Her Beast

Everyone in the town of Ashwood had heard the stories.

For generations, whispers of a Beast in the woods echoed through quiet kitchens and over flickering campfires. It was said to prowl the dense forest that circled the town like a watchful wall. No one had ever seen its face—only its outline. A hulking silhouette, barely distinguishable from the darkness itself, always watching, always just out of reach.

Sometimes it appeared under the light of a full moon, lingering at the edge of vision before vanishing again for years. And when it returned, it brought a hush with it. Birds would fall silent. Dogs would cower. Shadows seemed to grow longer, colder.

Most of Ashwood scoffed at the legends now. They called it a ghost story for children, a tale told to keep teenagers from wandering too far. But the ones who knew better—the ones who had seen the shadow moving between the trees—felt the truth in their bones.

The Beast was real.

And whatever it was waiting for, it was coming closer.

~~~~~~

Zoey pulled her phone off the charger and powered it on. The screen lit up with a harsh blue glow that made her squint until her eyes adjusted. As she stared at the date, her stomach twisted. This was the week she'd been dreading.

Every year, the days leading up to the full moon filled her with a gnawing, inexplicable anxiety. But this time was different. This full moon would be the Harvest Moon—and that meant the entire town of Ashwood would be celebrating.

Ashwood's annual Harvest Festival was meant to be a time of joy, a tradition that stretched back generations. But to Zoey, it only served as a reminder.

Her heart pounded in her chest as the familiar panic crept in. She shut her eyes tight and took a shaky breath, whispering the words she'd been repeating far too often lately.

I'm okay. It isn't real. It's okay...

Once her heart finally began to slow, Zoey climbed out of bed and made her way to the bathroom to start her morning routine. When she finished, she pulled her hair back, grabbed her phone, and headed downstairs.

"Mom?" she called out.

Silence. As usual.

Her parents were rarely home anymore. They were always off exploring some new country, chasing their next thrill. Zoey missed them—more than she liked to admit. But whenever she brought it up, their response was always the same:

"You're twenty. You should be out on your own by now—not wondering when we'll be home."

They didn't understand why she still wanted to stay. Why she chose to work, save money, and figure out what she truly wanted before committing to college. She had tried explaining it, tried making them see that she wasn't lost—just waiting for the right path to reveal itself.

But they were already gone again. And she was left in the house. Alone. With the moon growing fuller by the day.

Zoey shook her head, trying to clear the spiral of thoughts still clinging to her. She grabbed a piece of toast and checked the time—already late. She hurried out the door.

Her job was at a small café planted right in the heart of town. It looked like it had been plucked straight from the 1960s, with checkered floors, chrome accents, and a jukebox that hadn't worked since before she was born. Zoey and her friends used to come here all the time, splitting milkshakes or sharing stacks of pancakes. That nostalgia, paired with the fact that it was one of the only places hiring, made it the obvious place for her to work.

She pulled into the gravel lot, parking in front of the large pink sign that read Cupid's Café. Zoey rolled her eyes at the overly sweet name, but a small smile crept onto her lips all the same. She jumped out of her battered silver car—the one that had been passed down through three older siblings before finally ending up with her.

As she walked through the door, the familiar scent of coffee and pastries washed over her. It used to be comforting when she was younger, but now it nearly turned her stomach. She'd smelled it too many times, day after day, shift after shift.

She waved to Sam and Joe, who were already busy behind the kitchen doors. "Morning," she called. They nodded, too focused on flipping pancakes and pulling trays from ovens to respond properly.

Zoey grabbed her apron from the hook, tied it around her waist, and stuffed her keys into her locker. After washing her hands, she stepped into the front of the café—and groaned.

A line stretched almost to the door.

"Zoey! Can you start taking orders?" her boss Gracie shouted as she passed, expertly pouring a coffee while barking instructions at Sam in the back.

"Yes!" Zoey called back, stepping up to the register.

Gracie was always stressed. Zoey wasn't sure how old she was—somewhere between sixty and immortal—but the deep-set lines on her face and the streaks of silver in her hair told a story of long hours, little patience, and a lifetime of caffeine. Or maybe it was just the bitterness she carried with her like a second apron.

Zoey turned to the first person in line and instantly smiled.

"Hey, Dave! What can I get for you?"

Dave was a close friend of her family—her dad's best friend since high school. He and his wife, Nancy, had been in Zoey's life since she could remember.

"Two of the café's famous blueberry muffins," he said with a grin. "I've been craving them all week."

Zoey chuckled and called the order to the back. Dave reached for his wallet, but she waved him off.

"It's on me."

He gave her a thankful smile as she handed him the bag, then made his way to the last open table.

The morning rush finally began to slow, and Zoey let out a long breath. She grabbed a towel and started wiping down tables. As she glanced over, she noticed Dave was still sitting there, slumped in his chair. His red cap—the same one he'd worn since college—was resting on the table, and he was rubbing the side of his face like he hadn't slept in days.

She walked over quietly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Dave? Everything okay?"

He gave a half-smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Nancy and I had a little argument this morning. Just giving her some space."

Zoey nodded sympathetically. Nancy was sharp-tongued and stubborn—admirable traits, until they collided with someone else's pride.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Zoey asked, pretending to clean the table beside him to avoid Gracie's inevitable glare if she got caught chatting.

"Nah. It was nothing. You know how Nancy gets—if she thinks she's right, there's no changing her mind."

