A Beast in the House

Written by Matthew Shute

Mary's aunt, Agatha, was in a mood that afternoon. While Mary's mom was there in the house, auntie Agatha was her usual, chatty self. However, when Mary's mom left the place and waved goodbye for the weekend, the atmosphere changed. Agatha seemed very distracted.

Mary, seven years old, usually enjoyed staying over at her aunt's house. Countless happy weekends had been spent there. Agatha's garden was beautiful. Mary and her mum lived in a run-down apartment building, so they didn't have a garden of their own. Having a chance to relax in Agatha's lush garden was such a treat.

Mary loved the lazy summer afternoons, sitting out on the lawn chairs, looking at the big pond, or even just helping auntie Agatha with planting flowers or pulling out weeds.

She'd been looking forward to coming over for a visit all week. Now Friday had come along, but instead of happiness, there was a heavy sense of tension in the air.

"Auntie, shall we go outside and do some gardening?"

Agatha shook her head. "Not right now. I'm not in the mood."

There was something definitely strange about that remark. Agatha was ALWAYS in the mood for gardening. Even on blistering cold days, or in the middle of a downpour, Agatha wanted to spend most of her time in the garden. Even since the onset of her arthritis, Agatha hadn't lost interest in her hobby. She was practically a gardening fanatic.

Now, she wasn't in the mood?

Perhaps she was just feeling particularly unwell. On the other hand, she'd appeared well enough when Mary's mom had been there. Why would Agatha pretend? No, there was obviously more to it.

Mary said, "Please. It's a nice sunny day. We shouldn't just sit here in silence."

"I've just got a few things on my mind right now," Agatha replied. "Maybe later."

"Oh. Okay."

So they sat in silence for a while. Five minutes or more passed without either of them speaking a word.

Finally, Mary said, "Auntie, what's the matter? Why are you feeling so sad?"

Agatha looked up at Mary, a vacant expression on her face for a second. "Hmmm?"

"What are you worrying about?"

Agatha shook her head, as if casting off a spell of dizziness. "Oh, nothing, dear. It's nothing for you to worry about. Nothing at all."

With the clear honesty of a child, Mary said, "You're acting very strange."

"Am I?" Agatha said. "I'm sorry. I've just got a bit of a headache, that's all."

"Shall we go outside now, and look at the pond?"

Agatha sighed, a sound with a trace of frustration. "Yes, I suppose so. Come on then."

Mary stood up. Agatha, with her short and stumpy legs, climbed laboriously to her feet. The two of them strolled out of the lounge, through the kitchen, and out into the back garden. For a while, things were normal again.

...

Afternoon turned into evening. Inside, the girl and her aunt ate dinner quietly. After washing the dishes, they went back into the lounge to watch some television. Once more, the atmosphere turned sour. It felt almost as if somebody had died. Usually, Agatha would talk constantly, commenting on the various shows that came on the television. Her rants about the pathetic state of modern television had come to be expected. Now, she was silent. Whenever Mary glanced at her, Agatha wore the same partially vacant expression, as if she were not looking at the television at all, but at something entirely different, something beyond the wall at the back of TV set.

There was something else, too. Every so often, Agatha would stand up and go upstairs, claiming she needed to go to the toilet. This wouldn't have seemed odd if it had been once or twice, but she did it virtually every ten minutes. She'd never had a bladder problem before. When she went upstairs, Mary would hear her creaking from room to room.

What was she doing up there?

When Mary herself had to go up to the toilet, she felt afraid. Twice, she heard creaking in another room, but both times she had found nothing upon further investigation.

As the night grew later, Agatha's mood grew worse. The worry or anxiety in her eyes was clearly visible. Something was apparently troubling her. But what? Whatever it was, Mary didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit. Perhaps tomorrow she would get her aunt to 'phone home and tell mommy to come and pick her up.

Eventually, Agatha said, "It's bedtime now. Drink your milk, and we'll go up."

Mary sipped at the milk, but it tasted odd. "Yuck. I think it might be bad."

"It's not bad. Just drink it."

Mary took another tiny sip. Horrible. There was definetly something wrong with it. There was a hint of something. It reminded Mary of some of the smells that lingered around the medicine cabinet at home.

"It tastes horrible," Mary said. "I really don't want any."

"It'll help you sleep," Agatha insisted. "Just drink it."

"Really. Please don't make me drink any. Please, auntie."

This didn't do anything to improve Agatha's strange mood. She snatched the milk away and said, "Have it your own way, then." Then she stormed into the kitchen and tipped the sour milk away into the sink.

Then it was up the stairs to bed.

While tucking Mary in, Agatha said, "Please try to sleep tonight."

"Okay," Mary replied.

"Listen to me. It's important you sleep. Just try to relax. You look agitated."

Agitated? It was Agatha who was making her so.

Again, Agatha said. "It's important you get a good night's sleep. Whatever you do, stay in bed. Think about tomorrow. I've got some new seeds. We can get up early in the morning and plant some gardenias. That'll be nice, won't it?"

What was all this about? Mary always slept well. She didn't understand her aunt's sudden concern.

