The Beast

The Village:

A chill wind cast across the valley, bitter and cruel. With the rotting of leaves and the threat of the first frost on the breeze, we, the villagers of this valley—our village carved out of the forest, with our straw huts and dwindling population—acknowledged the upcoming shift from leaf to snow. Long had the warm golden light deteriorated into a shadowed greyscale, and the wicked wind carried unease and foreboding as our fear grew alongside the frost.

Every year, It returned, trampling our crops; the fear it raked through our hearts materializing as the disappearance of merchants. Only the fools remained. Paths maintained for generations were now overgrown and claimed by rodents and insects, the dirt path leading to other lives becoming a graveyard of lost memories and connections. As for the people, we became fewer, our village’s torch-light glow slowly being extinguished along with our hope every merciless winter. And now, fear and foreboding crept into the air once more.

The Beast was calling.

Deep in the forest, the Beast lurked, risen from its summer slumber. It dragged its grey bulk across the undergrowth and soil, clawed the earth with its talons—it had one goal. Determined, it fixed its sharp, unmerciful eyes on our village. No man, tree, nor chasm could stop it. We were watching for it when it emerged, stalking forward from the darkness into the moonlit valley, eyes glittering, claws primed.

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At the border of the village, a young man, no more than seventeen, stood silently, weapon in hand for his first village watch; we raised him and now put our lives in his sword. He knew of pain and solitude. Fear coursed through his veins constantly as he remembered the tortured being that stripped his family away from him all those moons ago when he was just a boy. The night was supposed to be pure; a celebration for the celestial body that always looked out for them, day and night, shining even when the sun refused to grant them protection due to past sins. The moon was pure and gracious, constant. But on that perfect night, the Beast came and destroyed everything. He vividly remembered the scene. A terrible, guttural cry followed by a skirmish, his mother thrown across the village, crimson painting the once beautiful canvas of her face. All illuminated by faint moonlight and a raging bonfire. His father died of heartbreak a few days later. Since then, sorrow consumed him every day he stood in the empty shell of his old home; no more pleasant scents and laughter drifting in along with the setting rays of the sun. Now his anger bubbled and, sword at his side, he prepared himself for what he would do when he saw the Beast again.

Howls and croaks pierced the still air of the forest. He stood ready, jumping at every rustle and beat of wings. His superior, our best, came forward, the scar etched across his face rippling as he chuckled at the young man’s nervousness. He congratulated the boy on his first shift—then the words died in his throat and both stiffened. At the lip of the valley towered the Beast. Bony. Giant. It was dark, but the glint in its eyes was unmistakable, and its grin was murderous.

The Beast:

The wind whispered in the forest, tickling the trees and causing them to giggle. The breeze was crisp and cool, and the stream gurgled and played with the rocks and the Scaled-Ones along its banks. Overlooking it all was the Moon, gleaming in amusement. It whispered to her, telling her that tonight was her night; this year she would be successful or die trying. She acknowledged the Moon in return and bowed in respect. As the leaves gave way to snow, she witnessed the beauty of change, her hope growing alongside the frost.

The village was calling.

Deep in the forest, clawing and calling, forgotten yet yearning, she crawled. Grey skin clung to an emaciated figure and long tendrils of vine and hair wove around that fragile frame as she trudged through the woods, anticipation blooming—this creature that no one understood and everyone feared, who only wanted to coexist with them—with the Village-Dwellers, those Sky-Singers and Night-Watchers, whose company she longed to keep.

She looked around the forest and could not help but feel a twinge of regret—this was her home, after all. Was she betraying all she had ever known for this dream? Could she truly leave and find acceptance elsewhere in this world without cutting her ties with the wildflowers and banks and the familiar Wooden Giants who sheltered her? But the trees could not speak. She felt at home in this place—and yet so isolated and alone. Even with all the souls constantly living and dying in her presence, she did not know their stories and could never come to understand them.

But the village was bright. She remembered when the Moon had guided her to the clearing one night all those years ago; truly, the Moon thought she belonged there. She remembered the Village-Dwellers all singing like birds, singing to the sky, creating a melody so beautiful she could not help but try to join in. That’s when they attacked. She tried to protect herself by pushing them away and swiping her paws, but they were less sturdy than she had imagined; some flew across the clearing, others’ skin cried crimson. She gravely regretted the harm she had caused.

She tried to get closer every night, moving when the sun no longer blinded her and reddened her skin, for she wished with all her heart to make up for the misunderstanding. But they always chased her away, brandishing miniature suns and metallic Skin-Cryers that made her skin cry crimson. She was desperate to speak to someone other than the Wooden Giants and the rocks in the stream, and so, despite the threat of pain, she crawled out of the forest and revealed herself. Because the pain hidden within her was exponentially stronger and fiercer than the suns the Sky-Singers brandished on sticks.

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Silently, raising her talons to show she was no threat, she inched forward to where the Night-Watchers waited. An unfamiliar figure stood trembling beside the most violent one, whom she recognized by the scar carving his face. The New-One held a malicious Skin-Cryer. 

In a breath, the Beast’s eyes the boy’s met, and his eyes shone with a pain and loneliness matching her own, the same desire sparking in their depths. The Beast recognized the small child who had run cheerfully in the moonlight—and then sobbed over the body of his mother.

The boy saw something in the creature’s dark eyes too: The Beast wanted a home and family just like he did. He recognized the creature who had caused his heartache—but somehow, in that moment, his pain and anger evaporated. They were connected; their pains were akin. 

The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. His moment had come—he could finally avenge them! Yet why did he feel so devastated? A fortress of tears bubbled in his eyes. The man screamed of glory, but his yells were muffled by the thundering of the boy’s heart. He didn’t want to do it anymore. But the man kept on yelling—Evil. Dangerous. Kill it—as the Beast charged closer.

The New-One rushed towards her, his Skin-Cryer glinting under the silver light of the Moon. Excited, she bounded toward him, ready to give and receive comfort from this one, her kin. She smiled her joy and thanked the Moon for its guidance.

Trembling, he plunged his sword through her heart.

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The next morning, as the sun climbed into the sky, burning away the night’s frost, we built a pyre and sang to the Moon. We burnt the Beast’s body and paraded the boy we raised, celebrating his heroic act. He seemed pale, but it was surely just the cold and lack of sleep.

Now a chill wind casts across the valley, bitter and cruel. The leaves have rotted and the frost has come. Fear and foreboding creep into the air once more.