Page 7 of Beasts

The revelation of the house’s secrets makes my day at university feel surreal, like I’m walking through a dream. If I had friends to share this with, the conversation would be nothing short of incredible. But, as it stands, I carry this secret alone, a private trove of wonderment that both distracts and delights me in equal measure.

During my walk home, I stop by a nearby café displaying a ‘Help Wanted’ sign. On a whim, I decide to be honest about my unique living situation and availability. To my surprise and relief, they offer me a weekend and Thursday night shift, with the possibility of picking up more hours as I settle in. The café owner, sensing my enthusiasm, kindly hands me a box of muffins to take back to the house, explaining they’d go stale overnight otherwise.

Entering the fraternity house, the sounds of boisterous conversation and laughter greet me. The guys are all gathered around the dinner table, engaged in what seems like a heated debate. I can’t help but wear a wide grin as I approach with the box of muffins.

Taking a seat at the head of the table, opposite Nolan, I catch everyone’s attention. “What’s in the box?” Byron asks, curiosity piqued.

I slide the box across the table to him. “Take one, pass it on,” I say, still smiling.

Byron’s face lights up as he opens the box. “Score,” he says, picking a muffin and placing it in front of him before passing the box along. The intensity of their debate subsides as each of them takes a muffin. The atmosphere shifts from heated to a more relaxed, communal vibe.

As the box makes its way around the table and back to me, Nolan looks up, a question in his eyes. “I take it you found some part-time work?” he inquires.

Nodding, I can’t suppress my grin. “Yeah, I did,” I respond, my voice tinged with pride and excitement.

Taking the last muffin from the box, I stand up, feeling somewhat out of place at the table. Despite their hospitality, I’m not yet ready to fully immerse myself in their world, especially when it comes to sharing their food. With a quiet sense of satisfaction, I head upstairs, thinking about how leaving the sorority house, with all its superficiality and drama, was perhaps the best decision I’ve ever made. In the privacy of my room, I reflect on the day’s events. The house, with its assortment of extraordinary inhabitants, is nothing like I ever imagined or experienced before. Yet, in some strange way, it feels like I’ve stumbled upon something truly special – a place where the impossible is just another part of everyday life.

Sitting on my bed, I open my laptop to review tomorrow’s class schedule. But before I can get started, my phone rings, jolting me from my thoughts. Seeing my mom’s name on the screen, I realize with a pang of guilt that I haven’t updated her on my new living situation. The revelation of werewolves and mermen had completely taken over my mind.

“Hi, Mom!” I answer, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

Her voice comes through, playful and knowing. “Wow, you sound excited. Not trying to sound casual while hiding any boys under your bed, are you?”

I laugh nervously, caught off guard. “What? No, of course not.”

“I’m just teasing, honey. So, how’s the house? The school? Made any friends yet?” She’s genuinely curious, and I take a moment to gather my thoughts.

“The house I’m staying at is great,” I say truthfully. “Everyone’s really friendly here.” Another truth, albeit one that barely scratches the surface of my new housemates’ unique characteristics. “I did get a bit lost on my first day, but people have been helping me out.”

“That’s great to hear, honey. And how about boys? Any cute ones catch your eye?” The question makes my heart skip a beat as I recall the intriguing blend of brown and green in Oliver’s eyes.

“Oh, uh, I’m just focusing on my studies for now,” I stammer, my laughter sounding a bit forced.

Mom’s voice softens. “I understand, sweetheart. New places can take some getting used to. Make sure you get some good rest, okay?”

“Will do, Mom. I’m going to do some schoolwork and then head to bed,” I reply, feeling a twinge of sadness at not being able to share the whole truth with her.

“Alright, baby girl. Love you. Goodnight,” she says warmly.

“Love you too, Mom.” I hang up, feeling a mix of relief and regret. The last thing I want is to deceive my mom, but how could I possibly explain the reality of my new living situation? It’s a secret I have to keep, at least for now. As I close my phone, the weight of this new world I’ve entered presses on me, and I wonder how I’ll navigate this strange and hidden life I’ve stumbled into.

Chapter five

Late Night Snack

After an hour of meticulously organizing my schedule and locating my class venues on my laptop, a deep rumble from my stomach reminds me I’ve neglected my hunger. It’s close to eleven at night, and I figure everyone must be asleep. Slipping on a pair of socks to muffle my footsteps, I quietly head downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to sneak some food from the fridge without disturbing anyone.

As I enter the kitchen, I’m greeted not by the expected stillness of a late-night house but by the delicious aroma of cooking. Surprisingly, it’s Oliver, his back to me, engrossed in his culinary endeavors. I hesitate at the threshold, not wanting to startle him, but eventually clear my throat to announce my presence.

He turns his head slightly, acknowledging me with a glance before returning to his task. He’s chopping vegetables with practiced ease and tending to something sizzling in a pan.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” I say, but Oliver doesn’t respond verbally, merely continuing with his cooking. I nod to myself and approach the fridge, only to find it stocked with raw ingredients. The guys here seem to prefer cooking from scratch, a surprising discovery.

My stomach betrays my intentions with a loud growl, drawing Oliver’s attention. He looks at me, a hint of curiosity in his eyes, before chuckling softly. He then moves to the stove, ladles some soup into a bowl, and hands it to me with a spoon.

Gratefully, I sit on a stool at the kitchen island and immerse myself in the rich aroma of the soup. “Thank you,” I say. He nods again, maintaining his silence.

The soup is delicious, and I savor each spoonful, the warmth and flavor a comforting embrace against the cold night. Finishing quickly, I rinse the bowl and leave it with the other drying dishes. “Thanks, Oliver. Is there anything I can do to help you?” I ask, hoping to engage him in some way. He turns to me, his eyebrow raised in surprise. “What? You don’t think I can cook?”

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