The Beast

by Shantea Gauthier

  I screamed when the stereo came to life with laughing radio hosts. I snapped it off and started driving, barely able to hear over my own pounding heart. A parking ticket rattled in the wind, plastered to my windshield by the spilled soda except for a corner that frantically beat at my window. A street lamp shone through the paper and I saw the cost of the ticket, in bold black ink. Thirty two dollars. It was a wonder that my car wasn't towed for being parked at the pump for so long.

  By the time I reached my apartment building the whole encounter felt too impossible to have actually happened. The wind that slipped its cold fingers through the holes of my sweater to tickle my bleeding ribs convinced me otherwise.

  On the way up to my door some drunk teenager smoking a cigarette on the stairs tilted a bottle of vodka toward me, offering the neck. "Rough day lady?"

  I passed him, ignoring the bottle and the question. I was shaking harder, nearly convulsing when I let myself into my apartment. I climbed into bed under the pile of abandoned mail on the comforter and curled up under the thick blankets until I felt like I was going to suffocate. Only then did I slowly uncover my head and look around.

  The only beast around was a spider on the ceiling across the room. I silently thanked it for being the scariest thing that might have to be dealt with.

  Twisted in the blanket and sheets, I watched the spider make shaky progress across the room. I don’t know how long it took before I started to feel normal again. It was all just a bad nightmare. By the time the spider reached the corner of the wall I felt safe again. I'd never known what danger felt like before the stinking blonde caught me and for what felt like the first time in my life I knew safety. With the sunrise filtering in through my closed blinds, I drifted off to sleep.

  chapter 2

  Things went downhill from the moment I woke up. When I tried to stretch, my body ached and my skin tore. My hair crunched when I turned my head. Stiff jeans cracked as they pulled away from my legs.

  It wasn’t a bad dream.

  Every muscle screamed in protest as I forced my legs to leave the bed and ordered the rest of my body to follow. My sheets and comforter were ruined. Spiky oak leaves and dried mud sprinkled the carpet. Dried blood clung to everything. I'd have to visit the laundromat, the floor would need to be vacuumed, and I’d have to wipe down the walls.

  Shaking legs carried me to the bathroom where a filthy hand reached out and turned on the water. I wondered if I should have gone to the police.

  And say what? That I got into a stranger's car and was attacked by monsters? Best case scenario they’d say I was asking for it. Most realistic scenario they’d think I was having a psychotic break. Maybe I was.

  I unzipped my sweater and let it fall to the floor. It did not escape my notice that the torn and bloody blouse beneath it was new.

  My spine and stomach both screamed white hot protest when I tried to remove my jeans, and my arms refused to pull the shirt up over my head. I crawled into the tub, still dressed, and lay in fetal position under the flow of water. The water stung and made my clothes heavy, but I everything hurt so much already and I could hardly lift my own weight.

  The one thing I liked about living in an apartment was the endless hot water. Growing up in an ancient farmhouse, we only had a small water heater that barely worked. In the winter it stung like icicles to shower. Nothing like the fire that I let burn into all of my cuts and pin me to the tub floor. I don't know how long I was in there, or how many handfuls of leafy goo I threw into the trash can by the toilet when it clogged the drain, but eventually I pushed myself up far enough to pull a pair of hair scissors from the drawer under the sink. I cut my shirt up the middle and wriggled my arms out of the sleeves. The ruined shirt hit the floor with a loud splat. The jeans were next. I wasn't ready to stand up so I cut through the waistband and down the length of each leg. I started replaying the night over and over in my mind as I the scissors made their chilling snipping sound, two knifes rubbing together over and over. Simon had vanished and the beast had appeared. A beast with a muzzle who stood on two legs. A beast with ape like arms and elongated feet.

  Splashing snapped me out of the memory. I shut the water off and pulled sopping piles of shredded denim away from the blocked drain. When the water was low enough I climbed out, stripped out of my bra and panties, and started to take a real shower. Eventually I sank again and knelt under the water, letting it comb my hair, pulling leaves and twigs and clumps of hair out, dropping everything onto the pile of ruined clothes. I distantly wondered if I’d have any hair left by the time I could pull a comb through it.

