Chapter 19: The Beast

Violet went over to the tumbled down staircase and examined its construction. Once upon a time it had been a handsome, clean piece of architecture but now most of the wood was damp and moldering. Already Violet could see rain beginning to drip from cracks and discolored seams in the roof.

This didn’t leave her with a great abundance of firewood but after a few minutes of picking through the split timbers and broken boards, she had an armload of material not too studded with nails or staples.

She piled it haphazardly next to the hearth and selected little bits of tinder, much as she remembered being instructed to do back home, when the cat had first been teaching her how to start a fire.

The cat had no insight for her now, but that hardly mattered. Violet remembered its instructions well enough.

It didn’t take long for her to stoke the sparks thrown off by her lighter into a lively little blaze, orangey golden light thrown across the cottage living room in flickery arcs.

For a time she waited, making sure that the fire’s smoke wasn’t backing up into the cottage, but the chimney seemed to be clear and so Violet fetched an iron poker from where it had been leant against the side of the hearth and continued to build her fire up until it filled the room with warmth and light.

She didn’t have many things to hang her wet clothes on so instead Violet simply scooted the empty armchair closer and draped her shirts and pants and skirts over its arms. Gentle curls of steam rose from the damp fabric.

There wasn’t enough space on the armchair to dry everything at once so Violet had to take things in shifts, drying a pair of shirts and then all of her spare socks, one of her sodden blankets and then the rucksack itself. It was surprisingly tranquil work, even if her fingertips began to throb from the relentless heat of the flames, and Violet found herself yawning as she set her dry things aside in a loose, unfolded pile. Her eyes had begun to droop by the time she herself had dried off and changed into a fresh outfit.

It felt very, very nice to be wearing clothes that were warm and dry and clean.

Violet gathered one of her blankets, now toasty and dry, and wrapped it around her shoulders as she surveyed the interior of the cottage. It was hard to believe that she was actually across the river now. The familiar veneer of civilization, faded as it was, seemed to insulate her mind from the true realization that she was entirely surrounded by the unknown.

Snuggling into the rest of her blankets, Violet curled onto the floor in front of the hearth and watched the flames for a time. They crackled and popped, their noise intertwining with the steady drum of rain on the roof above and the gentle plink of water leaking through the ceiling.

It occurred to Violet that she’d forgotten to pack a pillow and instead she dragged a loose tangle of shirts beneath her head and then shut her eyes, vision reduced to a gentle blur of flickering orange and ever expanding black.

It was still raining when Violet awoke, and the living room seemed reduced to an ever expanding gloom but for the last dying traces of purple evening light drifting through the dusty cottage windows.

The fire hadn’t completely died, Violet could feel gentle curls of warmth rolling along the length of her back, but the firewood had long since collapsed to ash and what embers remained were echoes of their former selves, glowing gently amidst a greater dark, like stars in a sea of ink.

Violet yawned and shifted sluggishly in place, wincing as she disturbed old hurts along her shoulders and back. Again she was reminded of just how hard she’d pushed herself to get across the river…

The remembrance that she was indeed far from home settled surprisingly easily as Violet gathered the logic of wakefulness back into her mind, but she still felt a disconcerting shiver of fear that made her feel very, very alone.

But of course she wasn’t.

Before her the cat had draped itself across the back of the nearest armchair in a rumpled but doubtlessly very comfortable position. As if sensing her gaze, one silver eye slid open and suddenly the cat was seated quite formally, not so much as a strand of fur out of place.

“She returns.” The cat remarked, half to itself, then smiled at her. “How was your rest?”

Violet nodded, still slightly bleary, and sat fully up with a groan. Beyond her stiffness she could feel the dull pressure of a headache coiling behind her eyes, not growing any worse but simply slouching sullenly in place.

On top of that she felt quite hungry too. Violet had been fortunate enough never to miss more than a handful of meals in her entire life, certainly she’d never gone a whole day without eating before and now felt strange and slightly swimmy.

“Was I really asleep all day?” She asked. It was hardly a question worth asking but she still felt just a little surprised at herself.

The cat nodded, or its eyes did at least. Violet couldn’t see very much of her companion through the evening gloom and could only really track its movements through its eyes and the occasional flash of sharp feline teeth.

“I suppose we both had a bit of a vacation,” the cat said. “You got to catch up on your rest and I found a lost civilization beneath the floorboards.”

