The Beast Inside

by David Horrocks

  It seemed like an eternity had passed before Bill finally made it to the opposite side of the barn. He carefully peeked around the wooden beams, mouthing something that Martha didn't quite catch, before leaping back in surprise. He seemed to stare in horror for a few moments before gesturing expressively for his wife to come over.

  “Bill? What is it?” Martha said with fearful curiosity.

  His voice wavered as he replied. “You… You really need to see this.”

  Worried for her husband's safety, Martha moved as quickly as she could in his direction, with all the worst possible scenarios racing through her head, but nothing she thought of could have prepared her for what she actually found.

  As she came to a stop mere inches from Bill, Martha almost slipped in a pool of something that upon further inspection was revealed to be a puddle of avian blood. She gasped, not expecting there to be quite so much of it for such a small animal. It took a second for her to compose herself before she came to the realisation that her husband hadn't budged at all and was still aiming his gun at something lurking in the shadows, his mouth wide open in shock.

  A wave of terror spread over Martha’s body, causing her to freeze in place. She wasn't sure that she even wanted to see what was trapped in the corner, growling at them so aggressively. She closed her eyes, praying for it all to be over, muttering a Bible passage that she had learned in church the week before until Bill’s voice snapped her back to reality.

  “Martha, please. Just take a look.”

  She managed to prize her eyelids open in time to witness her husband lowering his rifle slightly, while holding his left hand out with the purpose of calming whatever was cowering there. Craning her neck, Martha slowly moved the flashlight through the darkness that still clouded her vision, until the origin of the strange sounds was illuminated for all to see. It certainly wasn't something she had ever expected to see in their barn at all.

  The creature, it seemed, wasn't a creature at all. It was a young girl, barely a few years old, completely naked and holding her legs up to her chest while shivering. However, it wasn't because of the cold, but from the child being more frightened of the Delaneys than they were of her. At her blackened feet lay the barely recognisable remains of a chicken that had already been stripped of most of the meat, its eyes expressionless and drained of all life.

  Examining the girl further, it was clear that her pale skin was caked in layers of dirt, with splatterings of blood mixed in for good measure. It wasn't her own blood, but likely that of her kill. Long, matted hair covered most of her face, with a snarling maw of a mouth beneath, baring teeth that dripped crimson. Heavily dilated eyes peered out at them from behind, darting back and forth between Bill and Martha.

  As if the sight of the poor child wasn't enough, the smell that accompanied her was atrocious. Feces, urine and possibly sweat. It was far from a pleasant aroma. The girl was obviously feral, but there was still intelligence beneath the surface.

  Realising this, Martha slipped past her gun toting husband, nudging the barrel of his firearm away and towards the wall. She crouched down low, as to not appear threatening before edging forwards at a snail's pace.

  “It's okay, little one.” She said with all the warmth she could muster. “We won't hurt you.”

  The girl hissed again, scrambling backwards to press her back firmly into the corner of the barn.

  “Really, it's okay. You don't need to be frightened.”

  Martha could hear Bill shifting uncomfortably behind her, but blocked the sounds out as she focused her attention entirely on the girl who was now tilting her head like Charlie always did when he was trying his best to understand their commands.

  Lifting her hands, palms facing upwards, Martha continued to approach the child with welcoming arms outstretched. The poor thing looked as though she was trying to comprehend the situation, but her communication was limited to guttural grunts and growls. The tension was almost too much to bear as the gap between the two began to close.

  “It's okay, sweetie. You're safe now.”

  With those final calming words, the girl carefully placed her grubby little hand in to Martha's, tiny nails rough and broken. Her vicious sounds were replaced with a soft whimper, closely followed by her collapsing into a heap on the hard, wooden floor. Martha scooped the girl's delicate little body up in her arms before turning to face Bill who was left completely speechless.

  Speaking low and carefully, as to not startle the girl she was carrying, Martha locked eyes with her husband.

