Free A Wild Ride Through The Night by Walter Moers

silvery light fell on them. They squeaked or grunted and were mercifully swallowed up once more by the gloom. Gustave occasionally mistook something for a boulder or a fallen tree, only to see it stirring silently. Long, thin creatures equipped with far too many legs pattered across his route and vanished into the nocturnal shadows.
    Gustave more than once heard the rustle of leathery wings circling not far above his head. The darkness was alive with whispers and crackles, high-pitched whistles and distant howls.
    ‘If we’re out of luck,’ murmured Pancho, his voice filled with apprehension, ‘we may run into the Most Monstrous of All Monsters without realising it. It could be looming over us at this very moment, massive as a mountain, with tentacles instead of arms and one huge eye capable of seeing in the dark. You see those tall trees on either side of us? They may not be trees at all—they may be
legs
!’
    ‘Do you mind keeping your flights of fancy to yourself?’ Gustave protested. ‘If there
are
any monsters lurking in the darkness, I’d like to be able to hear them coming before they attack us.’
    At that moment the clouds parted, and they saw that they had for some time been trotting through a vast expanse of ruins. Massive blocks of stone were all that remained of tall buildings that had collapsed long ago, leaving only vestiges of their walls standing. The route was barred by fallen stones, and Pancho had to pick his way among them with care.
    Seen by the moon’s pale light, the ruins looked like ice floes wedged together. Perched on top of them were flocks of owls whose big, round eyes reflected the cold light streaming down from the cosmos.
    ‘The result of an earthquake, probably,’ said Gustave.
    ‘Monsters is my bet,’ was Pancho’s awestruck response.
    ‘
Are you wondering what horrific creature wrecked this place?
’ The voice that rang out over the dismal landscape was deep, dark and mournful. It sounded as if it were issuing from a dungeon.
    Universal panic ensued. Gustave wrenched at the reins and fumbled with his lance, Pancho reared up on his hind legs and wheeled on the spot as though encircled by rats. At that moment a pallid moonbeam pierced the overcast and shone straight down on a monster leaning against a ruined wall only a few yards away. ‘It was me,’ it said.
    The monster had a head like a dragon’s skull. Its arms, which were composed of gnarled wood, ended in flexible, plantlike tentacles. The rest of it was mercifully obscured by the wall it was leaning against. More tentacles wriggling through cracks between the stones seemed to suggest that the ruined masonry concealed still more horrific portions of its anatomy.
    ‘Well,’ the monster boomed, ‘are you paying the Valley of the Monsters a visit?’
    A big wolf spider crawled out of its right eye socket and went scuttling down the wall.
    ‘Er, yes,’ Gustave answered quickly. ‘And a very good evening to you.’

    ‘You’re only passing through, I trust, not planning to spend a vacation here. Aren’t they awful, these desolate surroundings? These dismal forms of plant life that proliferate everywhere? These depressing climatic conditions? Living here is like stagnating under a steamed-up cheese cover.’ The bony skull heaved a deep sigh.
    Gustave dismounted. The monster seemed civilised despite its frightful appearance, so he signalled his peaceful intentions by replacing his lance in its sheath and leaving his helmet behind with Pancho. So as to be prepared for certain eventualities, however, he kept his iron skullcap on and retained his swordbelt. With one sweaty hand gripping the hilt of his sword, he clambered over the tilted, uneven blocks of stone that lay between him and the monster.
    The monster’s chalk-white head peered over the wall like some puppet from a Punch-and-Judy show designed for audiences with exceptionally strong nerves. Gustave strode up to it, took his courage in both hands, and