The Beast

by A R Davis

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  Valerie turned away from him. What else could she do? She did not want to die, and she knew the monster would keep to his word and kill her if she tried to escape. He had the claws and fangs to prove that much. She wondered how many people had tried to flee and failed.

  “How long will I have to stay?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer; he didn’t have to.

  “How will I know you’ll keep your word?”

  The monster sighed in exasperation. “You don’t have to believe me. If you want to take your chances out there, be my guest.” He jerked his head toward the window, where the outside world was growing darker by the minute.

  Valerie felt her heart sink as she realized there was nothing more she could do. “I suppose I have no choice. I’ll have to – I’ll have to stay.” With you, she thought bitterly.

  “Good.” The monster’s voice was hammered through the room. “You can have one of the rooms,” he added. “And anything else you need. As long as you stay here, you’re safe.”

  Valerie nearly scoffed at him. “It’s hard to feel safe when your life is being threatened.”

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “So you’ve said.” She wanted to punch him again. Punching him felt surprisingly good at the time. “I want to go to my room, now.”

  “You don’t need to ask permission.”

  Valerie fled from the kitchen without a second thought. She went up the stairs, into the second bedroom, and firmly closed the door. Though the monster said repeatedly that he would not hurt her, Valerie didn’t trust him. She grabbed the chair from the corner and braced it against the door. It wouldn’t completely stop him, but it would buy her time if she needed it.

  She spent the rest of the evening at the edge of the bed, trying to come up with some sort of plan. There were no weapons or anything weapon-like in the room, and when she looked out the window, all she could see was darkness. Judging from the height of the window, if she threw herself out the window, she would probably break her legs. The thought of waiting until morning to come up with a better plan wasn’t exactly to her liking, but there wasn’t much else she could do. The monster had trapped her.

  She had so many questions about the monster, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to even ponder on them. How had he never been found? He probably killed everyone who knew about him. She remembered the bodies that were found in the forest and brought to Leola. Did the monster kill them? Were those the ones who failed to escape? The thought made her sick. His whole appearance made her sick—his eyes especially. She felt the vibrant yellow of them piercing her in the dark.

  Valerie rolled on her side and tried to sleep. She would need all of her energy if she wanted to get away from this place, but every little noise, every little bump or creak, made her jump.

  At one point in the night, she heard the slow, clunking footsteps of the monster. She clutched the blanket and braced herself.

  He stopped at her door.

  Valerie barely breathed. She didn’t know what she was going to do if her door opened. Her mind raced as fast as her heart.

  Then she heard him continue onward to what was perhaps his own room at the end of the hall. She heard a door close and the house returned to silence.

  *

  Young Aubrey watched his father die. It was a very slow process, like pouring through the pages of the Aubrey history. What will they write about his father? What more could be said about Aubrey? His blood looked and smelled like any other man, and when he died, he let go of his bowels, so the stench of shit and blood stained the night air. When it was over, when his father was well and truly dead, there was no dignity left in him. All that remained was a body growing colder by the minute.

  Young Aubrey knew he should have started crying or screaming, but nothing came out. He felt as though he were growing cold with his father, that they were dying together. He tossed the smoking rifle away from the both of them, his heart pounding with fresh panic. It would do him no good if they saw no tears, but they would not come—they would not come. My father is dead, he kept telling himself. Young Aubrey’s heart beat and beat against his ribs. I am alive; my father is dead. The recitation numbed him.

  If he remained there any longer, there would be questions. Young Aubrey had no choice but to race back to the manor and tell someone. He would say, “My father is dead.” They would shed the tears that he could not. He would provide the shoulder they needed. Yes, yes, that would do. I could stand resolutely for them, and I can dry their eyes. Young Aubrey shouted for help until he thought his lungs would burst. “Please, help me!” My father is dead. There is nothing you can do for him. My father is dead. I am Lord Aubrey now.

  He burst through the doors of the ballroom. All of the masked faces turned to stare at him. Young Aubrey nearly collapsed to his knees. “Help me, help me!” he implored the audience. “I can’t – I can’t –” The words were trapped in his throat.

  “Master Aubrey, what is it?” The guardsman named Jonasson asked as he approached him.

  “I – I –” I did it, I killed him. No, it was the demon. He made me do it. I would never kill my father. I’m a good man, I would never do such a thing. His good eye stung. “My f-father, he’s –” The room was spinning in a whirl of light and color, and there were black spots crackling in and out of his vision. “He’s gone,” he whispered. “He’s gone.” And I did it. It was me. It was the demon in me.

  Jonasson’s face grew pale. A few of the guests started whispering to each other, some of them asking out loud, “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean, Master Aubrey?” Jonasson asked.

  All eyes were on him. Everybody is waiting for me to cry, for me to say I’m sorry.

  But I’m not.

  “He’s dead,” Young Aubrey said.

  The audience gasped appropriately. Their chatter grew louder and louder, buzzing in Young Aubrey’s brain, eclipsing the mantra, My father is dead. He smelled of shit and blood and that’s all I’ll remember of him. Not that he loved me, never that he loved me. All I’ll have is that smell.

