The Beast Within: A Dark Retelling of Hidden Monsters
I awoke in absolute darkness. My skin was damp, sticky, and cold, and the air was thick with the metallic scent of old pennies. At least, I hoped that’s all it was. The first few seconds after waking were always the worst—when I didn’t yet know where I was, or who I might have become the night before.
I groaned, lifting my aching head with difficulty. My muscles screamed in protest, and my mouth felt as dry as ash. I reached out with trembling fingers, searching for some clue to my surroundings. Cold stone beneath me. A thin layer of liquid—too sticky to be water—pooled around me. No walls yet, no comfort, no clarity.
“Okay,” I muttered. “Let’s pray it’s the basement.”
The alternative? A cave. Or worse—a public place. I stood, my legs unsteady under me. Leaning forward, I groped for a wall, and finally my fingers found it—smooth, solid, familiar. A switch. Bracing myself, I flipped it on, squinting into the blinding light.
Blood.
It was everywhere.
Slick and dark, painted across the floor, spattered on the walls. My stomach churned. “No. Not again,” I whispered. This wasn’t a rabbit or a stray cat. This was far too much. My hands began to tremble.
I fought to stay calm. You always bleed after a transformation, I told myself. This could be your blood. Just yours.
But a voice deep down—one that always knew better—whispered back, It’s not.
Then recognition hit me. I knew this place. Mrs. Laurie’s basement.
A rush of false relief swept over me. She knew what I was. She had helped me before. Maybe I’d come here seeking shelter after the change. That had to be it.
But then my memory stirred—Mrs. Laurie had told me recently her granddaughter was visiting. Please, I prayed, please let her have stayed away.
I forced my weak legs to carry me up the steps. When I reached the basement door, I noticed something I hadn’t expected—deep claw marks in the frame. Blood. Splintered wood. Mrs. Laurie never let me transform unsupervised. She always sedated me.
Panic bloomed in my chest.
I pushed the door open slowly. The kitchen was in ruins. Cabinets shattered. Plates smashed. Food strewn like confetti across the floor. But no blood. Not yet. Still, the eerie silence screamed louder than any howl I’d ever let out.
The clock on the wall read 1 p.m.
Mrs. Laurie was an early riser. By now, she would have brewed tea, turned on the radio, and yelled for me to come up.
But the silence remained.
I followed the path of destruction toward the back of the house. My breath caught in my throat as I approached her bedroom. No… no no no…
I stepped in—and the world shattered.
Blood soaked the walls, the floor, the bed linens. The air was thick with it.
And there, barely recognizable, was Mrs. Laurie.
My knees gave way, and I crumpled to the ground in a quiet, broken sob. I had killed before—but this… this was someone who had cared for me. Who had seen the monster and shown me kindness. The weight of guilt pressed down, heavier than anything I’d ever felt.
Then—I heard it.
A faint whimper.
I froze, holding my breath, listening. It was coming from the closet.
I rose slowly, heart hammering, and opened the door.
A girl, maybe nine or ten years old, huddled in the corner. Her red hair matted. Her eyes wide with terror.
“Don’t hurt me!” she screamed.
“I won’t,” I said gently. My voice cracked. “I’m here to help.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Then why are you covered in blood?”
I swallowed. “I—I tried to save your grandmother. I was too late.”
It was a lie, a desperate one, but what else could I say?
I extended my arms, inviting her closer.
Hesitantly, she crept toward me, until her eyes landed on her grandmother’s mangled body.
She ran into my arms and sobbed. I wrapped my arms around her and whispered, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
But then I saw them—her eyes.
Golden. Deep. Reflecting mine perfectly.
And in that instant, I realized the truth.
The beast isn’t just within me anymore.
Moral of the Story
Monsters can be born—but they can also be passed on. What you hide inside may one day stare back at you.
