Young Writers Society

I posted an unfinished version of this a long time ago. About time I got around to it.

Let me know what you think!

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THE BEAST WITHIN

“Pour me another one,” I said weakly, as the last drops of whiskey singed the back of my throat. I slid my glass across the rugged wooden counter and towards the barkeeper.

Alice gave me a hesitant glance as she popped open the bottle, briefly sending the pungent aroma of alcohol wafting into the air.

“It's late, Lawrence,” she said, placing the refilled glass in front of me.

I brushed back the loose strands of my dark hair and looked up at her emotionless face. Her eyes were clouded in gray, hidden behind her auburn curls, and her movements were jaded.

“Did you pray every day?” I asked her, and doused my tongue in whiskey. She flinched at my deep, gravelly voice. “Or did you just... accept it?”

I spoke of Edgar, of course. He was her husband, the original owner of the tavern. After he and Alice had met, they fell for one another rather hard. They’d been married for less than a year when he disappeared.

She looked away. I shouldn’t have said it that way. I just didn’t know what to do.

They had found Edgar’s remains within the month, rolling down the riverbed. The tavern was all she had left of him, really.

He wasn’t the first one to go that way. There was Herne, for example. He was a mild-mannered, reverent old man who lived on the far east end of Burnham. He was a father of two, and made a modest living as a saddler. We were fairly acquainted, as he’d fashioned much of my horse’s equipment.

“It’s not of God’s hand,” I remembered he’d said to me. I’d gone to pick up a pair of horse blinders from him that day. We were, rather guardedly, talking about the disappearances and the killings. “We were made in the likeness of the Almighty, you and I. We’re intrinsically good. That creature – whatever it is that’s out there – it’s not of God’s hand.”

I, among others, had been convinced that the criminal was someone living in town. The killings and disappearances seemed to be too methodical, occurring almost monthly, for it to be the work of a wild animal. Herne made me think hard that night. That was the last I spoke with him before he was taken. They found his body some time later, lying in a shallow ditch. He'd been mauled to death, eaten alive. When they'd found him, his rotting limbs were loosely clinging to the remains of his body. I caught a glimpse of it myself, and at that moment I realized that no human could be capable of such an atrocity. He had to have been killed by some kind of beast living in the surrounding wood.

I didn’t sleep for days. Try as you might to forget something like that, but you can never un-see it. I tried my best not to think or talk about it. In fact, no one talks about Herne anymore.

No one talks about Evelyn, either.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Alice after she didn’t reply.

She forced a smile, and it flickered across her lips for a moment. Her lipstick glowed against her creamy complexion, like a crimson sunrise. I stared into them for a while, yearning for the safety of the rising sun, the hope of a new day.

“It's almost midnight,” she reminded me. But I only half-heard what she’d said.

My head was throbbing, and I pressed my hand against my forehead to no avail, carelessly knocking over my glass in the process.

“Lawrence!” she gasped, grabbing a cloth.

“You're right,” I admitted as her words finally hit me, “It’s not safe at this hour.”

I hastily got down from the rather uncomfortable stool I'd been sitting on and reached into the leather pouch I had fixed around my waist. I had one hand still pressed against my forehead, but I managed to fish out a handful of silver coins. I was sure I gave her more than I owed, but I had to move quickly.

“Don’t wait for her,” she said before I left. She looked into my eyes for the first time. “There’s no happy ending to this.”

I planted the coins across the counter with a slap of my hand and headed out.

Pushing myself through the door, I winced as the icy evening breeze nipped at my face and nibbled the hems of my wool overcoat. I tightened the thin scarf around my neck as the full moon loomed over Burnham, casting its silvery glare over a frightened people.

Dusk had been waiting patiently outside, fastened securely to a nearby fence post.

“That's a good boy,” I whispered, stroking his nose and adjusting the saddle. He whipped his tail and clicked his hooves in approval. “Now let's get out of here.”

Burnham was a rather populous hamlet that bordered the Baltic. But on this dark night, it was a ghost town. Mothers and children hurried into their homes as fathers locked the outer gates, leaving the streets a deserted web of interlocking paths. The sound of Dusk’s hooves trotting along the dusty road echoed into the night as we made our way, provoking suspicious glances from behind boarded windows.