  I dripped on the floor on the way to the linen closet to get a towel. The cold air pricked my skin into goose bumps and sent fresh waves of pain across my wounds like electricity. My heavy arms pulled a pile of towels down to the floor, but I held onto two. I wrapped one around my waist and one around my shoulders. It was already after noon. By the time I stopped rocking on the couch it was four and my hair was dry.

  With the realization that there was no one but me to clean up the mess, and knowing that I would eventually have to face life again, I rose.

  I balled the bedding up and threw the pile of sopping ruined clothes in the trash. I kicked some of the fallen towels from the hallway to the bathroom and used them to clean up the spill. I threw the entire scattered pile of mail from my bedroom floor into the trash can. If anything in there was important, they’d send it again.

  When I went into the bathroom to retrieve the wet towels, my reflection stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't good. Top to bottom, I was a mess. Even though I'd combed it, my long hair stuck out unevenly. Instead of being thick, shiny and obedient it was frizzy and had thin spots. I pulled it back into a ponytail, the least unattractive option. My chest looked fine, like nothing at all had happened, but an enormous bruise bloomed across my lower ribs. It was yellow in the center, with blue, purple and green reaching out like petals. My sides bore angry red stripes from knife-like claws. One of the cuts connected to the bruise in the front, a bleeding stem for the painful flower.

  My hip, which I couldn't recall hitting anything, had also bruised down to my thigh. The soda and mud had soaked into my skin for too long and the skin on my calf was peeling. It was going to be a hot afternoon but shorts were out of the question. I was thankful that my arms, like my chest, had escaped any severe damage.

  My face was another story. A little purple bruise slashed across my cheek. My eyes were puffy and red. My top lip was half swollen and a sore was forming where I must have bitten it.

  Reluctantly, I pulled out my little makeup bag and went to work. By six I was dressed and my face was made up. I grabbed the cup of quarters I kept for laundry and reached for the door.

  I couldn’t open it. My hand hovered ever the lock but I couldn't bring myself to turn it. I had spent the whole day avoiding this moment. I wasn't in such great pain that I needed a hospital. I'd been sore and bruised before, so what kept me frozen there?

  It was the first time I'd ever been attacked.

  The man who attacked me wasn't entirely a man. The thing that had saved me wasn't a man at all.

  So what were they? What was the blonde man with his inhuman speed and steel bar of an arm? What was the beast with its narrow waist and broad curved back?

  I shook my head, unwilling to think about it. It wasn't real. Things like that weren't real.

  After a deep breath that made my ribs pop, I unlocked the door and pushed it open. Sunlight greeted me. A pair of the neighbor boys rode scooters on the strip of sidewalk while a trio of girls enjoyed a tea party on the grass.

  It was all so blissfully normal.

  I slung the trash into the dumpster and went back for the muddy bedding and wet towels. I shoved them into the trunk before I tried to peel the ticket from my windshield, but it only shredded and came off in little clumps of pulp before I gave up and climbed into my car.

  Simon's keys sat on the passenger seat where I'd thrown them. What happened
to him? Was he okay? Was he there when it all went down?

  The radio made me jump again and I reached to switch it off until something the host said caught my attention.

  "These bodies are being found with parts of them eaten and perfect holes in them like it’s cattle mutilation."

  The female co-host chimed in, "You know; I saw a documentary about cattle mutilation and they actually took video of wild dogs eating cow bellies and they left almost perfect circles like a razor did it. It's the way their jaws are formed, the teeth work like scissors."

  "I still say its aliens," said the host.

  They both laughed, and the co-host countered "I still say it's a coyote. Their natural prey is threatened and depleted so they're going after humans. Happens all the time."

