The Beast

It was raining heavily that night. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the icy droplets stinging my face and neck, the wetness coming down in diagonal sheets. Relentless. I guess you could say it was relentless. Not that I paid much attention to something as trivial as a rainstorm.
The trees seemed massive then, towering pines that, bizarrely, did little to shelter the soft dirt ground. I was staring at the Beast, not caring that the rain plastered my fair hair to my scalp or that it ran down my neck like a tiny waterfall. The Beast was huge. It was easily the size of a small car, which is big enough for a beast of any kind, thank you very much. It seemed to be some grotesque mixture of cat and bear, but it had a reptilian quality about it, like the tongue that flicked out of its jaws and coated its snout with a thin layer of slime. A leathery whip of a tail waved lazily, but twitched every so often, as a cat’s does when it’s stalking a bird.
And oh God, the eyes. Piercing. Glowing. Green. Even though they didn’t have pupils, I felt as though they were staring right into my soul, as if it knew me. Well, I suppose, in a way, it did. Piercing. Glowing. Green.
The Beast took a step forward, and exhaled, sending a putrid blast of hot air right into my face. I wanted to step back, to gag, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from those eyes. It almost looked amused. Such easy prey, won’t even run or scream? Who wouldn’t be pleased?
As if dancing, it took a few steps back again, but faster this time, in the feline way that is trademark of a hunter. Still I didn’t move. The brute licked its lips and crouched, haunches taut, ready to spring. I wanted to scream, even though no one was around. I wanted to run, even though my legs seemed to be ignoring the nervous impulses from my brain. The Beast blinked slowly once, for the first and last time, exhaled and pulled back its lips to reveal a mouthful of pointed yellowing teeth set in diseased gums.
Then it pounced.
Finally, my legs obeyed my brain, and I leapt to the right, landing in a puddle of sludge and rolled out of harm’s way at the last second. The thing crashed face-first into the ancient pine behind me, completely shattering the wood as if it were as fragile as glass. It seemed dazed, and shook its head a few times to try and regain control of itself. Some tiny voice in my head finally spoke up: Run, Dawn!
So I ran. Scrambling to my feet, I took off like a bat out of hell, leaping fallen logs, ducking branches and splashing through puddles. I slipped and slid my way through small streams and crashed over bramble bushes before I stopped. I don’t know how long I ran for. Fear is a funny thing; when your life is in danger, you’ll run faster and for longer than you knew you were capable. I bent over, gasping for air, and a sharp pain shot through my left ankle.
Great. Limping to a tree, I noticed there was a small hollow inside. It wasn’t very spacious, or very strong, but it would do for now. I crawled inside and sat with my back against the closed end of the trunk. It was only then that I realized I was crying. No, not crying; sobbing. Great gulping sobs that leave you breathless and exhausted, the kind of crying that only comes after a shock. When I managed to regain control of my emotions, I laid my head against the back of the trunk, and waited for the rain to stop.