The Eldridge Manor was a mere ten minute ride down the road. It was once my father’s estate, but he’d left it to me, his only son, after he’d passed. His father had left it to him in the same way. I always thought that I’d raise my own family there, and that I would some day entrust the home to my own children after my time. No longer could I see that possibility in my future. Evelyn was the only woman that I could ever love. She was the only woman with whom I could see myself raising a family. It’s not surprising then that my hopes and dreams for carrying on the Eldridge legacy and becoming a father disappeared along with her last month.

They haven’t found her yet. Maybe there was hope. But just the thought of losing her made me feel lightheaded. Even more so than I already was, at least. I felt myself slouching over Dusk’s back as the effects of the alcohol gnawed at the inside of my head. It was a shame, really; the whole idea was to numb my mind from the pain in the first place.

I struggled with the reins, trying to keep myself upright. Not far ahead, I could see the fuzzy image of the distant forest coming into focus. A narrow stone path divided the trees, and I feebly guided Dusk toward it. My eyes searched the shadows of the wood, the image of the trees slightly warped by my throbbing head. It was certainly a mistake to have stayed at the tavern this late into the night. And then, still squinting into the darkness, something caught my attention.

“Slow down, boy,” I muttered, tugging at Dusk’s reins and prompting him to come to a halt. I leaned forward, intensely trying to focus my eyes at something inside the forest. I could see a conspicuous sliver of white faintly emerging from the base of a tree trunk. “What is it?”

It moved.

It seemed to inch out from behind the trunk, slowly revealing more of its shape, as if there was something waiting behind the tree. I felt myself hold my breath for a moment.

“It’s not safe to linger,” I heard a man say from behind me, breaking my concentration. His voice was taut with concern, and I turned to face him. He sat atop his own horse with his back straight and shoulders spread wide. Thick mutton chops draped his squared cheeks, and his eyes were almost hidden under his thick, graying eyebrows. The shotgun strapped to his back gleamed in the moonlight as his horse brought him a little closer. I knew this man.

For a second I looked away, trying again to locate the white in the forest. But it was gone. I could only see complete darkness beyond the trees. My eyes were playing tricks on me.

“You know that death lurks beyond the wood, Lawrence,” the man warned, “You’d best be on your way.”

Sir Richard Bougher was the lead investigator in Burnham’s serial slayings. But like Alice and myself, he was a victim. He had inherited the responsibility after Chief Inspector Ward was slain, and it only fueled his resolve to hunt down the killer.

“I was just going,” I managed to say. I gently whipped Dusk’s reins and motioned him towards the road.

“Should I accompany you to the manor?”

“You’re a good man, Inspector,” I replied as Dusk trotted by him.

“Your safety is my responsibility.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll go alone,” I assured him, continuing down the road. “I’m used to it by now.”

Dusk had walked quite far down the path before Bougher called out my name again.

“I lost someone too, Lawrence!” he shouted. We stared at each other in a moment of mutual understanding. Inspector Ward was his mentor, his best friend. “You’re not alone.”

And then I went on my way.

The tenebrous forest surrounding Burnham seemed to stretch on forever as the dirt path winded uphill. The spidery trees slumped over the road as their contorted limbs trembled in the wind, reaching out at me from the wilderness. My head was spinning, but I was sure that I could see the roof of the Eldridge Manor just over the trees ahead.

I tugged on my overcoat, trying to wrap myself tightly in the wool. But the wind persisted, gnawing at my face so that my cheekbones went numb. I could feel it licking my ear lobes, whispering icy words into them. At one point I thought I heard it whisper my name.

And then I heard it again, more clearly.

Lawrence.

I pulled at the reins, and Dusk stopped promptly. The road behind was empty, and there was no one ahead. I was intoxicated, but still needed convincing. I know what I heard.

I turned to the forest on my left, searching it deeply. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for. But there was nothing there that caught my attention, nothing peculiar. Maybe I really was imagining things.

Then I turned to the forest on my right, and I saw it.

It was only for a second, but it was there. A face, pale as the moon. As soon as I had turned, it retreated into the woods, behind the trees.

I could feel my chest muscles tighten and my teeth clench as I waited in petrified silence. Something was out there. It was watching me.

I knew at once that it had to have been the sliver of white that I had seen earlier. Was this it? Was this the thing that had been haunting Burnham for so many months? It took Edgar, Herne, Inspector Ward. It took Evelyn.