  "Well, either way," said the host. "Stay out of the hills at night and don't go alone. There's safety in numbers. Whatever or whoever is out there is a real threat. After the break we have a doctor who is going to tell you why you should eat your boogers and drink your urine. Not sure I'm ready to try it but the evidence is compelling."

  The volume faded to a commercial break as the co-host said "You know it sounds gross but it's really interesting. I've got a lot of questions."

  I turned the radio off and shivered.

  I waved the neighbor on who had been waiting patiently for me to pull out of the carport and drove out to the gas station in silence. Simon's car wasn't there. Maybe he had a spare key. Or maybe it got towed.

  Maybe it was never there at all. Maybe I was losing my mind. I looked at the keys on my passenger seat for confirmation that I wasn’t losing it. Still there.

  I shoved my comforter in an expensive washer at the laundromat that was mostly used for horse blankets and threw the sheets and towels into another.

  The smells of the Mexican restaurant next door were a mouthwatering reminder that I hadn't eaten since lunch the day before. Even that had only been half of a bagel sandwich. Suddenly desperately hungry, I went in.

  "Jade, you got my text!"

  My friend Sandra waved from a table, already sitting with two men. Her big green eyes scanned my confused face. I shook my head.

  "Phone's still broken," I said.

  "That's what I thought. What a coincidence then." She jumped up and hugged me. Her silky blonde hair wrapped me in the comforting smell of artificial strawberries from the shampoo she’d been using since she was nine. "Anyway, it just said that I was going out to dinner with Jack and his brother and you should meet us at Number Three. Our table’s over here."

  The restaurant had a real name, but it was something long and in Spanish, but it ended in “No. 3” so we just called it Number Three. We often wondered where One and Two were, but we'd never seen them and any time we ever gave serious thought to finding them, we were too drunk to care. The place had killer margaritas.

  I sat and nodded a stiff necked greeting to Jack, the black haired man sitting next to Sandra, and his brother Cole.

  "That's so funny you came here anyway," Sandra said. "When are you getting a new phone anyway? Man, I really need to stop saying anyway today." She turned to Jack, "Anyway, everything here is amazing but I love, love, love the enchiladas. And the margaritas. Especially the margaritas."

  She giggled and I smiled. She tossed her sandy blonde hair and called the waiter to order.

  I ordered a bean and cheese burrito.

  Sandra ordered a whole deep fried fish and four margaritas.

  My stomach was in tight knots by the time my burrito arrived, covered in enchilada sauce and dominating a dinner plate.

  I sipped at the margarita and tore into the burrito with fork and knife until all thoughts of creatures and killers and even the pain in my ribs was forgotten.

  I slipped next door to change my laundry to the dryer and when I came back, my empty plate had been taken away and my empty margarita glass had been replaced with a full one.

  "I ordered dessert," Sandra said. "And more drinks. You've got some catching up to do. Wanna do a shot?"

  I smiled and shook my head. The scene on the little TV in the corner ruined the illusion of normalcy.

  A fire on the screen caught my eye. The volume was too low to hear what they were saying about it, but I knew the freeway they were showing. I knew the car in the center of the blaze, too.

  I sat down, as drawn and white as a new sheet. How could I explain to Sandra and two near strangers what happened- what was happening? I couldn't, so I said nothing. I couldn't just leave my friend and my laundry and drive through the police barriers to see- what? See if Simon was inside? Any options were completely absurd so I did nothing.

  Jack looked back at the TV to see what I was staring at, but no one asked.

  "I told you she's weird," Sandra giggled from behind her glass. I threw a broken chip at her and forced a laugh.

  We lingered through another round of margaritas and I kept my eyes firmly planted downward. I refused to let them drift back to the screen. If they pulled out a body… I looked down at the table again. No body.

  Finally, after deep fried ice cream, an apple chimichanga, and enough tequila to fill me with warm confidence that the world was still how it always had been, I stuffed my hot laundry into the backseat of my car. The trunk would have to be cleaned some other time.

  Sandra offered to take me back to her place where they were planning on watching a movie, playing a board game, and utilizing her hot tub. I wanted to decline, to do the responsible thing and go home, maybe to a hospital, and-.

