feeling ready for this?” Beaumont said.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Smithy said. “It’s just, the kids, I wish we didn’t have to involve the kids, you know?”

“We’ll be in and out, the kids are leverage but it’s not like we’re going to do anything to hurt them.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“This one job and we’ll be rich men, we’ll never have to pull another one.”

Smithy didn’t say anything. Beaumont made it sound like there was a treasure trove of currency as well as gold and silver waiting for them. Maybe they would take some jewellery too but they wouldn’t have to fence a bunch of Antiques Roadshow bullshit. They’d still have to sell the gold and silver at a discount though. The money, whatever currency, would have to be laundered. Split four ways, Smithy had his doubts that whatever was left would be enough to retire on.

All four men dressed in black. Long sleeves and gloves, high collars on a couple of them, hid tattoos and identifying marks. All four carried balaclavas as they climbed into the car.

“Remember, this guy has cameras everywhere,” Beaumont said. “Soon as we get close, the masks go on and they stay on until we’re away. And no names, remember what we talked about. I’m Eagle, Smithy, Bull, Todnam is Wheels, and Dee you’re Tiger.”

“Meow,” Dees replied.

“Fuck around and your codename will be Retard, you fuck.”

Todnam turned off the headlamps as they reached the house and pulled into the driveway. All four men hurried to pull the balaclavas over their faces, adjusting the eye and mouth holes. Lights beamed above the gate at the head of the driveway. Smithy watched the big lion statues as they passed. Their unseeing eyes bulged and their muzzles drew back in twin snarls. Fangs as long as fingers bristled from their mouths. Todnam went about halfway down the drive and turned around so the car’s nose pointed back toward the statues, and the street, in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

“Okay, Wheels.” Beaumont deliberately stressed the ‘codename’. “You don’t leave the car for nothing. Keep the walkie close, any trouble you call us. Bull, Tiger, with me, stay close.”

All four men were armed with handguns, anything more felt like overkill. They also carried knives, duct tape, pliers and other tools, bits and pieces they thought they might need. Three of them, Beaumont, Smithy and Dees, climbed out of the car while Todnam stayed behind. Sliding along the face of the bamboo that lined the driveway, they quietly moved the rest of the way to the wall of the Lu estate.

At the head of the drive, monitored by cameras on both sides, was the house’s main gate. It didn’t look like much, ornate rather than defensive. A good truck could have probably battered it down with a couple of attempts. Beaumont, however, moved to a smaller gate along the wall which was sized for people instead of cars. Along the way, he retrieved a spy camera they’d attached to a stalk of bamboo and directed at the electronic keypad beside the gate. They’d already studied the footage and acquired the gate code, although Beaumont’s hand shook badly enough that he needed three attempts to punch it in.

Sliding the gun out of its holster, Beaumont looked back at the others. His eyes were very wide and white through the eyeholes of his mask.

“With me now, stay quiet,” Beaumont said.

Inside the gate, the driveway circled a massive fountain in front of the house. To one side of the drive was the garage while to the other was the sweeping two story house. The estate also had several large outbuildings built by the original owner, all with white walls, green trim and dark red roofs designed to evoke Chinese pagodas. Beaumont skirted the drive and headed down the side of the house with Smithy and Dees following.

At the back of the house, the property opened up. Strategic lights twinkled around a crystalline pool and a series of serpentine paths winding through gardens of bamboo and blooming flowers. A couple of Chinese pavilions sat at different points of the garden. The night was warm enough that the pool looked inviting. The gardens and house gave Smithy a fairytale sort of feeling, or the theme park version of a fairytale at least. None of it looked like a real place people would live their day to day lives.

Along the back of the house was a long, low porch. It led to what was clearly a new addition to the house, a series of floor to ceiling windows and modern sliding doors. Smithy, Beaumont and Dees kept their distance so as not to be spotted right away. Sure enough, Michael Lu along with his wife and two children were having dinner just inside around an extended dining table. The meal was something the cook would have prepared for them before their staff left but in all respects they looked like a perfectly ordinary family talking about their day around a meal.

Beaumont palmed a mallet with a small brick of a head and looked at the others. “Ready?”

