Page 4 of Beasts

Valentine, not one to take a comment lying down, shoots back a playful yet sharp retort. “Watch it, Tinkerbell. I’ll make you regret that.” The banter, filled with good-natured jabs and nicknames, is interrupted by a series of kicks under the table aimed at Valentine. It seems that this kind of ribbing is par for the course here.

Feeling the weight of the day, I excuse myself. “Goodnight, everyone,” I say, trying to slip away unnoticed. But to my surprise, a chorus of voices calls back, wishing me a good night. The warmth in their tones, the sense of belonging – it’s unfamiliar but comforting. As I retreat to the sanctuary of my temporary room, a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. Despite the day’s trials and the uncertainty that lies ahead, this small moment of camaraderie, of being acknowledged and included, feels like a balm to my weary soul.

I kind of like it here. Maybe, just maybe, this place could be a new beginning for me.

Chapter three

More Than a Voice

The rhythmic thumping persists, infiltrating my groggy consciousness. It’s unmistakable – someone, or something, is making noise at this ungodly hour. Two in the morning is no time for mysteries, yet here I am, wide awake. I sit up, staring at the door, half expecting it to burst open. But the sound doesn’t come from there. It’s emanating from outside.

Curiosity overcomes me, and I approach the window that overlooks the backyard. I’ve yet to explore this part of the house, and in the veil of night, it’s shrouded in darkness. A sliver of light catches my eye, seeping from what seems to be a basement window. A basement? That’s news to me. Every sensible part of me screams not to investigate, but the pull of the unknown is too strong.

Throwing on a pair of pajama pants to complement my oversized top, I venture out of my room, quietly locking the door behind me. My steps are cautious, guided by the assumption that the basement entrance must be near the kitchen.

To my surprise, the kitchen is immaculate, every surface gleaming under the bright lights. Why are they on at this hour? Then I see it – a door, slightly ajar, radiating a soft light from the gap. It’s not the backdoor; it must lead to the basement. Tentatively, I knock, but there’s no response. Another thump startles me, propelling me forward.

“Hello?” My voice is barely a whisper, drowned out by the silence. I push the door open, stepping into a descending staircase. The atmosphere grows heavier with each step, a sense of foreboding enveloping me. Is this a prank? If so, I’m not amused.

Reaching the bottom, the source of the light becomes clear: a bright white camping lantern. And there, to my utter shock, is Nolan. He’s on his knees, chained by his wrists and neck to the back wall. My mind reels. What kind of situation have I stumbled into?

“Nolan?” I rush to his side, my expression a mix of worry and confusion. His eyes, wide with fear, meet mine.

“Amelia-”

“Are you okay?” I instinctively reach for the chains, but he abruptly stands, his hands raised in a warning gesture.

“Leave, go back upstairs-”

I try to lighten the mood, unaware of the gravity of the situation. “Nolan, as far as kinks go, this is a little weird on your own.”

His urgency cuts through my attempt at humor. “This isn’t a kink, you need to leave now!” As I stand there, the air thick with tension, Nolan’s behavior shifts dramatically. He’s panting heavily, his hands flying to his head as if trying to suppress an unbearable pain. It’s then that I notice the first signs of his transformation - a sight so surreal, my mind struggles to comprehend it.

His teeth, once normal, elongate into sharp, pointed fangs, glistening under the dim light of the basement. They seem to grow right before my eyes, morphing into the teeth of a predator. The skin on his hands begins to ripple and stretch, coarse fur sprouting rapidly, covering his skin in a dense, dark layer. His fingers, now contorting, reshape into lethal claws that curve menacingly. My heart races, hammering against my ribcage, as terror grips me. Nolan’s body continues to warp and twist in ways that defy nature. His back arches unnaturally, his shoulders broadening and muscles bulging beneath the fur that now engulfs him. The transformation is grotesque and fascinating in equal measure, a spectacle of nature’s rule being bent and broken.

Then, the creature that Nolan has become lets out a guttural snarl, its eyes wild with an animalistic hunger. It lunges towards me, all semblance of humanity lost to this monstrous form. In that moment, frozen by fear, I’m unable to react. But suddenly, I’m yanked backward with forceful urgency. A figure, a blur in my panicked vision, positions itself between me and the creature. The snarling beast swipes at the air, its claws narrowly missing my face, a mere breath away from making contact. The terror of the moment is palpable, a living thing in the air between us and the beast. My chest heaves with ragged breaths, my mind racing with the impossibility of what I’ve just witnessed. The figure – my rescuer – stands firm, a bulwark against the nightmare that Nolan has become. In this frozen tableau of horror, the line between reality and nightmare blurs. The creature before me is both familiar and utterly alien, a reminder of the thin veil that separates the known from the unknown, the safe from the perilous. The fear I feel is primal, a visceral reaction to a danger that is both real and beyond understanding.

“Move!” The voice is urgent, commanding. I find my legs responding, running alongside my savior up the stairs.

As we emerge into the kitchen light, I spin around to see him lock the basement door with haste. Who is this person? Does he live here too? His features are barely discernible in the dim light – light brown hair, a black t-shirt clinging to his frame, black jeans. When our eyes meet, the mix of brown and green in his irises strikes me with an intensity that’s almost physical.

In the safety of the kitchen, questions swirl in my mind. What just happened? Who is this mysterious rescuer? And what has become of Nolan?

The confusion and fear swirling within me reach a crescendo as Hugh enters the kitchen. His sudden appearance feels like a small anchor in the storm of chaos that has enveloped me.

“What happened?” Hugh’s voice is laced with concern as he surveys the scene before him.

“Your new friend thought it’d be fun to play detective,” the new boy replies with a dismissive tone.

I can’t contain my frustration and fear any longer. “What the fuck was that?” I demand, my voice shaking. “What happened to Nolan, and who are you?”

The boy’s response is curt, tinged with annoyance. “You don’t get to wake people up at this hour with your questions.”

Hugh steps in, cutting him off before he can continue his reprimand. “Don’t mind Oliver; he’s not the best at handling disruptions. Especially when he’s hungry.”

But I’m not deterred. “What is happening? Is Nolan okay? Is he... a werewolf?” My voice rises, almost shrill, as I try to make sense of the surreal events I just witnessed.

Hugh’s demeanor shifts, his expression turning more serious. “It’s not really our place to say,” he admits, avoiding my gaze.

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