Supernaturals of Liverpool

Furry Little Problem

Present, 3 am

Paul woke up with chills running down his spine. His hair stood on end, though it was perfectly toasty. He felt as if someone was stalking him. He didn’t know where it came from; he couldn't remember having a nightmare, but here he was, blinking at the tent’s wall, unable to go back to sleep. He considered shutting his eyes and praying that the fear would dissipate. Another feeling, however, overcame that urge. Paul closed his eyes annoyedly. Curse you, you weak-ass bladder.

He slowly shifted to get up and tried to move John’s arm (which laid heavy on top of his waist) as minimally as possible. A soft groan carried to his ears, followed by a mumbled “Why’re ye getting up? Don’t go…” Paul smiled at the adorable half-opened eyes and mass of messy auburn hair.

“I just need to take a leak. If I need something I’ll scream.” Paul whispered, kissing John's forehead.

“Oh, yer good at that. I’ll make sure I go runnin’ to you when ye do,” John answered, curling into himself.

“Thanks, dear. Love you.”

“Hmm.”

Paul zipped the tent up and stumbled as he tried to slip his shoes on while standing. He stops in front of a tree nearby but looks off into the dark woods. It wouldn't hurt him to go further, wouldn't it? He tried to find a secure place and managed to do so, not terribly far from the tents. As soon as he finished and started to walk back, he heard rustling. He looked towards the noise but couldn’t see anything. Fuck, he thought, the first rule after hearing a noise alone is not to look back or you’ll feel like it’s following you. He shut his eyes tight for a second and shook his head. Don't be ridiculous, be brave. He furrowed his brows, making what he imagined to be a brave face. Scrunch. Taptaptaptap. Paul instinctually turned his head towards the sound, now to his right. He felt his braveness rapidly falter as he quickened his pace. He knows how this goes in every horror movie, and he doesn't want any of it. Beads of sweat started to form around his forehead as he walked as fast as he could. Don't be a wimp and run into the tent. There won't be anything and they'd just laugh at you, he thought, albeit rather fearfully. Suddenly, the noise got very close and he forgot everything he just thought. He sprinted towards the tents as fast as he could. He could feel the blood racing through his veins as his legs pounded against the hard, leaf-covered floor of the forest. His lungs slowly grew painful as they burned the inside of his chest. Nearly there, nearly there! Paul silently chanted. But as he neared the edge of the glade, he looked back just in time to see something pounce at him.

                                   ~●~

“AAAAAARRRRRGH!!”

John’s eyes snapped open and he sat straight up. Something happened to Paul. He grabbed the closest thing he could find to protect himself (in this case, his shitty acoustic guitar he’d bought recently) and ran out to see Ringo and George groggily walk out from their tent.

“Guys- Paul! That’s him! ‘e’s in trouble,” John panicked, pointing towards the screams. Their eyes widened at John’s words. They immediately picked up a stick from the pile of fuel they hadn't used (which wasn’t big at all) and followed John who’d already charged ahead, guitar held high.

John ran as fast as he could, heart thumping against his chest. What happened to his princess? Was he attacked? How dare someone attack his precious flower princess? Anger and adrenaline coursed through his blood as he rushed his way towards Paul. And then, there it was. Couldn’t quite see what, but something large, muscular and hairy was slashing away at Paul, who was trying to inch away. John saw red. He felt hot as anger took him and all he could think about was to protect Paul. Against his rational thought, he lunged forward screaming at the thing, feeling a strain on his throat. It looked up, yellow eyes staring at John. He raised the guitar up and pummeled it. He didn't care that George and Ringo stood frozen and petrified. He didn’t care that he was attacking alone. All he cared about was Paul, lying limp on the ground. If he died, he'd be proud to die protecting Paul.