Violet was still not quite awake enough for this to seem very strange to her.

“Oh.” She murmured.

“House mice,” the cat said, a thread of genuinely excited satisfaction entering its voice. “I hardly ever get to see them, it’s always field mice or rats or…well…house mice are creatures of relative leisure, so they’re very soft and agreeable on the palate. No good at running away, either.”

Violet blinked owlishly, then turned to the coals, fetched the iron poker and stirred them back into brightness, squinting into the new light. It hurt her head a little bit but she was still too drowsy to really care. What she wanted more than anything now was a good drink of water and a hearty supper.

The cat quit the armchair and settled more thoroughly in front of the hearth as Violet built the fire back up.

“Don’t make it too large,” her companion warned as Violet went for another piece of wood. “You never, ever want to draw attention to yourself in the dark.”

“Because of the spirits.” Violet mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed.

The cat smiled to itself and laid a paw atop one of the cans, exploring the rippled contours printed into the metal with the very tips of its claws.

“There are worse things than spirits out there.” It said ominously, then tipped the can onto its side and rolled it against the side of Violet’s knee.

She ignored her immediate impulse, which was to ask the cat exactly what those worse things were, and picked up her tin opener instead.

The can proved to contain chicken in a thick, salty broth. Violet pushed it near to the edge of the flames and heated her supper that way, pulling it back with a fork and spoon only when the chicken stew began to bubble.

The cat watched this with some faint curiosity, noise twitching at the rich, luxuriant scent drifting free from the heated can.

“…Do you want some?” Violet asked, following her companion’s gaze, but the cat turned away, suddenly looking quite haughty.

“I prefer my food uncooked.” It said, and retreated to the armchair, eyes glowing out of the dark as Violet had her supper.

To accompany the stew she retrieved her biscuits. They had survived her tumble into the river more or less intact and Violet nibbled along their edges, quietly savoring each bite. It was difficult not to think of home while doing this and Violet felt a lump growing in her throat as she wondered how everyone was.

Her absence had definitely been noticed by now. A part of Violet badly wanted to know how her mother had reacted to the note she’d left, and what she’d done in response. Had she tucked the note away and shown nobody? Had she taken it to the Trade Master?

And what did Maud think?

Violet was so deep in thought that when the cat nudged her with one paw she nearly jumped. Her companion had left its armchair once more and for a strange second Violet thought that maybe it had reconsidered and wanted to try a bite of her supper…but those thoughts curdled even before they could fully form.

The cat’s body language had gone stiff, its gaze piercing off into the dark, across the length of the living room.

“There’s something at the front door.” It said.

Violet shuffled backwards against the hearth and groped for her hatchet. She couldn’t quite remember where she’d put it and found the iron poker instead, clutching the blunt instrument to her chest as she huddled against the stone.

“Is it a demon?” She asked.

The cat had said nothing. Violet tried to speak but her voice failed. It suddenly felt like she didn’t have enough air in her lungs.

“W…” Violet had to take a deep breath and try again. “Wont it be stopped by the sigils?”

The cat flashed her a sudden, irritated look.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Be quiet.” Its whisper came as a hiss and Violet bit back the frightened cascade of questions that threatened to tumble from her mouth. She listened hard for some sign of what was coming but could hear nothing beyond the patter of rain and the unordered cadence of her own thoughts.

The shadows across the room suddenly seemed very deep and dark. Of the tiny, narrow hallway that bordered the front room Violet could see only a tiny slice of definite structure. Everything beyond that had been completely obliterated by the night.

Then, slowly, the front door was pushed open. Violet jumped and was unable to contain a startled little yelp.

The cat didn’t move but Violet could see its fur beginning to puff up. It said nothing, just stared into the blackness.

Violet wanted to ask what to do but her voice had frozen completely. She hoped desperately that she’d hear a cry, some noise of distress as whatever had just opened the front door caught sight of her sigils, but again there was silence but for a whistle of wind that fluttered the corners of her piled up clothes and made the flames in the hearth crouch low. The firelight girding her side of the room guttered, shadows rushing forth to claim formerly illuminated areas. The corner of the hallway Violet could see was plunged suddenly into darkness.

And still she could hear nothing from the front of the cottage.