My fear began to change as the thought of my missing lover pounded at the inside of my head. This thing took my wife, and now it was coming for me.

I won’t let it, I thought. I could feel myself seething in anger now. Fumbling open Dusk’s satchel, I brandished a dagger, and cautiously climbed off the horse.

I stalked over to the forest, back hunched and eyes wide like a crazed ape. My palms were already slippery with sweat as I adjust my grip on my weapon. Dusk huffed in disapproval, resisting as I pulled the reins with my free hand, forcing him into the woods with me.

We walked far longer than we should have. Dried twigs and withered leaved crackled beneath our feet as we trudged deeper into the Burnham wood. I would begin to doubt myself, thinking that I never should have given chase. But before I could turn and head back, I would hear my name again, or see a sliver of white in the periphery of my vision. And I would go on. Soon, I had lost track of time, and began to confuse my sense of direction.

I finally stopped, with Dusk at my side, waiting for something to point me in the right direction. I blinked heavily, with my mouth agape, as I fixated on the sounds of the forest. The winds sliced at the branches towering above, rustling their dried leaves. Crickets chirped from all directions, taunting me, laughing as my stomach churned in confusion.

Then I heard a twig snap from somewhere to my right. I instinctively aimed the dagger in the direction of the sound. It was there, somewhere. It was close.

Lawrence.

The wind whispered again. I heard it more clearly than any time before, it was unmistakeable. I could almost feel the breath on the side of my neck. I turned my head towards the sound, and my heart stopped at what I saw.

A woman, clothed in a translucent, white dress. She stood barefoot atop a large rock, just ahead of me. Her pale, emotionless face was veiled by the thin strands of her black hair. She didn’t move, and her hands hung loosely around her sides. I recognized her slender figure without a doubt in my mind.

“Evelyn...” the name escaped my mouth. I didn’t understand how this was possible. She had been gone for a month, and now she was here. My mind was blank.

And then a spatter of red stained her radiant dress. It grew out from her belly, spreading steadily over her stomach and trickling down her skirt.

Dusk leapt onto his hind legs, startled. I fought with the reins, struggling to regain control over him. I managed to overcome his resistance and finally quietened him down. But when I had turned back to face Evelyn, she was no longer there.

Lawrence.

The wind beckoned. I hesitated, but I let go of Dusk’s reins and moved stealthily towards the sound. The whispers led me towards the rock where Evelyn had stood. I followed her voice, dagger in hand. A familiar, pungent aroma began to tickle the inside of my nostrils as I approached. I sniffed the air like a bloodhound on a hunt, but couldn’t seem to put a name on the scent. Where had I smelled this before?

Something began to appear from behind the rock as I came near. I squinted, trying to make out what was hidden behind.

It smelled like Herne the day they found him. The smell of rotting flesh.

I could see a dress, caked in mud. I could see crooked fingers reaching out of the ground. I could see a body, face down and pressed into the earth.

My eyes instantly began to well up. Icy tears poured down my cheeks and into my mouth as my hands dropped limply to my sides. I had found her, finally.

A sharp click echoed from behind me, and I spun around.

“How did you know?” Bougher stood there, his shotgun raised to my chin.

I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. He was agitated, so I shook my head slowly, trying not to provoke him.

“How did you know where the body was?” he demanded, raising his voice.

“I didn’t...” I muttered. I was following voices, chasing a ghost. “I... I found it...”

“No, you didn’t!” he growled. His face became twisted in anger, and I could see tears glimmering in his eyes. “I followed you. You knew exactly where you were going.”

I shook my head harder, "Let's stop this. You're confused."

“You came to this exact spot!”

“No,” was all I could manage. I couldn’t explain this, he wouldn’t believe me. “No!”

He swung his weapon at me, smashing the butt of the gun across my temple. I dropped onto the ground, losing my dagger, and rolling in pain.

“You killed them!” Bougher bellowed, leaping on top of me. I looked up into his vengeful eyes as he gritted his teeth like a feral beast. He pressed the gun down against my scarf, into my neck, choking me with its cold steel barrel as my own blood oozed from the side of my face and into my nose.