  “Honey. Call the Sheriff.”

  Bill stared blankly for a short while before doing as she instructed. As he turned to leave, a small, calloused hand reached up to gently touch Martha's face, caressing her cheek as if to pet it. She looked down at the innocent face of a child lost in a world that she didn't understand. They made eye contact, staring deep into each others souls and in that moment, Martha knew that she had the potential to love this precious human life with all her heart. It was God that had brought them together and she was meant to raise the girl as her own.

  **********

  “Do you know where she came from?”

  The Sheriff had been at the Delaney’s house for quite some time now, having called the nearest doctor for help as soon as he was aware of the circumstances of his visit. Martha and Bill sat with him around the kitchen table sipping coffee as the doctor was over in the living room running routine examinations on the young girl. The Sheriff was a gruff man with a smokers cough, who smelt like cheap whiskey and cigarettes, but he at least seemed to know what he was doing.

  Martha just sat there in silence, still worried about the child and exhausted from the long, stress filled night. She let Bill answer most of the questions, a little too shaken to do so herself.

  “No idea, Sheriff. I've never seen her before in my life.”

  The Sheriff played with his hat subconsciously, turning it slowly where it lay at the edge of the table, his other hand gripping the handle of his coffee cup. He took a long sip, avoiding making eye contact with either of them. He had clearly had a long night as well as dark circles lined the bottom of his eyes.

  Appearing to mull things over, the Sheriff took a second sip of his drink before placing the cup back down on a coaster. Rubbing his eyes, the man fell into silent contemplation for a minute until footsteps could be heard echoing down the hallway.

  “We’ll see what the doc has to say.”

  Almost as soon as he finished the sentence, the doctor himself entered the room as if on cue. He too looked weary from lack of sleep as he began to address the group.

  “She's sedated for now. Apart from severe malnutrition and a few minor cuts and bruises, she is a normal and relatively healthy little girl. I can't speak for any mental trauma she may have suffered, but with the proper care she should physically recover in a few weeks.”

  “I need to figure out what to do with her.” The Sheriff interjected.

  Martha perked up. “We can take care of her!”

  The other occupants of the room stopped talking immediately, turning their attention to her.

  “... At least until her parents are located.”

  The doctor nodded in agreement. “The child does seem to have formed an attachment to you, Mrs Delaney. She wouldn't let me near her until you stepped in.”

  Martha looked over at her husband, trying to gauge his reaction to her decision, but he simply shrugged with a knowing smile.

  “I’m just the brawn. You're the brains, dear. If you want to look after her, that's what we’ll do.” Bill wasn't sure what else to say, but he always respected his wife's decisions in all things.

  “Then it’s settled… But this is just a temporary arrangement. At least until we get to the bottom of this mystery.” The Sheriff said as he pushed up from the table, picking up his hat and placing it on top of his head. “I'll be in touch.”

  As the Sheriff turned to leave, the doctor pulled a pen out his top pocket before rippi
ng a piece of paper from the notebook that he carried under his left arm. Leaning on a kitchen counter, he quickly jotted something down before offering the scrap to Martha.

  “Here. It's the number for Doctor Janice Jones. She's a trained psychologist who may be able to help the girl through any adverse mental disorders that may have developed due to abandonment or abuse.”

  Martha took the note from the doctor's hand, staring at it for a moment before folding it up carefully.

  “Thank you. If we need help, I'll be sure to contact her.”

  The doctor stifled a yawn, moving his hand up to his mouth to block it.

  “Then my job here is done. Please don't hesitate to call if you need anything.”

  Once the doctor had collected his bag and both he and the Sheriff had driven away in their respective cars, Martha tiptoed down the hall to the other room to check on the little girl who was now passed out on the couch under a thick, warm blanket. Her hair was still damp from the shower and she was dressed in an oversized t-shirt that Martha had pulled out of her bedroom drawer. No longer appearing feral, the child looked completely normal, sleeping serenely in comfort. Her face was clear of dirt, but her fingernails were still split and broken.