Smithy hesitated but nodded, as did Dees. Raising the hammer, Beaumont ran at one of the windows and swung. The mallet hit the window with a resounding bang and rebounded. The glass spiderwebbed but didn’t break right away. Around the dinner table, all four members of the Lu family jumped and looked up in surprise. In his off-hand, Beaumont pointed his gun through the glass. Smithy and Dees followed his lead and did the same.

“Don’t move! Don’t you fucking move!” Beaumont yelled.

Swinging the mallet again, Beaumont knocked a significant chunk out of the glass. A third swing and most of the window collapsed. The crash of the glass echoed into the warm, still night. Beaumont used the hammer to knock away some clinging shards then dropped it onto his belt. Swapping the gun to his right hand, he stepped inside. Shards crunched underfoot. Lu and his wife fled to the far side of the table with their children. Pinned by the gun barrels, however, they didn’t try to run. Smithy and Dees followed Beaumont inside.

“What do you want?” Lu managed.

“Back up, back away from the table!” Beaumont said. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”

Both children gibbered. The girl suddenly let out a short scream, as if she’d been told that was the appropriate thing to do in this kind of situation and she’d only just remembered. Smithy imagined how the three of them must look through the children’s eyes. Monsters, big men all in black, carrying weapons that could end their lives or the lives of their parents in an instant. They’d agreed not to injure the kids in any way but looking at their faces he knew the harm had already been done.

Michael Lu raised his hands calmly and retreated backward, showing nothing but cooperation. The boy child clung to his hip. In his late forties, Lu looked compact and fit, like an athlete, with streaks of rakish silver climbing through his black hair. His wife, Terry, was around a decade younger, white with dark hair and features, beautiful in an imperious sort of way. Their children were a girl and boy, Smithy knew from their research into Lu that they were named Jessica and Nate. Jessica was nine, the boy seven but looking even younger, both dark haired and a mix of their parents’ features.

“What do you want?” Lu repeated, slowly and carefully.

“Tiger, you take the woman and kids,” Beaumont said. “Tie them up and keep them out of this.”

“No!” the woman, Terry, said as Dees started forward.

“It’s alright, honey,” Lu said. “Why don’t you take Jess and Nate into my study? Do what they say and this will all be over soon.”

“Daddy!” the boy yelled as he was separated from his father.

“It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay! These men just want money and they’ll be gone soon, okay?”

Smithy’s heart pained him as Dees shepherded the woman and two children out of the room. He let Terry guide them to Lu’s study, reaching for his duct tape. Tears cut streaks down both children’s faces. They weren’t going to get hurt no matter what, Smithy reminded himself. Lu was right, they just wanted money.

“Now, what would you like me to do?” Lu tried to keep his voice as level as possible while his children’s cries retreated down the hall.

“Upstairs, to the bedroom,” Beaumont said. “We know about the safe.”

Lu’s dark eyes focused as he filed away that little piece of information. “You know, how?”

“Don’t worry about that! Get moving, the sooner you take us, the sooner we’re gone!”

Lu padded ahead of them. He wore black socks with no shoes, black pants, and a white shirt. The interior of the house didn’t reflect the outside much. It was too sleek and modern. There were a few pieces of Chinese art, like a pair of serpentine dragons made from brass on a side table, but they didn’t appear to have any special priority over works of art from other cultures. Here and there were signs the house was actually lived in. A jacket thrown over the back of a chair. A tablet with a childproof cover tossed to the end of an expensive couch.

Lu led them upstairs and down the hallway to the master bedroom. Like the rest of the house it was big, modern, and sparsely decorated with a few bits of art and family photos. Lu stopped in the middle of the room, hands still raised, like he didn’t know what they wanted him to do next.

“Don’t play with us, the safe!” Beaumont said.

Crossing to a large piece of postmodern art, a bunch of colour splashed on a canvas that looked like the work of a six-year-old, Beaumont yanked it aside. The artwork hinged to one side instead of falling down. Inset into the wall behind it was a safe with an electronic keypad.

“Open it.”

Lu went to the safe but hesitated in front of it. Beaumont pointed his gun at the man’s head.

“Don’t fuck us around. You know the guy downstairs with your wife and kids? He’s a real sick fuck, went inside for a bunch of shit involving little girls and little boys. Fuck with us, and we’ll set him loose, right?”

Smithy knew that was a lie. Dees had only ever been locked up on a few drug charges and a couple of home invasions. Same as himself, same as Beaumont. Lu didn’t show much of a reaction but Smithy knew the fear must have struck him deep. He reached for the keypad.