  “Show me,” Jonasson demanded. He ordered the other guardsmen to keep the people inside.

  Young Aubrey led him to the training grounds and pointed across to the remaining distance where his father lay. Even from where they stood, he could still smell the faint trace of death. Jonasson rushed over to him. He called for Lord Aubrey to wake up. I am Lord Aubrey, now, Young Aubrey thought.

  Jonasson gave a strangled cry when Lord Aubrey did not wake up as prompted. The sound sent a chill through Young Aubrey’s spine. He held on to that feeling for as long as it lasted, which wasn’t long enough. Jonasson slowly got to his feet and returned to Young Aubrey. His metal hands were covered in blood.

  “Master Aubrey,” he said in a choked voice; it was clear he was holding back the tears. “What happened? Who did this?”

  Young Aubrey looked him in the eye. He wanted to laugh and sob. He wanted that so much that it was frightening. The words, “I did this,” were on the tip of his tongue. They were so close to the edge that they nearly tumbled out. He saw himself pulling the trigger again and again. I would never do that, it wasn’t me, I’m a good man. I would never do that. It was me, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. Please, believe me.

  “He killed him,” Young Aubrey said.

  “Who?”

  “Captain Yendel. He killed my father.”

  Jonasson took a step back as though Young Aubrey had hit him. “I think you’re mistaken, Master Aubrey. Captain Yendel couldn’t have done this.”

  Neither could I. “I saw him do it. It was too late to stop him.” His voice grew in pitch and he was becoming hysterical. “He came up to my father and he shot him like an animal! He’s a traitor, a traitor!” He started to sob dryly. “He did it, and I couldn’t stop him!”

  Young Aubrey felt as though he was going to fall. Jonasson held him steady.

  “I k
now where you’ll find him,” Young Aubrey said once he regained his composure. “I know where you’ll find that traitor.” He pointed angrily back at the manor. “He’s in the cellar with my mother. He’s not a good man. I tried to tell my father. I tried to tell him.” But he didn’t believe me, and now he’s dead.

  Jonasson returned to the manor and saw to it that the guests were returned to their carriages. Meanwhile, he sent three of his men to the basement, and that was indeed where they found the good captain. He did not even get a chance to demand the reason for the intrusion. The guards beat him to the ground until his face was swollen. They dragged him, stark naked, to the dungeons.

  Young Aubrey’s mother screamed. It was the first time he ever heard her make a sound.

  Chapter 13

  There were no rats to scurry under her bed, and there were no birds to perch and sing by her window. The only sounds that disturbed Valerie over the course of the afternoon were the clunking footsteps of the monster as he passed her door. Every time she heard him, she tensed under her blankets and prayed that the chair would be strong enough to keep him out. Sometimes he passed by before she could finish her plea. Sometimes he stopped by her door, and she waited with bated breath for him to barge in and kill her. Only when he continued his trek down the hall did she find herself breathing easily again.

  Valerie knew that she needed to come up with a plan, but fear of the monster kept her in bed for the rest of the day. She thought about going downstairs to get something to eat, but she heard his footsteps again. For now, she was safe in her room.

  For the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, Valerie did her best to catch up on sleep. She had nightmares of finding her father slumped over in her old bedroom. She’d scream and scream for him to wake up because he was going to be late for work. No matter how hard she shook him, he refused to get up. Valerie examined his face and saw the gaping hole in his head. She could see the blood and the bone and she thought, that’s not right, I shouldn’t be seeing that. Her pleas died in her throat as she gaped at the wound in horror; it seemed as though the large hole was staring right back at her, bleeding and bleeding and coating her hands and her skirt and crusting in her hair. Valerie jerked awake from these nightmares with the pillow under her cheek damp from her tears. Like a child, she cried for her father and for the familiarity she could not return to. She cried for a long time with her body buried under the blankets.

  I can’t go back, she thought once her tears had dried. I can only move forward. It was a daunting prospect; her heart felt too heavy for her body to carry, yet she knew if she remained here when winter arrived, it would be nearly impossible to leave, and she dreaded the thought of being here until spring. When a sparse dawn light broke into her room, Valerie forced herself out of bed, moved the chair from the door, and quietly crept down the hallway. Before going down the stairs, she peeked around the corner.

  Below, the monster was pacing in the entrance room. Every now and then he looked towards the windows, as though he was expecting someone else to show up. Valerie stared for a long time, crouching by the wall, watching to see what he would do. A part of her deemed this unwise, but that part wasn’t strong enough to send her back to her room. She was curious about this creature, and she figured by studying him, she might find a way to best him.

  From this viewpoint, she could take in almost every detail of his horridness. The way he walked was awkward, as though he had just learned how. His ears often twitched, and sometimes he would pause as though he heard someone calling for him. He wore clothes that were clearly too big for him. Around his pants was a knotted rope, and his sleeves covered most of his hands, though not his claws, Valerie could see those clearly. She could also see how his skin sagged a little, almost as though it was clinging to stay on him. How old was this monster? She briefly wondered if he was immortal. It didn’t seem likely. Then again, who was she to question what was and was not possible?