The trace of emotion (fear? anxiety?) was more visible than ever in auntie's eyes now.

Agatha turned off the light, and walked out, shutting the door behind her. As always, she left the landing light switched on. It shone through the gap under the door.

Mary lay there and tried to sleep. She didn't want auntie Agatha to be angry with her. But Mary was too edgy to sleep. Her mind was racing. What was so important about tonight? Why was Agatha so concerned about how well Mary sleep. Then the really disturbing thoughts came. What was it that Agatha wanted Mary to sleep through? What was it that her aunt didn't want her to see or hear?

Mary tossed and turned in bed. She didn't know the word "insomnia", but an attack of insomnia was exactly what Agatha had caused in the young girl. When counting sheep failed to induce slumber, she tried to visualise cartoon characters. It was a trick she'd learned over the past few months. When she created imaginary episodes of her favourite cartoons, sometimes the visualisations would turn into a dream, and she would fall into sleep without even realising it.

Now, however, not even the cartoon trick would work. She focused on seeing the pictures in her mind, but they kept dissolving into frightening monsters, or fading out altogether.

She stared at the curtains that covered the window across the room. The curtains were pale green, almost transparent. The moonlight shone through them, and Mary could she convoluted shadowy images of skulls grinning at her. It was a trick of the light, she knew. It was like the way you could see faces in the clouds if you looked at them just right. These monster faces looked very real. Mary couldn't shake the impression that they weren't harmless folds in the fabric at all, but living ghosts, trapped in the material. One even seemed to wink at her. She forced her eyes shut.

She went back to counting sheep. When she reached one hundred and four and sleep was no closer, she opened her eyes and sighed in frustration.

How long she'd been lying awake, Mary couldn't tell. The alarm clock on the bedside table was tick-tocking loudly in the otherwise silent room, but it was too dark to make out the time.

Suddenly, there was creaking outside the door.

It was a definite, distinct sound. Mary knew that she'd heard it. It wasn't her imagination. No way.

She held her breath for a moment and listened more closely.

It was very subtle, but Mary was sure that she could her a low... growling noise.

Another creak, just outside the room.

Another.

The footsteps did not belong to aunt Agatha. They were too soft to be Agatha's heavy footsteps. Agatha tended to stride and stomp everywhere. This was the sound of sneaking and creeping, not of striding.

The footsteps were moving away from Mary's door, down the landing. There were only two rooms in that direction: the bathroom and aunt Agatha's room.

Terrified, Mary pulled the sheets over her head. She shivered. The guttural growling was now loud enough to hear without having to listen very hard.

Listening closely, Mary heard a door creak open. It was obviously the door to auntie's room, because the bathroom door was always kept open. Then there was another long creak followed by a soft thud, signifying that the door had been closed again.

Momentarily paralysed by fear, Mary kept perfectly still and listened as hard as she could.

There was silence for a minute or two. Silence except for the tick-tock of the clock.

Then a scream of absolute terror or extreme pain filled the night. It was the most harrowing sound Mary had ever heard, or ever would hear, in her life.

Her concern for aunt Agatha overriding her fear, Mary jumped out of bed immediately, and threw the bedroom door wide open.

The light from the landing blinded her for a second, and she had to squint against the glare. When her eyes adjusted to the light and she could see where she was going, Mary walked, trembling, towards Agatha's room. As she did so, another scream came from the room. This one was not as loud, but equally tormented. It sounded like a torture chamber in there. What was happening to poor Agatha?

Mary reached the door, and put both hands against it. Bracing herself against the fear that gripped her, preparing for whatever horrors lay ahead, the young girl pushed as hard as she could, and sent the door flying open.

She stepped inside.

The scene awaiting her was truly hideous, yet not at all what she'd expected.

On the bed was some kind of great animal. It looked a little like a wolf, a little like a cat and a little like a bear. It was a fearsome sight indeed; a huge monster, with a mouthful of lethal fangs, and a coat of thick, shaggy, black fur. Razor sharp claws extended from its paws - which looked as big as dinner-plates!

Up close, Mary could hear the low growling sound again.

The beast looked up when Mary entered. So did aunt Agatha, who stood on the bed, at the rear of the monster. Agatha looked startled, shocked. She looked... caught.

Caught in the act.

Agatha was naked. Her left hand was poised over her hairy pubis, where she'd apparently been rubbing herself. In the other hand was some kind of long, metal pole. The pole was inserted into the rectum of the huge monster in front of her. Apparently, the creature was under her complete control, for it attempted neither to escape or to attack the woman, though it appeared potentially able to kill her with a single swipe.

Mary looked into the eyes of the animal and felt great pity for the thing. It's eyes had an almost human quality that conveyed the great pain and distress it was under.

Again, the beast let out a cry of agony. It was not the roar of a grizzly, the growl of a panther or the howl of a wolf that came from its mouth. The pitiful shriek was both very human and very feminine.

Mary now understood why Agatha had been so worried and preoccupied the whole time. She'd simply been afraid of her secret getting out. And she certainly didn't want her fun being interrupted.

Pulling out the dripping pole and pointing it at Mary, Agatha spoke.

"I thought I told you to stay in bed," she said.