“I just wanted to say, there’s a handgun on the top shelf of the safe,” Lu said. “I don’t keep it loaded, I just didn’t want you to think I was reaching for it.”

“Open it,” Beaumont repeated.

Lu thumbed in the numbers, not bothering to try to hide the sequence from them. His hands didn’t shake. As he opened the safe, he kept his hands well away from the shelves. Smithy and Beaumont peered inside.

The interior of the safe was somehow both exactly as Beaumont had described it and yet disappointingly underwhelming. It was large enough to consist of three shelves. On top, as Lu had warned them, was a Glock pistol along with several weapon magazines and a box of ammunition. On the second shelf were stacks of cash and some small plastic boxes containing what looked like domino-sized pieces of gold and silver. Of the money stacks there were half a dozen denominations including American and what looked like Canadian, Mexican, and euros. On the bottom shelf was a stack of passports and other documentation, and some neatly arranged jewellery.

Smithy carried an unfoldable duffel bag in a pouch on his belt. Holstering his gun, he took the bag, flapped it open, and started loading the contents of the safe into it. He started with the gun and the jewellery, ignoring the documents. Beaumont reached past him, however, and grabbed a stack of money. He squeezed it so hard that hundred dollar bills fanned between his fingers.

“What is this?” Beaumont said.

“What?” Lu asked.

“What is this? How much is in here?”

“American? Around one hundred thousand, I believe,” Lu said.

“And the other moneys? The other amounts?”

“About the same! Well, no, a little less, if you added them up there’s probably, roughly, around another three hundred thousand.”

“It’s not enough,” Beaumont hissed through his teeth. “It’s not enough! I thought we’d be talking fucking millions here!”

“I don’t keep millions in my home, I have accounts, bank accounts, investments,” Lu said.

“They told me you were some kind of hoarder! Like you kept it all close cause you were worried about the economy collapsing or something!”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Lu’s eyes filed that information away as well. “Did they?”

“There’s gold here, too.” Smithy lifted one of the little boxes out of the safe. “It’s heavy.”

“Of course it is, dumbass! Every pound of gold weighs like five pounds! But it’s not enough, I thought we were talking millions, and big bars of gold! This? A few lousy hundred grand? Once we clean it? It’s not going to be enough!”

Beaumont trained his gun at Lu’s head. The owner of the house backed up, hands raised again. Smithy concentrated on clearing out the safe, shovelling it into the duffel bag.

“It’s not enough!” Beaumont repeated.

“What do you want from me?” Lu said.

“You’re holding out on us! Where’s the rest of it? Where’s the real money?”

“I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Beau, I mean, shit, Eagle, Eagle!” Smithy said.

Beaumont was too fixated to notice the slip. “You want to die? You want your kids to die? Start fucking talking!”

“Alright, alright!” Lu said. “You’re right, I don’t keep it in the house. There’s a bunker, a bunker at the back of the property! I thought if things really got bad we would have to hide there, so that’s where I kept the real money and gold.”

“I knew it!” Beaumont said.

“Eagle, we saw plans for a panic room, we didn’t see anything about a bunker,” Smithy said.

“We had a whole separate company install it, very secretive,” Lu said. “That’s what they do, build secret bunkers for the wealthy.”

“Take us there.” Beaumont gestured with the gun, blinded by desperate greed.

xXx

Meanwhile, out in front of the property, Todnam toyed with his gun in the driver’s seat of the dark sedan. Tossing it from hand to hand, he fiddled with the safety. Beaumont had told him to keep watch while they were inside and to radio if anyone else appeared. None of them carried phones out of fears they could be tracked. He didn’t mind at all, he was entitled to an equal share of the reward for only a fraction of the risk, but he’d grown bored while waiting.

Looking up, Todnam sensed something wrong. No cars passed by on the road, there was no movement he could see, but something had changed. He felt his pulse leap, wary of the possibility of being caught. Then, he saw it. The two big lion statues guarding the sides of the driveway were gone. The square pillars they’d been sitting on were there, in clear view, but the lions were missing.

“What the fuck?”