  And what? Lay awake in fear all night? I couldn’t do that. Replay the previous night over and over in my mind? I didn't want that. I didn’t want to be alone. Besides, it wouldn't be very responsible to drive after three margaritas.

  Like it's better to let someone else drive after four.

  "Come on," Sandra pleaded, holding my arm with both hands and shaking it. "I'll bring you back to your car later. Please? It won't be the same without you."

  I laughed and agreed, even though tears of pain welled up in my eyes. It hurt when she shook me, but I didn’t want to stop her and have to explain why. I felt safer around other people. I felt safer with Sandra. "Safety in numbers," like the radio host said.

  The big TV was already on at her house, set to the news, as every TV seemed to be, replaying the footage from the car fire. It might not have been Simon's car. There were plenty of old maroon colored cars out there. It was Los Angeles, after all. There were a lot of every kind of car. It's not like I had his license plate number memorized. I hadn't even seen it in the daytime. I smiled. How silly of me to jump to conclusions.

  It promised some breaking news on the Hollywood Killer before Sandra switched it over to a movie.

  I stared at the screen with my mind distracted, but I nudged for popcorn, held out my glass for more wine, and laughed at all the jokes anyway. When it was over, Sandra opened a new bottle and ordered Jack to bring out towels. She offered me a bathing suit, but the bikini exposed the slashes and bruises decorating my abdomen and I put my clothes back on.

  "You're not getting in?" Sandra slurred when I came out, spilling drops of her dark red wine onto the concrete surrounding the pool. "You have to get in!"

  I caught her shoulder gently when she staggered too close to the pool. "I'm not getting in, but I'll stay. I'll just put my feet in."

  I thought of the zombie skin on my calf and wished I hadn't even said that. But she would hold me to it or die trying to figure out why I wouldn’t, so I stripped my jeans off and dropped my legs into the water as quickly as I could and hoped that no one was looking hard enough to see my bruised hip in the dim light.

  I forced my legs to stay under the hot bubbling water. Above water, salty sweat stung my cuts. After a few minutes and another glass of wine, it wasn't so bad. After we opened the third bottle I couldn't feel much of anything at all. I just leaned back and looked up into the sky. Clouds, trees, her fence, and the neighbor’s lights obscured the stars. I thought about
Simon for a moment, but it was easy to push the thought away when I sat up again.

  When Sandra decided that she'd had enough of the hot tub, we all went inside. The two men stood around in nervous, drunken anticipation until Sandra all but pushed them out the door. She offered me a blanket and the big comfy couch, which I occupied gratefully. The wine had done its work. I was relaxed. Completely devoid of all thoughts of car fires and killers and vampires and werewolves.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  I had tried so hard not to admit even to myself that I thought those things. They weren't real. They couldn't be. And yet…

  How else to explain the superhuman blonde man? I had seen his fangs, though I wouldn't admit it to myself until now. And the beast looked like a movie werewolf with a canine face and almost manly body.

  Too drunk to deny it any longer, I finally admitted the truth:

  I was attacked by a vampire and saved by a werewolf.

  chapter 3

  I sat in front of the TV, painfully wrapped in a blanket until Sandra emerged, groggy and hung-over, in her favorite jalapeno peppered pajama shorts. We made breakfast the way we always did; she flipped the pancakes and I scrambled the eggs, before she drove me to my car. She gave me a sly grin.

  “What?” I asked.

  “So, what do you think about Cole? Any sexual tension forming yet?”

  “Who?”

  “Jade! Jack’s brother! You’ve only met him like eight times. He’s cute, right?” She gave my arm a playful slap and the car swerved.

  “Yeah I guess. If you’re into… that.”

  She turned her green eyes to me with a look that could cut glass. “What do you mean, into that?”

  I laughed. “Watch the road. It’s not like they’re twins. This isn’t a judgement of your boyfriend. Cole’s like a nerdy version of Jack, but with greasy hair.”