The Beast Within

Missing.

Disappeared.

Gone.

Detective Peters shook his head. These were all words that he’d utilised many times, but never on a case this perplexing. The boy had just vanished into thin air, not even taking his battered converse. He pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to ease out the stress headache gathering in his mind. He needed another coffee.

Overhead, the lone lightbulb spluttered, it too growing weary of the deepening mystery. The station had seen many a vanishing teenager over the years, but each had always returned in a timely manner. The local community was tight knit, and somebody always knew somebody who knew something.

Not this time. The only possible clue to the child’s whereabouts came in the form of a short story, ink barely finished drying on the thick parchment paper. Still, it would have to do, and he would have to find a way to solve the mystery.

Shrugging on his long coat, the drowsy detective started the short walk to the boy’s house. A dull fog rolled out over the village, cloaking crooked brickwork and blanketing thatched roofs. He stopped at the door, hand suspended between knocking and calling it a night.

No, he needed to find the boy. Pushing the door open with a sigh, he climbed the stairs. The boy’s room looked identical to his last visit, but he didn’t allow himself to lose hope.

Scattered books lay tossed around the small space, spines cracked and words leaking out into the worn shelves that barely contained them. Empty mugs lined the windowsill, a slimy film the only remanent of the coffee they had previously held. The faint smell of old furniture lingered in the air, giving the room the appearance of being from several decades in the past.

Balanced precariously on the walnut desk was the story, and it was this that caught Detective Peters’ eye first. Neat letters curled across the page, unravelling through the lines.

The boy has pretty handwriting, he thought. I’ll give him that much.

His eyes began to drift across the paper, taking in the familiar words.

Burgundy waves lapped at the surface, causing dense foliage to wave gently. The faint smell of decay filled the air, and trees rustled quietly, afraid to produce too greater sound.

He considered that he might know which lake the boy referred to, for it was a well-known and well feared location in the village.

Bubbles rose fervently from an unknown source, breaking the surface desperately to escape what lay beneath. A low growl emanated from below.

It broke the surface. Scales clashed with water, and it slithered towards the shore.

He ran, not daring to turn and face the beast. Dried grass crunched underfoot, the sound of his footsteps beating out a monotonous rhythm. Vines snatched at his feet; the forest reluctant to let him go.

The weary detective pressed his hands to his face. He was sure this was where the story had finished before, but yet there were more words left to read. He must be mistaken. It had been a long day after all.

Thump. He hit the ground with a yelp. It was over quickly; the hideous beast pulled him back towards its watery lair. Bubbles turned to still, and an uneasy quiet settled over the scene. It was done.

Eerie. The room suddenly felt far colder than it had previously, and he was almost sure he could see his breath curling upwards in the chilly air.

He supposed that he should go and examine the lake now. Not really one for superstition, he tried to push the rising panic out of his mind. The boy couldn’t have been taken by some watery monster. That was absurd.

He was a man of facts. So he would go and obtain facts. It was decided. He pushed the door open with a creak and stepped onto the cobbled street.

Flames danced excitedly in gas lamps, casting ominous shadows on stony houses. Clouds blanketed stars, but a late harvest moon peeked secretively through, basking the village in a serene silvery glow.

Breaking the quiet, his footsteps echoed through the streets. The path to the lagoon was a rarely travelled one, as few people dared to brave superstition and make the journey. Winding through dense undergrowth, he rounded down to the water.

Moonlight paved a silvery runway onto its surface; a guiding light for something yet unknown. He glanced around, shuffling his weight uneasily between his feet. The acrid stench of rotting fish filled the air.

Just as he had thought. Nothing here. No sign of the boy.

Something on the opposite side of the shore caught his eye. Fighting snaking vines and charcoal black sands, he worked his way around. Drag marks. He had seen many over his career, but never this large.

It couldn’t be. No monster existed, he reminded himself. It was an impossibility. And yet it was. Could it be that a monster had taken the boy?

A fierce gust whipped across the lake, causing tree branches to point at him, shaking bony fingers. Leaves rustled, goading him.

From deep beneath, a whispered chant began. Straining his ears, he struggled to pick out words. Bubbles rose languidly, then picked up speed. He turned to the forest, as if to run, but found himself unable to move.

He fell for it. Another one for me. He fell for it. Another one for me. He fell for it. Another one for me.

The grotesque words filled his brain, rising in volume and intensity to a deafening crescendo. Locked into place, he found himself unable to take control of his limbs.

Realisation struck like lighting in his mind. He had been lured like a sailor to a siren, caught by a mystery far beyond his comprehension. Caught in the allure of a tricky case, he had fed himself to the monster-boy.

Thump. He hit the ground with a yelp. It was over quickly; the hideous beast pulled him back towards its watery lair. Bubbles turned to still, and an uneasy quiet settled over the scene. It was done. Until next time.