Page 53 of Wicked Beasts
It’s not safe.
What exactly isn’t safe, though? The grounds? The house? The people? I can’t picture Mrs. Wong or Mortimer wanting to harm me, and as much as Manu annoys me, somehow I can’t even picture him as a murderer. And Tristan—well, he might not want to work with me, but I don’t think I have anything to fear from him, no matter what the others say. Gisella’s words still echo in my mind, though.It’s not safe.
The people of the house seem safe enough, and what could I possibly need to fear from the house or grounds itself? How could they hurt me?
I know I am intentionally avoiding thinking about the uncanny shadows and their champion who visits my dreams.
My hand trembles as it reaches for Gisella’s doorknob, but I can’t bring myself to open it. I know I won’t see her. Instead, I will be met with an empty room, grim, gloomy, and dark in the lack of her presence. I will be met with something I don’t want to see.
The reality that sheleftme.
A sudden wave of grief washes over me, mixed with anger and irritation, as it registers in my mind. She left me.
She abandonedmehere. In this place.
This hauntingly beautiful place.
I feel the sudden sting of betrayal pierce my heart as I turn away from her door.
The days slip by, but with each passing one, the weight of her absence presses down on me more heavily. Time seems to crawl, each hour stretching longer than it should, dragging me through a slow, unending ache. My phone is buried somewherein my room, out of sight, tucked away like something I no longer care to reach for. I don’t want to talk to anyone, don’t want to connect. I only want to move through the motions—complete my tasks, eat my meals, make it to the next moment.
Day by day, it’s as though nothing else matters, as if I could exist in this limbo forever, simply passing through time without really living it.
I’m still not sure what happened to the body. By now, I’m not sure I want to know.
Someone covered it up, and perhaps some things were better left in the dark.
Deep in the dark, where the shadows reign and the quiet beckons me with its hollow fingers.
I feel like I am standing at the edge of something sinister, that if I give in to my curiosities, I’ll stumble upon something I shouldn’t see. My intrigue used to be such a tug at my heart, leading me around like a candle in the night, guiding me.
But wicked beasts lurk in the dark, wicked beasts I am not prepared to tame.
Then, one night, he finally comes back.
The one whose claws have corrupted my very being.
My door unlocks, and the knob twists open. He stands in the darkness, his face obscured by his scruff, but I see that look in his eyes, one of primal lust and unsatiated desire.
Dr. Shadow.
I fall into comfort with his coarse hands caressing my soft skin. His fingers always seem to easily find the right spots that make me melt into the silk sheets. His lips bruise my tender throat. I find myself caring for nothing but his touch, his comfort. I find myself aching for his release. Perhaps I was always meant to be lost in the shadows. Perhaps they were always meant to be here, to welcome me home.
I cast a fleeting glance at the wilting rose, its once-vibrant petals now fragile and fading. As I watch, one delicate petal loosens from the stem, drifting slowly through the air before landing softly on the writing desk.
Forty-Seven
Ifeel as though I’m drifting through life, lost in a haze, tethered to nothing. I’m on the edge of slipping into a dark abyss, desperately trying to outrun the weight of my own thoughts, the fears that come from questions left unanswered. What once felt like a mystery worth uncovering now stirs a terror inside me I’m too afraid to face. I’ve come to find comfort in the shadows now—those quiet, familiar presences that warm my bed and pleasure my body. It’s the nights that beckon to me, that make me feel truly alive.
Nights where I can stop thinking about Gisella, stop wondering how she’s faring, whether she’s all right, or if she ever thinks of me, of this place, of what she discovered that one morning. I no longer hold anger toward her, but rather acceptance and a faint hint of worry. Sometimes, I have the faint urge to check my phone, perhaps see if she texted, but we never exchanged numbers. There was never a need for it when we lived in the same house.
But in the dark, none of that matters. My mind becomes a still pool, unburdened by the questions and worries that chase me during the day. My body is relaxed, pleasured, at ease, as though everything else has faded away.
I feel nothing but his tongue, his lips, his lust.
But not tonight.
Tonight is different. Even as I lay awake in bed, a stillness remains in the silence. No creak at my door, no turn of the knob. There’s a weight in the air, a shift I can’t place. It’s as if something is watching, waiting. I can’t shake the chill that bites at my exposed skin. I get up from beneath my heavy sheets to shut the window. As my hands reach for the frame, I freeze as a sudden chill bites my neck. She’s there again, watching me from the woods, hair flowing in the breeze like threads. I can see her pale skin in the darkness, brightened by the shadows of the gnarled woods surrounding her.
