The creature claimed a solitary tree and an acre of scorched, lifeless land. Locals called it the Demon of Harrow Hill. Some said it had lived there, defeating heroes, for centuries.
Cohen Monoghan, the famed killer of hellish beasts, fared no better than his predecessors. He’d lost one hundred heavily armored mercenaries attacking the demon. Flummoxed by seven ignominious defeats, he sat in a tavern, thinking.
“Don’t ye worry,” encouraged the bartender, Liam. “Ye’ll kill that devil.”
“Devil?” said Monoghan. “Everyone calls it a demon.”
“Ach, I know. But mark me word, it’s a devil.”
“Blast!” gasped Monoghan. “That’s a different beastie altogether!”
He returned with a slender man in silk clothing. Mr. Pettigrew, a lawyer, wielded a mere abacus. Monoghan took him to the hill. Within an hour, the “Demon” of Harrow Hill had fled.
“Demons love chaos,” explained Monoghan to a crowd of admiring onlookers. “But Devils love bureaucracy.
“So how did you slay it?” queried a bystander.
“Easy, grinned Monoghan. “Mr. Pettigrew presented it with a bill for unpaid taxes.”
Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/04/03/fffaw-challenge-week-of-april-4-2017/