  Martha quietly made her way over, perching on the arm of the chair where she leant over to brush hair from the girl's face. Her nose was wrinkled as if she was sniffing the air, whimpering as her leg twitched like a dog having a dream.

  “Shhh. It's okay, baby. It's okay.”

  Martha smiled happily to herself, kissing the girl on the forehead as she silently thanked God for blessing her with the child that she had always wanted. In that moment, Martha honestly believed that she was looking down upon the face of an angel.

  **********

  A great deal of time passed with no sign of the girl’s parents and very little communication from the Sheriff's department. The Delaneys had taken to calling her Alice, after Bill's hard working and long deceased Irish born mother. After a year, they applied for legal adoption, paying a large sum of money in order to do so. After months of paperwork, red tape, waiting and various other problems along the way, their request was finally granted. Alice was now officially Alice Delaney, their daughter who they loved as much as they would their own.

  Alice was extremely well taken care of, living a relatively normal country life on the farm. She didn't remember anything prior to being found in the barn, but seemed to enjoy helping run the place and taking care of the animals, becoming fast friends with the family dog. There weren't any schools nearby, in fact there were a distinct lack of other people, and so Alice was homeschooled for the next few years.

  Life was far from perfect however, as recurring nightmares of hill dwelling people, bloodsucking fiends and twisted creatures plagued Alice on a nightly basis, haunting her throughout the day and so Martha took her to see the recommended therapist who, after multiple sessions, discovered that the dreams may actually be warped representations of repressed memories. The continued treatment was tough and costly, but necessary, with hypnotherapy and hours of discussions, but Bill and Martha pulled together to help their daughter through it all. As a family, the Delaney's were stronger together than they had ever been before.

  **********

  A bolt of lightning struck the old tree outside the window of the master bedroom, sending splintered wood flying in all directions. The strike caused a massive bang that woke Martha with a start. Sitting upright in bed and propping herself up against the headboard, she could see that the storm had woken her husband from his slumber as well.

  “That one was awfully close.” She muttered, clutching her hands to her chest to feel her heart palpitations.

  Martha had never liked storms, even as a child growing up. Every time one rolled in, she would hide under her covers until it dissipated, but she was far too old and mature for that now. It was far better to face her fears and tough it out. True bravery was overcoming your phobias and eventually conquering them. Fear itself was part of being human and it let her know she was still alive.

  Bill rolled on to his side to face his wife as the room lit up with another flash.

  “Another bad night for sleeping.” He said as he stretched his legs out, feet hanging off the end of the bed.

  Strong winds caused the old house to creak as rain pelted against the window panes. It seemed that the storm wouldn't be letting up anytime soon.

  They had already let Charlie into the house after hearing about the storm on the local weather report, but he was still curled up on his pillow in the corner of the room in a deep sleep. Now at the ripe old age of fourteen, the poor dog had lost his hearing, with his sight not far behind. The saving grace was that the frail dog no longer freaked out at times like this.

  As another gust of wind rattled the house, a high pitched shriek echoed down the hall. Alice was wailing and hollering in her bedroom down the hall.

  “My baby!” Martha exclaimed, eyes wide open as she scrambled out of bed, night gown flapping around her as she near sprinted out of their open door and down to the next room over that belonged to their daughter.

  The night light in Alice's bedroom could be seen glowing through the doorway that was always ajar due to her hating the feeling of being enclosed and trapped in a claustrophobic space.

  Alice herself, now around six years old, was still lying in bed, thrashing about wildly in her pajamas, sheets torn from the bed and pillows thrown halfway across the floor. She was bellowing and howling, eyes still shut tight as she clawed the air around her viciously.

  Martha didn't miss a step as she rushed towards the bed while calling back down the hall, “Bill, get a glass of water! She's having night terrors again.”

