Beastly Beauty

Twenty-Nine

The child dug her fingers into Beau’s arm, silently warning him not to make a sound. Not to move. Not to breathe.

The creature’s eyes were blazing with rage. Its mouth was a gash of red. Powerful muscles rippled under its fur. Its nostrils flared as it scented the room. Then it threw its head back and roared, and Beau felt the child shrink against him. He covered her shaking hand with his own, squeezing it.

The beast lurched around the room, searching for them. When it couldn’t find them, it smacked a stack of books off a table. They hit the floor in an avalanche of noisy thuds. Instead of placating the creature, though, the destructive action only increased its rage. It upended a chair. Toppled the nightstands. It picked up a table and smashed it against the wall.

Then it started across the room, toward them. Beau felt the child stiffen with terror. He knew that if the beast came any closer, if it peered down at the filigreed doors, it would see them. His heart was crashing against his ribs; he could hear its frenzied beat, and thought for certain the beast would hear it, too. But halfway across the room, the creature stopped and trained its gaze on the bedcover, heaped on the floor.

It flattened its ears to its skull, bared its teeth, and leapt on the heap, but when it realized that the child was not hidden in it, its eyes filled with a murderous fury, and it charged out of the room.

Beau waited until he heard its roars and shrieks fade down the hall. Only then did he dare crawl out of his hiding place. He prided himself on his steely nerves. He’d been in tight spots many times. He’d been chased and beaten. But he’d never, ever been as frightened as he had by the creature that had come through the door. His legs felt as if they had no bones. His thoughts were disordered. He had trouble speaking.

“Wh-what is that thing? How … who …”

The little girl followed him out of their hiding place. Beau noticed that her light had faded to a flicker. She looked as if she would snuff out with the softest huff of breath.

“I have to go now,” she said.

“No, you can’t. I need that key. I need to find the tunnel.”

“There is no tunnel.”

Beau shook his head. “That’s not true. It can’t be.”

The child gave him a pitying look. “Be careful, Beau. I’m the one the beast wants, but it will tear you to bits, too, if it finds you.” And then she darted off.

Beau was too dazed to chase her, but he called after her, as loudly as he dared. “Wait! Stop. Please. Tell me your name. Who are you?”

Just before she disappeared through the doorway, the child glanced back at him, and with a tremulous smile, said, “Hope.”