Todnam knew he couldn’t actually be seeing what he was seeing. He had to be confused. Craning his neck from side to side, he tried to get it to make sense, like a magic eye picture. He turned the dial for the headlights and switched them on for a couple of seconds. They confirmed what he’d already seen in the dark, rows of bamboo, the empty driveway, and the two square pillars where the lions had been sitting now unoccupied.

Beaumont had told Todnam not to leave the car for any reason but he reached for the door handle. It clicked, levering open. Checking his balaclava was in place, he slipped into the night with his handgun. Bits of bamboo and leaves crunched underfoot as he walked toward the head of the drive.

Regardless of how little sense it made, Todnam found he was right. The two granite plinths sat to either side of the drive. One held a stone ball but the two lions, and the cub, were gone.

Something in the bamboo let out a low growl. It seemed to rumble on and on, like rocks grinding together. Todnam clutched his gun but realised he’d left his walkie talkie in the car. Legs going rubbery, he scrambled back to the vehicle and threw himself inside. Snatching the walkie, breathing hard, he managed to stop short of using Beaumont’s name over the airwaves.

“Eagle! Eagle, are you there? Uh, over!” Todnam shouted.

Smithy and Beaumont had steered Lu back down the stairs and out of the house. He led them toward the gardens and the promised bunker. They were just crossing the porch when their walkie talkies crackled. Beaumont pulled to a stop.

“Wait,” Beaumont said. “Wheels, what is it?”

“Something, uh, something’s changed, something’s wrong,” Todnam said.

“Is someone there?”

Back in the car, Todnam heard movement outside. Stalks of bamboo creaked as they bent and snapped. Pulling his feet inside, Todnam clawed the door shut behind him.

“Wheels?” the radio squawked.

Something slammed into Todnam’s door like a cannonball. With a loud bang, the door imploded hard enough to catch his arm and break it. Todnam let out a shrill scream and fumbled the walkie. The driver’s side window broke as the door warped and bits of glass sprayed him across the face. So hard was the hit that the sedan rocked up on two wheels for a pregnant moment before crashing back down.

“What the fuck?” Todnam screamed.

Something snarled, escalating to a roar. Heavy footfalls pounded the ground. Whatever was out there, Todnam was pretty sure he knew but he couldn’t quite believe it, backed off, circled, and then slammed the car again. Its back end imploded as well, metal screaming, more glass bursting, and the car was forced sideways into the bamboo.

A heavy, grey paw hooked the lower ledge of Todnam’s window, causing the metal to crumple. Hinges gave way with a shriek and the door ripped away. Something impossible filled the door frame and Todnam screeched as it lunged for him with open jaws made of stone.

“Wheels? Wheels?” Beaumont shouted, and he pointed his gun again at Lu. “What’s happening? Who’s out there?”

Lu kept his hands raised but his face looked neutral. “You obviously did a lot of research into me before deciding to do this,” he said. “But I’m curious, did you do much looking into the history of this house? You know what they call it, The Lion House?”

“Keep moving,” Beaumont said. “The bunker, take us to the bunker!”

“You can’t be serious,” Smithy cut in. “Uh, Eagle, fuck, we have to get out of here!”

“Not without the money, where’s the entrance?”

“It’s hidden,” Lu said. “Right at the back of the garden.”

“Beau!” Smithy shouted.

Avoiding any broken glass, wearing only socks, Lu led them off the porch and around the pool. Beaumont and Smithy followed but even with their guns they looked oddly helpless. Smithy carried the duffel bag of stolen money and goods over his shoulder.

“You might think I was interested in this house for the sake of my family background, but not really,” Lu said. “My family has been in America since the California Gold Rush, I’ve got no special feeling for all this Chinese stuff. But the man who built this house wasn’t just a trader, and China wasn’t his only obsession. His name was Henry Guilfoyle and like a lot of rich men of his time he had a fascination with spiritualism and what they would have called dark magic.”

“Shut up, and hurry!” Beaumont said.

From the house came a crash of breaking glass. Smithy and Beaumont spun on their heels. Someone, it sounded like Dees, shouted. The little girl, Jessica, screamed. Gunshots echoed out of the house and made them jump, one, two, three, four, and then abruptly they stopped. The silence in their absence seemed just as loud.

“What the fuck is happening?” Beaumont said.

In spite of his family being in the same vicinity of the gunshots, Lu looked strangely unconcerned. All he did was shrug. Beaumont shook the gun in his face.

