Chapter 4 The Beast
Four
The Beast
The hunger started as a discomfort. An agitation that did not let him sit still.
It chased him from the house, pulled on him until every muscle in his body was taut.
Then came the pains. Pangs that started in his stomach but eventually wracked his entire body, muddying his thoughts.
It was the kind of hunger that stripped him of himself, barely leaving him the memory of his own name.
He was skulking through the forest, the fog like a wet embrace around him, when the scent hit him. A trail of something in the air. Something that promised relief.
His shadow glided through the mist, bending it to his will. He was capable of covering great distances in mere seconds. The mist could swallow him up in one place and spit him out in another. No branch broke under his foot, no leaf crunched. He was a creature meant for stalking.
Up ahead was the village, torches lining the single road that ran through it. Smoke curled upwards from the flames and mixed with the scent that had drawn him here. Soot mixed with something metallic.
A quiet rustle came from the tree line.
The Beast’s head whipped, eyes flared.
There, tied to a tree, feasting on a small pile of cabbages and carrots, was a goat. Unaware of the lurking danger, it kept its head down. The goat’s white hide had been painted a dark rust color.
No, not painted, the Beast realized all at once.
It had been bathed in blood.
His thoughts fractured, no longer consisting of fragments that fell into any logical order. There was only the maddening hunger, a heady urgency. Who he had been, was, or would become lost all meaning—he had this one purpose, this one reason for existing.
The Beast was upon the goat in a mere moment, tearing open its throat. The animal didn’t even have a chance to cry out, its shriek dying as its larynx was torn out.
The warm, metallic blood flooded his mouth, running down his chin in rivulets. But instead of quieting the hunger, it only fed it. Like two rivers converging and washing away everything in their path.
His thoughts were painted blood red as he let the drained animal fall to the ground. Already, he had picked up the rustling of leaves somewhere up ahead. The scent of blood was like a string pulling him forward.
He found another goat and a sheep tied to trees along the tree line surrounding the village. Then a calf and two more goats near the pillory of the village. All painted in blood. All like a beacon for him.
Vaguely, he remembered he was supposed to do something else tonight. For some reason, it was an important night. That kernel was somewhere in his mind, but it wasn’t connected to anything else, didn’t lead anywhere.
As he let the last drained body of an animal fall to the wooden planks of the pillory, the Beast released a sigh.
The pains had finally begun to subside, and the relief was so great he wanted to crawl into the earth and sleep.
Let the cold dirt soothe his aching bones.
His thoughts slowed. They became the slurry of melted snow tumbling down a roof.
The night wasn’t over, but he was already full, gorged on blood.
He let his feet carry him through the village, not even bothering to keep out of the firelight of the torches.
The villagers could try to shoot him. They had in the past, he remembered distantly.
His body would simply push out the bullet, heal the wound unnaturally fast. And then he would return, twice as ferocious.
With each step, the smell of smoke in the air grew stronger.
At last, he noticed the glow of a large fire on the edge of the village.
He had been so consumed by his bloodlust, he had not even noticed the blaze that ravaged one of the houses.
Or the silhouette of a woman, running from house to house.
The Beast pulled back into the shadows, eyes trained on the woman. He watched as she begged and pleaded to be let in. As she was denied over and over again.
The air was thick with smoke and desperation as she finally gave up and walked back towards the blaze. Against the roaring fire, the silhouette of the woman fell to her knees.
The Beast followed. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the notion that he might drain her.
The sweetness of her blood would be the perfect treat.
This was why he was here, was it not? It was a rare treat to be roaming the village, to have so much to feast upon, this much he knew. So why should he deny himself?
A raven called out, the sound as familiar as a friend’s voice to him, and stayed those thoughts. In the end, it was the call of a raven and his own curiosity that spared the woman’s life.
With an unfamiliar eagerness, the Beast ventured closer. The woman was a frail thing. She lacked the robustness of a village woman who reared children while carrying the household on her shoulders. Her shoulders were shaking from the sobbing.
He realized he had gotten too close when the sobbing stopped. The woman’s back went rigid, and for a moment, she just knelt there. Something told him to flee. The instinct of an animal that knew it was spotted. But another part of him was eager to stay, to have someone look at him and live.
Look at me, he thought somewhat desperately. He would have this one thing and then leave, he told himself. He will be seen as a person, and there will be someone alive with that memory.
At last, the woman turned to look at him.