Beast of Bridgewater
David Willoughby
Copyright 2011 David Willoughby
I have held my tongue on the subject for more time than any sane man should. The fell-shadow that haunts my heart weighs more than any smiths anvil. It is a weight of sin and fears that stalks my dreams and darkens the light in my waking hours.
The events that led up to those dark and terror filled hours were of the most mundane sort. I was working to put myself through college, a deed my parents found noble. While living with several friends from my college we found ourselves out growing our old apartment. This was quickly exacerbated by a rising electric bill thanks to shoddy maintenance. We had to move.
This act was simple enough. We looked around and found a few places that seemed nice but in the end it came down to price. Most of the apartments were on a steady strip of highway in a busy part of town. The less than desirable neighborhoods resulted in nice apartments for cheap. This worked out conveniently for the mixed party of roommates that would be moving with me.
It was a quick process, one that I found passed by far too fast. I would have liked to shop around more, but I guess that is just hindsight. We settled on a complex, a nice New England inspired place with copious acreage. I disliked the amenities available but I could not beat the price. The management all had a strange look to them. They all looked distinctly Native American but they held no true indicators of race. It was odd and sometimes it made it hard to tell them apart but that was not there strangest feature. They were queerly cheerful throughout the process. Not just happy for a sale, but truly overjoyed about our patronage. We all figured it must be the harsh markets and slow economy.
As we gathered around the false-oak topped table to sign our leasing agreement I felt extremely uneasy. The harsh green floor had one too many stains on it, and this was the management office. The walls looked slightly worn and worse for the wear. There was a sense of mild hesitance in the room as my friends sat in silent agreement to move in. It was a four bedroom apartment and seven people would be moving in. I would be in the master bedroom; a right afforded me by virtue of my being single. A kindness I was sure.
The property manager that helped us handed over the papers and the keys with a smile that was reminiscent of a sea predator or a hungry cat. It was unpleasant and I was not the only one to notice. The queer behavior of the office staff came under scrutiny from my friends once we were all gathered at our old apartment preparing for the move. We made off-color jokes about the state of the staff. They had all had the exactly the same color hair and skin tone and it almost made it hard to keep track of who we were talking to.
There had seemed to be a great many managers and staff members. More than would be necessary to run a complex twice its size, I made a joke about it being a family business. It was also noted that they all lived in the apartment complex themselves, being as proud of it as they were. At least we would have quick responses if there were ever a problem.
I felt completely swept along by the process. I was glad for the help moving as nearly a third of the heavy lifting was done for me. This made it easy to move while maintaining my work and class schedule. The arduous juggling act served as a constant backdrop in my life and I did not need added stress. I felt a burden lifted from my shoulders when we finished our move. I could finally rest again. I still slept a few nights at the old place before our lease was up and I moved in to the new apartment.
Moving my bed in to the apartment was no big problem. It was little more than a futon. It was deciding where to put it in the huge room that was the issue. I had easily half again the space of my old room. I settled on the wall nearest the door way but furthest from the window. It was a weird window. The window looked directly out over the apartments entry way. It was a strange set up with the master bed room right off of the entry way and extending past the door. With this set up I was unfortunate to have a huge picture window view of our front door.
I managed to fix any privacy issues with a heavy curtain and a cheap rod bought from a local store. It added a touch of décor to my otherwise lackluster room. I had a late shift that day and found that I would return just after dark. I was not exactly excited to have to walk the breezeway of the complex alone at night, past two other apartments before getting to our own, but I was not going to be so cowardly about moving to a new place. I didn’t fear things that went bump in the night.
After a hard day at work I found the ride home soothing on the empty highway. The complexes grounds looked even bigger after dark and the nearby woods drifted and swayed like looming guardians along the road. The walk to the apartment from the parking lot was not nearly as scary as I had imagined, the parking lot was vacant and I saw no signs of life in any of the tenants I passed. When I arrived home at about eleven o’clock I locked the door securely behind me before turning in for the night. After some quick hygienic maintenance I was ready for bed and dozed off easily.
That was the first night I heard the noises. I awoke slightly confused. It took me a few moments of stark panic to realize I was in my new apartment. The size threw me off almost immediately and it took me a harsh instant to realize where I was. It was then that I heard the sound that must have interrupted my rest. A heavy panting seemed to creep in from the edge of hearing. Having had parents who were proud dog owners I thought nothing of the phenomenon that night and found it easy enough to fall back to sleep.
My roommates were not as quick to wake in the morning as I was. Working mostly in the evening I was not used to seeing my roommates in the morning. This morning I caught several of them blearily leaving the apartment, coffee in hand. I set about my usual morning routine. After a cup of hot tea I cracked the books for some studying. The spaciousness of the apartment made the building seem almost like the libraries I spent my academic time in, hollow and silent with a stifled air of age and a subtle feeling of borrowed things. The feeling was dampened by the mismatched nature of college apartment furniture.
For lunch I journeyed out in to the largely vacant parking lot to find my car. I assumed that the absence of other vehicles was indicative of a large working population. This seemed feasible enough. I drove out to the highway and hunted down the nearest chain restaurant. I ate quickly and returned home to finish a few assignments before packing up for work. My roommates slowly filtered back in to the apartment. They looked worn out, though not too much worse than one might from a hard day’s work. I was busy getting ready for work and was not much for conversation but I overheard some peculiar topics. They all discussed being kept awake that night by strange noises, and noted that they had been occurring ever since they had moved in. This meant that in certain cases this was as many as three nights. I paid little attention to the idea.
Work was the usual boring combination of hardship and humiliation. I left work around eleven again and found the highway empty on the way back. The apartment parking lot was still strikingly barren and I began to wonder if the place had other tenants. I crossed the breezeway with a slight discomfort. The walk was dark and I was unarmed. Unfortunately I was not really worth mugging, my pockets being empty and my clothes being bargain rack bare-necessities.
The apartment was dark when I returned and I kept the lights off when I enter. My room was merely a quick left of the entrance and I did not wish to disturb my roommates. I changed out of grubby work clothes and expediently found myself face down in the pillow.
I awoke again to the sound of an all too familiar panting. I was much less startled by the event of my waking than I had been the night before. Checking my watch I noted the time was a little after three in the morning. I hoped the panting was not what kept my roommates awake. It was almost as I had my eyes closed again that I he
ard a new noise. A scratching. My room was up against the breezeway and I heard a noise that was exactly like a large creature running some wicked claw along the exterior of the building. I tried my best not to let my imagination get the best of me but as the scratching noise made its way down the wall I found myself disturbed.
Childishly I was afraid to rise from my bed. The heavy drapes blocked out any light from the outside. I lay in bed listening to the repeated scratching and what now seemed like a chorus of panting breaths. I pressed my eyes tight and willed myself to sleep. Just as I had blocked out all the noise I heard a deep throaty growl.
The growl seemed to come from right outside of my
The Beast of Bridgewater Page 1