“Knees, get on your knees!” Beaumont said, and he turned to Smithy. “Go check it out!”

“Check it out? Why? We should go, we need to go!”

“It might be a trick! You go, I’ll hold him here.”

Hesitating, Smithy returned to the house. Broken glass crackled underfoot. His heart pumped so hard in his chest he felt sick. They shouldn’t have come here, that much was obvious. Now, they should be gone and not looking for some imaginary bunker.

“Dees? Dees?” Smithy shouted. “Fuck, uh, Bull? No, Tiger! Tiger!”

Following the direction he’d seen Dees take the woman and kids, he made it to Lu’s study. A warm breeze whispered through a broken window. Blood covered everything. It was like someone had exploded in here. Blood on the floor, on the walls, streaks of it on the ceiling. Smithy remembered a time when he was a kid and his pet dog, Randy, a mongrel terrier, caught a rat in the house. It had bit down and shaken the rat all around like crazy, wringing it out like a wet rag. The blood splatter looked something like this room did now.

Besides blood there was glass and debris from shattered furniture, a roll of duct tape, Dees’ gun, but no body and no sign of Lu’s family. To the side of the room, Smithy saw a bookshelf that had been thrown to one side. It moved on hinges, he realised, like the painting upstairs that hid Lu’s safe. Behind it was a metal door with a keypad set into it where a handle would normally be and a camera positioned about it. The panic room, he remembered. They’d known it branched off of Lu’s study but hadn’t considered the implication when Lu suggested Dees take his family in there. Someone or something had attacked Dees, spilling all this blood, and Lu’s wife and two children escaped into the panic room.

Smithy turned and barrelled back through the house. As he exited through the broken window frame, he saw Beaumont still standing over Lu near the pool. Lu stayed on his knees, gun pointed at his head, but he didn’t look afraid. Compared to Smithy and Beaumont, he looked like the one in control.

“We have to go, okay? We have to fucking go!” Smithy said.

“Where’s Dees?” Beaumont said, forgetting the codenames.

“He’s dead, okay? He’s got to be, and Lu’s family are in the panic room, they could already have called the cops! We have to go!”

“Dead?” Beaumont turned to their prisoner. “What the fuck is going on?”

With a sound like drumming hoofbeats, something thundered out of the darkness. It was big but moved low to the ground, the size of a cougar but shorter, thicker, blunter, with squared off legs. Its feet tore gouts of dirt out of the garden. Its movements cried out, stone scraping against stone. Smithy recognised it a split-second before it hit Beaumont. One of the guardian lion statues from the front of the house come to life, solid granite, heavy and weathered, but moving like a living beast. Head lowered, it drove the top of its skull and the points of its curly, unmoving mane into Beaumont’s side.

With a crunch, Beaumont folded at the hip. His pelvis must have been shattered in a single blow. Picked up, he sailed into the nearest garden, the stunned expression on his face almost comical. The gun flew from his hand and vanished into the shadows.

“What-, what?” Smithy managed.

Rolling end over end, Beaumont started thrashing and screaming. Catlike, the stone lion circled Lu. He looked unworried, lowering his arms to his sides and keeping his face expressionless. The stone lion moved with absolute power, slabs of granite in motion, grating, bunching and releasing like muscles. Its fangs were bared. Its eyes bulged so much it looked crazed. Lunging, it fell on Beaumont. The garden blocked most of Smithy’s view but he could hear its jaws close with a sound like fracturing ice, and Beaumont’s screams climbed higher.

“You were right about some things, there is a collapse coming,” Lu said, rising to his feet. “One where money and gold won’t be worth very much, although a little never hurts. I went looking for something to protect myself and my family, and I found it.”

Shaking, Smithy trained his gun on the man but all strength seemed to have left his arm. In the garden, the lion picked up Beaumont’s head in its stone jaws. They closed like a vice and through the balaclava Smithy could hear Beaumont’s skull let out a loud, sustained crack. Brains and gore shot from the eyeholes of his mask.

From the corner of his eye, Smithy saw movement at the far end of the porch. The second lion stepped onto the porch, heavy enough that the wooden boards splintered under its weight. It advanced like a living lion, head lowered, stalking. Blood covered its mouth and splattered its sides. Smithy remembered Randy and the rat again.

“I’m sorry, I can’t call them off,” Lu said. “I don’t know how.”