  Using a method that Doctor Jones had taught her, Martha managed to grab Alice’s arms by the wrists, narrowly avoiding getting scratched. She then pulled the girl around, wrapping her own arms tightly around her in an embrace before sitting her upright, Alice's head resting on her shoulder as she began to rock her back and forth calmingly.

  “It's okay, baby. It's just a dream. It's just a dream, the monsters can't hurt you here.”

  When Bill entered the room, a cold glass of water in his hand, he found Martha singing lullaby's to Alice, who was now curled up and sobbing into her mother's lap. He made his way over, placing the glass on the nightstand before sitting down on the bottom corner of the bed.

  “I called Janice.” He said with a concerned expression that was all too common these days. “We have an emergency session with her in the morning.”

  Martha stroked Alice's back, eyes fixated on the girl as she spoke. “Thank you. I just… I just hoped that she would be better by now.”

  Bill nodded, reaching over to place a warm and comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. “She’s getting there. We knew her recovery would take some time.”

  Martha simply sighed as they both sat with Alice on her bed, eventually both falling asleep as they cuddled her there until sunrise.

  Through countless sessions with Doctor Janice Jones, Alice's nightmares appeared to subside after a year or so. Eventually the Delaney's troubled little girl adjusted, seemingly forgetting about all the things that had kept her up at night.

  Although relieved, the couple always worried that the dreams would come back, sometimes rushing in to check on Alice when she was still sound asleep. In the end, it took them longer to accept that her condition had improved than it did for the child herself.

  **********

  As time went on, Charlie the dog's health deteriorated rapidly, resulting in him passing away a few days before his fifteenth birthday. The entire Delaney family missed their loyal friend dearly. The loss left an empty spot in their lives, and so they decided to adopt a rescue dog a few months later.

  Already two year old, Buster was a mutt who had just as much love to give the family as they had for him. Alice instantly became his best friend, giving the dog table scraps and letting him sleep at the foot of her bed. Bill and
Martha were delighted by how well the pair got along and saw the friendship as a useful form of rehabilitation for them both.

  It was a scorching hot and sunny, late summer afternoon in 2005. Bill stood alone in the kitchen, elbow deep in soapy water as he hand washed the dishes. Martha had gone grocery shopping at the market in the closest town, leaving him to complete a few household chores.

  Taking a moment to look out of the window in front of him, a sunbeam warming his face, Bill saw nine year old Alice wearing a summer dress as she played with Buster like she always did. He chuckled as she threw a ball, the dog instantly chasing after it, with his tongue hanging out of his open mouth as he ran.

  Bill left them to it, picking up a damp sponge to scrub another plate clean. He enjoyed performing such menial tasks, as he found them to be quite relaxing. Warm water and cleansing suds softened the skin of his rough, working hands. It was a nice break from lugging equipment around on the farm and sweating profusely in the heat. Focusing on one particularly tough piece of melted cheese that had dried on to the edge of a dish, he scrubbed away, humming quietly to himself as he became lost in thought.

  A blood curdling scream and savage barking pulled Bill back to his senses. Looking back out the window he had lost sight of both Alice and Buster, the worrying sounds coming from the other side of the house. He dropped the plate in a hurry, causing it to fall and hit the side of the metallic sink, shattering into a thousand pieces over the counter top and floor.

  Bill barely noticed the dish break as he raced for the front door, barging straight through it with a bang as it hit the frame with force. He went barreling across the deck, knocking over a chair as he hurried towards the far end of the building.

  Careening around the edge and leaping from the deck at full speed, Bill almost twisted his knee as he landed. He didn’t really care about his own health at that moment in time as he witnessed the horrifying sight of Buster sinking his teeth deep into Alice's arm, shaking it around like a rag doll. She already had defensive wounds that raked across her skin from what must have been a hell of an assault. The typically gentle Buster appeared to be a dog out of control.