“Put your shoes on.” The cat said, voice low and weirdly calm. Violet’s gaze, stuttery with fright, flickered down to her feet, bare but for a pair of stockings. Her shoes were right next to her, and she knew wouldn’t take more than a few moments to tug them on and knot the laces into something roughly approximating a bow, but though her mind played the images of what she’d need do, her body remained frozen.

She tried to will herself to pick up her left shoe but had only just gotten her fingers around it when something slid from the shadows at the edge of the hall.

It wasn’t a demon, but that made its form no more sensical. Violet’s first instinct was to look for the sort of patterns that made up a human or an animal, but there were no legs, no arms or any hint of a consistent frame. Instead, all she could see through the shadows were hints of something amorphous and huge, pale as skin never revealed to the sun, and in its center a solidity that was no more welcome than whatever unknowable features contributed to its body.

It wasn’t touching the ground.

For a second Violet thought that maybe the thing she was seeing was hanging from the ceiling like a bat or maybe walking along the walls, but instead she realized that it was suspended like a silk handkerchief in water, billows and twitches of intangible wind informing the unsettling motions that passed through its body…if it could be described as such.

Suddenly it was moving closer. Violet let go of her shoe and instead fumbled to bring up her notebook and the sigil on the cover. She did so, holding it out like a blade, but the thing approaching from the shadows looked upon it with only cursory interest. Violet was not holding her notebook high enough to block view of the beast, and it was only as it reached the edges the firelight and pulled free from the shadows that she put together its shape.

Out from the nighttime murk pulled the bleached and broadly grinning skull of a horse, eye sockets filled with inky shadow, jaws filled with broad, flat teeth.

All around the skull billowed a shapeless, almost plasticky white shroud. The beast could have pulled itself nearly to the height of the ceiling but crept low instead and then suddenly was stopped, its face…if the horse skull really was a face, almost perfectly at Violet’s eye level.

For a moment there was silence, then the skull faced beast spoke in a fashion, words pulling free from the voids behind Violet’s eyes, making themselves irrevocably known. Its jaws were opening, she realized, trying to mimic words spoken in the manner of a demon.

h u n g r e e — p l e a s e

f o o d ? ¿ ?

The beast trembled as it spoke, its jaws not quite meshing with what it was attempting to say, but Violet couldn’t help but be surprised all the same. The beast’s message felt more complete than anything she’d heard from the drainpipe demon.

And it wasn’t moving any closer. Violet looked to the cat and was surprised to see its fur beginning to settle. Now her companion only looked weirdly disgruntled.

“Ignore it.” The cat said at last.

The beast didn’t react to the cat’s words, only stayed perfectly, silently still. Violet squirmed beneath the weight of its unsettling gaze. The cat didn’t seem particularly afraid of the beast, not upon actually seeing it, but that didn’t make Violet feel much better. The cat had also been completely underwhelmed by the drainpipe demon, something that Violet knew was undeniably dangerous.

And the beast wasn’t showing any sign of leaving. Perhaps the cat was right in its implication and the beast wouldn’t attack her, but the thought of spending a night in the same room as it….

Reaching cautiously over, never letting her eyes leave the ominously hovering horse skull, Violet found the can of chicken stew. It was nearly empty, only a little bit of broth left at the bottom, but Violet couldn’t worry about that. She shuffled the can across the uneven floorboards, pushing it with the tip of her poker. The beast watched this with undeniable interest, sinking ever lower as the can approached the tip of its bony nose.

Then, with a strange gingerness, it seized her offering in its jaws and snapped its head back, swallowing the chicken stew, can and all. Violet expected to see the can clatter to the ground from amidst the folds of fabric that made up the beast’s body, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead the beast slid silently back to the other side of the room, nearly hidden amongst the shadows once more.

Its jaws opened.

t h a n k — y o o u ,

g i r l . .

And with that it was gone, vanished back into the night.

Violet slumped against the side of the hearth, caught between the continuing buzz of adrenaline and a cool wash of relief. Her gaze, wide eyed, turned to the cat.

“It didn’t react to my sigil.” She said.

The cat didn’t meet her gaze. It seemed annoyed.

Violet tried again.

“That wasn’t a demon or a spirit…it wasn’t afraid of the light or even of you. What was that?”

“I don’t know,” the cat said at last. “But you shouldn’t have fed it.”