Smithy trained the gun and fired. First bullet took a little chip out of the lion’s mane. He fired again and again, scarring the granite but doing nothing to stop it. The statue growled, a low sound that reverberated in Smithy’s chest even from all the way across the porch.

“Oh, shit,” Smithy said.

Smithy dropped the gun, letting it fall from his hand. He grabbed the duffel bag full of cash and gold and jewellery, hauling it over his head and off his shoulder, tossing it aside. Leaping sideways, he ran for the pool. The lions were made of stone, it only made sense that they couldn’t swim.

Smithy reached the edge of the pool and dived. As he sliced through the surface, the world went blue and quiet and still. Water filled his eyes and ears. There were lights along the bottom of the pool, allowing him to see. He powered forward, not sure what direction he was going, just trying to get away.

With a terrific sploosh, Smithy heard the second lion enter the water. It came down like a one tonne brick and sent ripples through the pool that spun him sideways. He turned, blinking rapidly. All he could see was a column of swirling bubbles. His balaclava clung to his face, soaked. Clawing it off, no longer worried about showing his features, he let it drift away.

The stone lion sank straight down, as Smithy predicted it would. As the bubbles cleared, he could see it had cracked the bottom of the pool. Robotically, however, it began powering forward.

Smithy shot to the surface and gasped. He struggled to get his arms and legs working in the right order. With the lion stuck at the bottom of the pool, he hoped he could climb out and make a run for it. As he paddled toward the side of the pool though, he saw the other lion, the one that had killed Beaumont. Gore dripped from between its jaws, it didn’t appear to have any way to lick its muzzle or to eat or swallow.

Smithy pushed backward, away from the pool’s edge. He expected it to leap in after him as well but instead it stayed there, watching. Suddenly, the lion on the bottom of the pool, standing on its back legs, seized him by the foot. It dragged him, gasping, back under the surface.

Blinking rapidly, Smithy twisted to see the lion holding him. It dropped back onto its forepaws, dragging him deeper. Thrashing, he tried to kick it with his other foot. The lion just held on, the grip of its jaws like an inescapable manacle. For a moment, he thought the lion intended just to hold him there, unable to reach the surface, until he was forced to draw a breath and drowned. Already on little air, his chest began to burn. He kicked and flailed, and tried to reach for the surface but couldn’t move.

And then the lion bit down anyway. Its stone fangs hooked around Smithy’s shin just above his ankle. His flesh and bone offered no apparent resistance, the leg snapping like a piece of straw. His foot turned sideways. The force of the snap reverberated through the water. Smithy stiffened and screamed, bubbles geysering out of his mouth.

The lion released Smithy’s foot. Trailing strings of blood that wisped in the water, his jagged leg pulled free. Without thinking, he fought to the surface, gulping air, and then paddled hard to the far end of the pool. Hands slapped the water. He was vaguely aware of the other stone lion, limbs grinding together, stalking down the side of the pool to keep pace with him.

The shallows came up suddenly, a ledge that sloped to the end of the pool. Smithy’s broken leg brushed the slope, sending a jolt of agony riveting through him, and then it dragged as he forced his other limbs to keep going. The lion beside the pool circled in front of him. With a rush, the second lion jumped, pushing back the weight of the water, and landed beside him in the shallows.

Lu walked to the end of the pool, standing above Smithy as he crawled out of the water. Blood leaked from his shattered shin into the pool behind him.

“Please,” Smithy said, reaching for the other man.

“I’m sorry, they don’t listen to commands. They only know how to protect,” Lu said.

The lion from the pool caught Smithy’s outstretched arm with its jaws. It bit down, bones popping and snapping, his forearm wrenched into new angles and splitting down the side. With a fresh scream tearing the lining of his throat, Smithy tried to pull free but it was like his arm was trapped in an industrial press.

“Why?” Smithy voice cracked.

“Henry Guilfoyle built a number of secrets into this estate, as a defence against what’s coming. I’m afraid you won’t be around to see it though.”

The lions surrounded Smithy on both sides. They could have finished him in an instant but they insisted on torturing him instead. Then he saw it waddling out of the garden. The third stone lion, the cub, about as big as a small dog and heavy as a cinderblock. The adult lions, mother and father, like good predator parents were showing their cub how to hunt.