  Suddenly, the monster’s gaze found her, and he stopped his pacing to stare. There was no emotion in his eyes, just an unsettling blankness. Valerie gasped and hopped back a step. “I – I’m sorry,” she blurted out before fleeing back to her room. She slammed the door shut and noisily replaced the chair before falling back to her bed. Why did she apologize? She sat trembling on her bed as she waited for the monster to come to her room. He never appeared. He didn’t bother her for the rest of the day, though she heard him moving about.

  By nightfall, Valerie was too hungry and restless to sleep. She was already so tired of being confined to this room. Am I confined, though? Or am I confining myself? Valerie didn’t like thinking about it like that.

  Once more, she dared to venture out of her room. It was pitch black in the hallway. Valerie could find no lamps or candles, so she had to feel her way down the end of the hall towards the stairs. She peeked around again before descending. The monster was not pacing in the entrance room. Valerie waited a while to see if he would make an appearance, but he didn’t. Even so, Valerie did not exactly feel confident as she slowly walked down the stairs. She tightly gripped the railing and jumped at small noises. Even when she reached the bottom with no fuss, she was on her guard.

  The first thing she did (after several more moments of waiting) was try the front door. No matter how hard she twisted the knob, all she received were disheartening clicks. Valerie inspected the keyhole and wondered if she could fashion anything into a decent lock pick. It was something Saxon Matthews would do. She wished she knew what method he used.

  Valerie sighed and went to the kitchen to see if she could find something to eat. After she deemed it safe enough to enter, she came across a rather strange sight. The small circular table was set for two people. One of the plates was barren of food, while the other was piled with meat and turnips. There were two cups, but only one was filled with a dark, sweet smelling wine.

  Valerie curiously hovered over the plate of food. Was this meant for me? The thought was unnerving. Did the monster mean to fatten her up before she was considered a meal? She certainly hoped that was animal meat that she smelled. Some parts of it were raw and bloody in the bits of moonlight streaming through the window. The turnips lay in a lumpy mess beside the meat. Valerie supposed it was edible, but she did not want to eat it. She didn’t know the monster’s motives for making this meal for her, if it was indeed for her, and she didn’t want the fact that she had eaten it to be a sign that she was becoming complacent. She turned her nose in the air and settled on the three least rotten apples in one of the sacks. While she munched on her pitiful supper, she stared suspiciously at the plate of food, as though at any moment it would attack her.

  Valerie did not feel tired enough to go to bed. She decided to make her way to the parlor, figuring that maybe one of the books would give her some idea of how to escape and where she would go once she was free. Besides, the thought of returning to her room with the emptiness and the quiet was enough to drive her mad.

  It was so dark in the parlor that she could barely make out the titles. After a time, she picked a random one from the second shelf, and only when she had it in her hand that she realized she did not have a lamp in her room to read by. She couldn’t see if there were any matches to light the hearth, but she wasn’t bold enough to do such a thing anyway. Resignedly, she decided to return to her room with the book in hand.

  Movement by the window caught her eye. Valerie froze when she saw who it was.

  The man in the black cloak.

  What is he doing here?

  Valerie heard the front door being unlocked. For a moment, she froze in horror.

  No, it can’t be him!

  Valerie hid behind the loveseat and prayed the monster hadn’t seen her from the window. She heard him rustling about in the entrance hall. At one point, it sounded as though he was coming towards the parlor, but then his footsteps faded until she could hear them no more.

  She was left feeling strange and confused. It couldn’t have been him, she t
hought vehemently.

  Another more pressing question suddenly bubbled to the surface.

  Where on earth had he gone?

  *

  When considering all of the bad decisions he had made, Damien felt that this was by far the worst. He was sure Dante would agree with him if he was here, but he was not here and had not been here for a while. How long for certain, Damien could not say, but it was long enough to mostly be forgotten, only to come to mind in moments like this, when he was about to do something stupid.

  He was standing at the girl’s door with his hand raised to knock. In his mind, sentences broke into words, words tumbled and drowned, and letters disintegrated before he could think to rearrange it all again. Being trapped in his head was comparable to being stranded in the storm that nearly claimed his life. Dante had saved him then; he was not here to save him now.

  He knocked because this was probably the only chance he would ever get, and because he was tired of being alone. Being hated in the same vicinity would be far better than being hated from afar.

  The girl didn’t answer. He waited a moment before knocking again. The girl didn’t make a sound. Damien pressed his ear to the door and heard nothing. Maybe he should leave her be and should abandon this endeavor altogether.

  He knocked one more time.

  “What do you want?” the girl shouted.

  Damien was startled, not by her tone, but by the fact she said anything at all. “I…cooked,” he said.

  There was a long pause. He supposed he should have said more, but his words were tangled in his throat. He almost hoped they succeeded in choking him.

  “I’m not hungry,” the girl replied.

  Damien figured she would say something like this, and he did not have a plan for when she did. Now what? “You – you should eat something.”

  “I said I’m not hungry.” Her tone was cold. He could feel its chill traveling under the door.