I threw my arms around, grasping at the dirt, hopelessly searching for the dagger. But Bougher jammed his weapon deeper into my throat. I shook violently, croaking in agony as I tried to throw him off of me. Seizing him by the wrists, I carved my nails into his flesh. But he wouldn’t even flinch, compelled by his misdirected rage.

This was how I die. I came searching for something I couldn’t explain, looking for answers, and now I would die even more confused than when I had set out. I could feel the energy seeping out of me as the world began to spiral away in streaks of gray.

Then, as abruptly as he had attacked, Bougher was dragged off of me and hurled upward. His shotgun whirled into the air, falling somewhere to the side. A guttural howl ravaged the forest as he crashed into a nearby tree, collapsing over its jagged roots.

My lungs swelled in my chest as I guzzled down the bitter air. Writhing in pain, the numbness in my heavy limbs began to fizzle away as I torturously regained consciousness. My vision was still hazy, but I heaved my head off the dirt, trying to figure out what had happened.

Looming in front of me was a beast like nothing I had never seen. Its charcoal black forearms hung from its hefty shoulders, drooping below its knees. Its hands could easily wrap around my head, and hooked, black claws jutted out from its fingers. Yellowed fangs shot out from under its thick, elongated jaw as it let out another bloodcurdling roar.

Herne’s last words echoed in my head again. It was a demon of the underworld.

Bougher caught my attention. I could see him clambering on all fours, trying to regain his footing. The wolf-demon bounded after him, pinning him down into the mud and tearing out the sinewy flesh of his back.

I crawled away in the other direction, coughing vigorously and gagging on my own blood and saliva. I could see Dusk not far ahead as he galloped around back and forth frenetically. I knew that if I could just get to him, I might have a chance. I might be able to get the hell out of this forest.

I didn’t get very far before the beast’s knife-like fangs sliced into my left calf. I howled out helplessly, and it grated my throat like sandpaper. Frantically, I flailed my arms, clawing at the mud as the beast dragged me into the darkness.

I saw the shotgun. I saw its silvery barrel glint in the moonlight just as I was sliding by it. I summoned the last ounces of my strength and strained my back, bending myself towards it. My grimy fingers coiled around the handle, and I astoundingly managed to pull it in. I held my breath tightly and braced myself as I twisted my body around, aiming the weapon at the beast. The flesh in my calf tore as I turned, sending a jolt of pain up my thigh. And I cried out again, clamping down on the trigger.

A burst of fire erupted from the barrel, thundering throughout the wood. The blast ripped a chunk of flesh from the beast’s shoulder, sending it hurtling backwards. It whimpered, squirming around in the mud for a moment, and then doubled over as it succumbed to its wounds.

My breaths were deep and grated, slowing at last. The wind’s whistling had become soft and distant. I could hear Dusk stomping his hooves faintly in the background. The relative silence was relieving.

My calf throbbed in pain, gurgling blood as I struggled to knot my scarf around the wound. When finally tight enough, I heaved myself off the ground, using the shotgun as a crutch, and shambled back to the horse.

I found myself glancing back at the wolf-demon, afraid that it would somehow awaken from death. I didn’t understand what it was. I didn’t know what it was capable of. I didn’t know where it had come from. But none of this was important. What was important was that I was alive.

I was alive.

Bougher could have killed me, I thought as I found my way back to Dusk. He was a good man. An honourable man. And he let himself go in a moment of confusion and rage. His moral codes, his principles, all drowned away by vengeance, and anguish. Just the thought of it was disturbing.

I whipped the reins and guided Dusk away from the gruesome scene, abandoning the shotgun by Bougher’s remains as we raced by.

I realized that I was just the same. When it came down to it, I was hardly any different from Bougher. If I hadn’t lost my dagger, I would have gutted him in an instant to save my life. The primal instinct to survive would easily have trounced any sense of morality.

Then maybe Herne was wrong. Maybe goodness wasn’t a natural, intrinsic human quality. Maybe, if you take away all the rules, if you remove all the norms of society, we wouldn’t be any different from the animals. Maybe there was a beast within all of us.

My wounded leg pulsated with every movement as the wind whispered to me again. I could hear Evelyn calling my name. It was soothing, and I knew there was nothing to fear. She had never intended to harm me. She wanted to guide me; she wanted me to find her.

I couldn’t imagine what would become of all this. I didn't know what would come next.

But I followed Evelyn’s voice. I let her guide me home.