“No, get away! Get away!”

The mother lion released Smithy’s arm and then casually knocked him sideways with one of her heavy paws. He couldn’t move, broken limbs flailing helplessly. With its stone fangs happily bared, the cub darted forward, backed off, and then darted forward again, lunging for his face.

xXx

When Gil arrived at the estate the next morning, along with the other workers from town, he was surprised to find it already swarming with employees of Mr Lu. Some looked like handymen, a couple carrying a big pane of glass, while others dressed more like bodyguards in dark suits and sunglasses.

Mr Lu himself appeared to meet them, diverting the maids away from the house. A couple of guards flanked him but he waved them off. The boss wore a white shirt and black pants, and looked tired but vitalised.

“Mr Lu, sir, what happened?” Gil asked.

“A bit of excitement, some kids broke in and vandalised a few things. Broke a couple of windows.”

“Kids? They broke in here?”

“Well, you know how all those old ghost stories hang around this place after all the years it was empty. I’m afraid it might be a bit of extra work for you today. Here, I’ve got just the thing to start.”

Lu walked Gil back out the gate and down the driveway. Gil spotted a section of bamboo that looked like someone might have crashed a car into it or something, as well as some bits of safety glass on the ground, but the car itself was gone.

“Mrs Lu and the kids, they’re okay though?” Gil asked.

“Just a little shaken, everyone’s okay but it looks like the vandals took some of it out on these guys.”

Lu gestured to the lion statues that flanked the foot of the driveway. Gil hadn’t noticed anything different when they were driving in but now he saw that the statues were covered in drying streaks of reddish brown.

“They threw some kind of paint all over the statues. I was hoping you could clean them up before it stains,” Lu said, and paused. “They’re, uh, very good protectors after all.”

Gil headed back to the house with Mr Lu and collected a bucket of soapy water, a scrub brush, and a step ladder. He returned alone to the foot of the driveway. Those kids, if that’s what they were, had certainly made a mess. The mother lion kind of looked like someone had already tried to rinse most of it off but the father and the cub were absolutely coated in red.

Gil didn’t want to worry Mr Lu any, but he was pretty sure the drying streaks on both lions weren't paint. He was pretty sure they were blood. Probably animal blood from a butcher or something but still pretty gruesome for a bunch of teenage vandals. Well, Mr Lu’s security people looked like they had everything under control. Dipping the brush into the soapy water, Gil started to scrub whatever it was off the face of the little cub under its mother’s paw, working the bristles between its teeth. He moved down its neck and onto its belly, and paused. It was funny, for a moment he could have almost sworn he heard it purr.

======

Sean: There are certain tropes I have an affection for, and that keep making appearances in things I write or try to write. I think I’m going to have to officially add living statues to the list, and perhaps their close cousin the animated armour. I particularly enjoy that sensory detail of the bits of their bodies grating or rubbing together to create sound, that to me is the kind of thing that really hooks the senses into a scene.

There were two main inspirations for this story besides the obvious Dungeons & Dragons connection. Actually, make that three. Firstly is that my wife and I moved into our own place recently as I might have mentioned, and shortly before we moved I was walking by a junk pile waiting for collection on the side of the road when I spotted two guardian lion statues, plastic ones not stone. So I rescued those and stuck them in the garage until we moved, and they now sit down the end of the balcony where I do most of my work of a day. They’re looking at me right now.

Secondly, there really is a property like the Lion House near where I used to live. I live in Sydney now but I used to live further north in a place called the Central Coast. It’s mostly beaches and suburbia but there’s also a bit of bush. There’s one back road I travel pretty frequently and for as long as I can remember there’s been these two enormous lion statues at the end of the driveway. I have absolutely no idea what’s down that driveway because the lions are the only thing you can see from the road but they are much as described in this story except for the fact I’d say they’re considerably larger.

The third inspiration is a place called Paronella Park near Cairns in Queensland, which is an absolutely magical spot. A castle and number of attractions built in the 1930s in the midst of the tropical rainforest, which was abandoned for decades, rediscovered, and reopened, really a terrific tourist attraction actually.

Keep your eyes on the website, I’ve got more to come before the end of the year, and you can find me on Facebook and Twitter, Reddit, and I’m now on Instagram and Threads, but I haven’t done anything at all with those yet… maybe next I’ll be on TikTok?