Zoey smirked, wiping in slow circles. "Yeah, I've seen it firsthand."

She turned to head back to the kitchen when Dave's voice dropped low, almost like he wasn't sure he should say it.

"Zoey... are you going to look for the Beast this full moon?"

Her body froze. Heart pounding, she instinctively pressed a hand to her chest to calm herself. Slowly, she shook her head, not trusting her voice.

Dave nodded like he understood. "Okay. Just... if you do, be careful. People have been saying there've been more sightings lately. I don't know what that means—but it doesn't feel good."

"I've heard," she whispered, barely audible.

And for a moment, neither of them spoke. The café was quiet now, the morning rush faded, and the light from the windows spilled golden onto the checkered floor. But in Zoey's chest, the anxiety twisted again—because the moon was coming.

And so was something else.

The Beast had once only appeared after the full moon had fully risen. But lately, something had changed. There had been three sightings in the past month alone.

Zoey wasn't sure if the stories were true or just rumors spun by bored townsfolk desperate for attention. Still, a part of her—one that lived deep in her chest and refused to be silenced—couldn't shake the feeling that something was different this time.

"With what happened to you last year..." Dave's voice softened. He placed a hand gently over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I just want you to be careful."

He stood slowly, gathering his things and mumbling about getting back to Nancy before she threw a fit.

"Goodbye, Zoey!" he called, heading out the door after leaving a generous tip behind.

Zoey resumed cleaning the café, but her thoughts remained tangled in the stories of the Beast.

As long as she could remember, the legend had loomed over the town of Ashwood like a shadow. Passed down through generations, told around campfires and whispered in darkened rooms, the tale had woven itself into the town's bones.

She remembered sitting in the basement of a friend's house in fifth grade. Her friend's older brother had gathered them in a circle and, with a flashlight under his chin, told them one of the more terrifying versions of the tale.

He spoke of a man from the 1800s—a cruel, wealthy landowner who abused the servants in his estate. One night, after attending the opera, he took a shortcut through the forest. There, something attacked him. A creature—half-shadow, half-nightmare—ripped him apart and left him dying by the roadside. Travelers passed him by, unwilling to help. After all, he had never helped them.

But the story didn't end there. As the man lay gasping his final breaths, his bones cracked, and coarse black fur grew across his skin. A hideous beast rose where the man had fallen. Cursed by hate and vengeance, it disappeared into the woods, biding its time, waiting for the people of Aria to pay for their indifference.

Zoey hadn't slept that night. Especially after the boy and his friends disappeared for hours, claiming they were going to find the Beast.

Over the years, the stories multiplied—each one more elaborate than the last. Ghost, vampire, werewolf, forest spirit, demon, fae. The Beast had been called everything. You couldn't grow up in Aria without knowing at least five versions by heart.

For many, it was just a scary story. But for Zoey—and a few others—it was something more. A warning. A presence. A feeling that you were never quite alone in the woods.

Zoey had been terrified of it growing up. While some kids were brave—or reckless—enough to go looking for it, she always stayed home. She didn't want to know what it wanted. That was true... until the day she made the mistake of trying to be brave.

⸻

The day dragged on. After picking up a shift for her coworker Bret, Zoey finally clocked out, her body aching and her eyelids heavy. She wiped at her tired eyes, hung her apron on the hook, and gave a soft wave to her coworkers before heading for the door.

She grabbed her keys—clenched tight in her fist along with the small can of pepper spray she always kept on her keychain—and stepped into the dark parking lot.

That old, too-familiar feeling hit her immediately.

She was being watched.

Dread twisted her stomach as the night air pressed in around her.

A few months ago, she'd started feeling it—those invisible eyes. They came and went at random, like the flicker of headlights in a rearview mirror. At first, she'd convinced herself it was just stress. But lately... it felt different. More real.

A loud crash shattered the silence. A trash can tipped over just a few feet away.

Zoey jumped, her heart slamming against her ribs. She spun to look—but saw nothing. No animal. No person. Just the stillness of an empty lot.

She stepped backward toward her car and grabbed the door handle. It wouldn't open.

Panic surged. She looked down—no keys in her hand. She must have dropped them.

A quick scan of the ground showed them glinting under the nearest streetlamp, just a few yards away.

Her breath hitched.

Zoey crept toward them, each step heavy and deliberate. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she forced herself forward.

She crouched to pick them up—and suddenly, the light went out.

Darkness fell like a curtain.

A suffocating black swallowed the lot, and cold dread filled her lungs. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Her fingers closed tight around her keys, but her body was frozen.

She didn't know what it was, but something was there.

"P-please..." she choked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't hurt m-me."

Then—just as suddenly—the darkness lifted. The streetlamp flickered back to life, casting its dull orange glow across the pavement.

Zoey scrambled to her feet, her legs shaking as she made her way to the car. She didn't look back.

But the feeling remained.

Something was still watching.

By the time she got home, both of her parents' cars were in the driveway—a rare sight.

Relief flooded her as she parked along the curb. She bolted from the car and rushed up the front steps. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with her keys, finally unlocking the door.

She slammed it shut behind her and locked it.

For a moment, she stood there, forehead pressed against the wood, trying to slow her breathing.

What was that? she thought.

Memories surfaced—dark, buried ones from last year. The ones she tried not to think about. The ones that made her eyes sting with tears even now.

Thanks for reading!