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Wren's Blog Entry



 
 

Blog Entry
 
Sunday, Nov 01, 2020
The Beast Within
    The small sliver of light that managed to wriggle between the drawn blinds and closed curtains finally brought me back to consciousness.  My head was splitting and that little ray of sunshine was enough to make me groan in desperation.  I hurt and felt unrested and just plain sick to my stomach.  I would have gone to the side of the bed to try to throw up, but that required way too much effort.   It was not going away.  Where was the rain and cloudy skies promised today?  Were the powers that be merely toying with me or just laughing themselves silly as they tormented me?  Someone was out to get me.  I knew it.  I felt it in every bone in my body...  every fiber in my being...  Oh, God.  My stomach was going to revolt on me.   I crawled/climbed out of bed, pulling myself to the bathroom.  I was never going to make it.  Oh, God.  Just the way to start a morning.  Who said life was fair?     After I cleaned up the floor and wall and other assorted surfaces that were caught in the crossfire, I went to clean myself.  Funny how one's attention can be somewhere else and not notice the obvious.  Oh, yes.  How oblivious was I?  Must be pretty high since I missed all the blood stains on my night gown.  Yes, the brilliant crimson splashed against the stark white cotton were quite prominent.  Really could not miss them, but I had.    My eyes met mine in the mirror, bloodshot, sad, frightened blue that held more than a hint of desperation.  My stomach was churning again.  Desperation peeked back at me, quietly, pleading for mercy.  There was no mercy or justice though.  Only blood, fear, and death.  And, no doubt, a present left for me from the beast.  How lucky could a girl get?   I am unsure what happened next, but my feet took me back to my bed, still bathed in darkness.  Pulling the curtains back, I let the rest of the sunshine outside pool past me to light the room.  And the bed.  The bed was covered in blood with the present left for me in a pillow case.  I did not dare look.  I did not want to see what it was.  Or who it was.  I had no desire for any more stress.  But what choice was I given?   The hand was Amanda's.  My good, and now former, friend.  As I peeled the sticky cloth away from the object, it was clearly recognizable.  The little ring with the angel on it had been a birthday present I had surprised her with last week.  How ironic that I had teased her that the angel would help guard her when the sad reality was that it was of little to no use.  If there was a God, he/she/it had a weird sense of humor.   Tears were already slipping down my cheeks and snot running out of my nose.  I am so not a pretty cryer.  I totally suck at it.  I look even uglier than I normally feel, and that is pretty dang ugly.  She did not deserve this.  No one deserved it.  But the beast who played with me, tormented me, laughed at me thought she had.     Why was this happening?  What had I done?  I had absolutely no clue why he had picked me to wreak havoc on, but he had selected me.  Perhaps understanding that no one believed me was a factor or a turn-on for him.  And I had tried.  Really.   What miss?  Someone left a bloody hand in your bed?  Who had access?  And she was your friend, right?  Who wanted her dead?  Are you even sure she is dead?  Why would someone try to frame you for her murder?  Have you seen her body?  Maybe you  just chopped off her hand after a spat or something, right?  Monthly blues perhaps?  Eye for an eye, keeping a hand on things?  Failed romance?   Stupid questions, stupid procedures, stupid punishment...  How many times can you land in the looney bin and remain sane?  Let me get back with you on that one.   As I thought about it, really started to think, I began to get angry.  I was sick and tired of this crap.  I was sick of the beast leaving me "presents" and chortling at my fear and indecision and agony.  I was just sick period.  I went to throw up again once I cleaned up and packaged up the evidence to dispose of later.  I was not going to be wearing a long sleeved white dinner jacket that tied up in the back.  No more.     After dropping all of the remains into a garbage bin, I began to retrace my steps from last night.  It was still early, so I figured I might have a chance since the beast only came out at night.  The last clear memory I had was in that tavern down in the bad part of town.  I had to start there.   Amanda had wanted a drink and to walk a bit on the dark side.  I had tried to talk her out of it, but she was in a weird mood, laughing and pulling at me to follow her.  Why had I not listened to my inner voice?  I had known it was a bad idea, but I did not have a lot of friends and I did not want to disappoint her.   The crowd there was rough, crude, and disgusting.  They flocked around us, her especially as she seemed to shine brightly even in the dark recesses of the room.  She was blonde and pretty and everything that I was not, and the men there were moths to her flame.  