THE BEAST

5: What Big Imagination You Have

Gran had me hold the pastries as we made our way up the walk to the Andrews' front steps. I have never felt more uncomfortable in my dress and dark green cardigan in my life. I couldn't believe my childhood friend was dead.

Wilma Andrews opened the door with a watery smile. "Hello Poppy, how are you?" I looked down at Gran's pastries and swallowed harshly to keep the ball of emotions out of my throat. I silently handed her the plate wrapped in tinfoil. "Thank you, dear," she said, her voice hushed and small.

She took the plate and Gran pulled her into a hug. She ushered us in.

"How is school going Poppy?" Mrs. Andrew asked while walking into the family room. She motioned for us to sit on her floral couch stationed by a great bay window that showed the extensive forest.

"Fine," I almost squeaked. I looked towards Gran for help.

"How are you doing, Wilma?" Gran asked. Mr. Andrews walked down the stairs and sat down next to his wife. "Jonathon?"

"We're hanging in there. It's strange though. Sometimes I think I still hear him upstairs or see him sitting on the couch reading a book. It doesn't yet feel like he's really gone." It's Mrs. Andrews that answered. Her husband put his hand on her shoulder for comfort.

"Was he alone?" My grandmother asked, ever so curious, even in the worst of times.

"I was with him," Mr. Andrews claimed, his lips in a harsh line. "But we were momentarily separated during the attack. Dalton believed he saw a bear and went after it. He was always an adventurous one, that one. Always so brave."

He was reckless, I wanted to say but didn't out of respect. Who goes after an animal twice his size? I wasn't one whom hunted for a sport, but even I know not to charge a bear.

"His limbs..." Mr. Andrewed carried on as if he wasn't mentally in the room anymore, his face turning pale as he spoke. Mrs. Andrews choked out a dry sob and I had to look back out to the forest to distract me from crying myself. "We had to have a closed casket because we couldn't find much."

Gran sighed heavily and I felt like I was going to vomit. I couldn't image finding someone you loved in that condition dead or alive. Images flew to mind of what his body looked like but I had to shut my brain off because it was all too much.

"Are you sure it was a bear?" Gran asked rather boldly.

"Gran." I shot her a warning glare but she shook me off like an annoying gnat.

"We are not quite sure, Olivia," Mr. Andrews admitted not missing a single beat. My mouth gaped open. "It could have been a mountain lion, it could have been a bloody goat for all we know. But Dalton said he saw a bear before he bounded down that raveen. Don't think we haven't questioned it ourselves, Olivia."

Wait. I looked between the three people sitting around me. "You think it was the..."

Each person casted their eyes to the floor and I had to hold myself back for laughing hysterically. I made myself sit up straighter to hold back from putting in my two cents. I had to remind myself that these people were in mourning and they could believe anything that made their son's passing easier.

But for my grandmother, now she was just acting crazy.

"Mysterious things have been seen inside those woods, Poppy." Mr. Andrews got up from the arm of the sofa and walked over to the mantle on the far end of the room. My eyes grew wide with the sight. Half a dozen heads of wolves hung like art on the boarded walls. "My family have been avid hunters for centuries dating back to when King Henri was in reign. We walked amongst side him, searching for any evil that roamed those woods, but there was one evil that wouldn't die."

He pulled back a dark blue curtain to reveal more beheaded wolves. "The Beast has been around for centuries, haunting our town and all that vacate it. On full moons, the village would sacrifice their best livestock in hope that he would take his fill and leave the villagers alone. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn't. Pigs and cows didn't stop him from taking our women every now and then. Never to be seen again. That usually happened around every hundred years as documented but nonetheless, it happened. Hasn't happened yet in my life time but I am sure it will happen again."

"If it is this-- erm-- beast--" I could barely fathom the word--"being responsible for these women, what is he doing with them? Eating them?"

Just the thought made me want to gag. I couldn't believe I was playing along with this.

Mr. Andrews shook his head, a coy smile on his face. "How do you think the Beast keeps living on, Poppy?"

My face heated when the answer to that question sunk in. I shifted in my seat and picked up one of the pastries meant for the couple. I don't know how I was eating at a time like this but I needed something to distract myself from asking more questions, folk tale or not.

"My ancestors killed what they thought to be the Beast every blood moon to stop it's reign of terror from continuing on. That is usually when he strikes. They called it the crimson claim. We had to be careful, you see, because some didn't believe it lived in the woods at all. Some believed the beast lived amongst us as a shape shifter to pick out it's prey from the inside. That's how he knew which woman to claim as his and which men to take out while doing so."

Another shiver racked down my spine but I also felt like I needed to laugh. Shape shifter? Ridiculous. Absolute fiction. Magic doesn't live in this world. Or at least not the magic that speaks of werewolves and vampires and fairies. That was just the Grimm Brothers concoction.

"They took out their rifles and hunting knives, anything to use for a weapon, and went into these very woods to conquer their fears. Every blood moon they'd find a wolf." He stretched his arms as wide as he could. "These bloody creatures were about the size of a small car or larger. And every blood moon, we mount the bastard's head on the wall to show that we can protect our love ones. That's all Dalton was trying to do, I am sure."

A blood moon was coming up?

"He was such a good boy," Mrs. Andrews added with a sniffle in her handkerchief. Her eyes wondered over to the mantle where a photo of Dalton stood, dressed in his school uniform, grinning boyishly at us. Gran patted her back and repeatedly agreed with her until Wilma's crying died down. Mr. Andrews continued to look at me with those clear blue eyes of his. Dalton had those eyes too.

"What do you think, Poppy? What is your opinion?"

I looked once more out the bay window to the swaying treetops. The woods were always a magical place to me, holding an unknown I could never seem to wrap my head around. It never dawned on me that something such as a man killing, woman stealing, monster could live amongst it.

So I said the only the that might have continued to keep me sane. "I think it was a bear."