Her smile was sexy and shy, a tease to please, and after a few drinks, courtesy was thrown to the side as they pawed at us and made mockingly lewd suggestions.  I confess I was more than a bit turned on myself feeling strangers grope and feel me up, but it was time to get out.  These men did not know the meaning of the word no.  And I had no memory of anything after that.   I approached the building, small, dark, and far more isolated than was safe.  I should turn back and run, but was I listening to that voice in my head?  No.  This had to end.   The moment I walked into the tavern, I knew it was the worst ever decision I had ever made in my life.  For the first time, I heard the growling laughter and haunting whispers of the beast to come on in.  Shivering, my feet forced me onward as if I had no control over them.  Blindly, I walked into the belly of the beast.   My eyes adjusted quickly, and even though there as little light, I knew there was blood everywhere.  Oh, God, the stench of it was raw and primal, and I was now visibly shaking.  What the hell had I done?   Bodies were strown everywhere, ripped and torn apart, bloody remains and pieces that would take a long time to reassemble.  Tears again flowed, hot and wet  as I gagged on the smell of death which surrounded me.  There was so much freaking blood and gore.   And then I saw her.  My poor friend.  Dear Amanda who had brought me soup when I was sick, who laughed at my stupid jokes, who rolled her eyes and told me I was beautiful even when I knew I really was not.  Someone who had never asked that much of me but to come to a stupid tavern.  To die.   She was naked, hung upside down, ropes pulling her arms and legs wide apart, bloody claw marks all over her body.  Her eyes were wide open, glazed, full of fear.  And her hand was missing.  The one he had gnawed off and left in my bed.  Was that a trophy or souvenir or just a jab at me?   Oh, yes!  the beast hissed happily.  All she wanted was to come here and have some fun.  Did we not have fun last night, my love?  Was it not a most beautiful outing?   In my mind I was screaming.  Not that it did any good.  Not that it really mattered now.  I remembered everything.  The beast gleefully coming in to start to feast on a bunch of horny, preoccupied men who realized to late that they were already dead.  His claws were deadly and sharp, brutal and effective weapons of pain and dismemberment.  Seriously, no one had a chance against his madness.   Why?  Why?  Why?  I screamed in my head.  Why?   Because I love you, my pet.  I will never let you go or be with anyone else but me.   Instinctively, I knew what he said was true.  I had no choice.  I was his.  Only his.  To toy with and destroy as he saw fit.  Crying for the loss of my friend, the last remnants of innocence or sanity that I had left, I went to the bathroom to throw up again.     I washed my face afterwards and combed my hair.  Make yourself presentable, I thought to myself.  Make yourself look normal.  But there were still traces of blood on me from whatever.  It was impossible to go into a place dripping with blood and not get a stain or two on you.  People would notice.   Fumbling in my purse, I drew out the gun I had brought along to defend myself.  Smiling feebly in the mirror, I saw the fear still there, my quivering lips, and tears brimming in the blueness of my eyes.  I had no choice now.  I had to kill the beast.   I heard the growling in the background, starting to surround me.  I knew he was coming.  I felt it.  If there was a god I prayed for strength to kill him.  No matter what happened to me, no matter that the men here probably all deserved to die anyway, Amanda should not have been touched.  He should not have hurt her.   Cocking the gun, I just kept looking in the mirror, crying for all of my lost hopes and dreams, for the loss of my friend, for the dawn I would never see again.  I knew I was dead already.  The beast would have to finish me off this time.   My reflection flickered in the mirror, most likely a trick of the light or the fact that tears were pouring out of me.  I sobbed and blubbered, hearing the growls come closer, feeling the heat of his foul breath on my neck.  I saw my eyes shift to gray as I raised the gun to the side of my head.  My finger already pulled the trigger when our eyes met and merged.  There was no other way.   The last thing I felt was a searing pain as the silver bullet tore into my brain.  There was a blinding light ahead that I followed, this time my feet my own.  I walked towards her, towards Amanda, who smiled at me.  Inside of me, deep down, I felt the ripping of my soul as the beast was torn from me, screaming into the pits of hell.   When I finally reached her, Amanda held out her hand to me, the one that had been gnawed off, now fully restored.  I clasped her hand, held it tightly, trying to fight back the tears that never improved my lack of looks.  Well, I have had better days, but at least I got it right in the end.

Posted at 06:45 pm
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