The Beast

The night was cold and dark, except for the full moon and some flickering lanterns. A breeze rushed over me as I stood on the stone walls that protected this sleeping town. My name is Martin Bantien, the newly instated captain of the guard. That night was awfully quiet; it didn’t bother me, business as usual... in the middle of nowhere.

Whilst I was walking down the desolate streets, I heard a wolf howling in the distance as I made my way back home. There, I went straight to bed, it was already very late and I had to wake up early the next morning. As I started to dose off, I heard the howls again.

A couple of hours later, I was suddenly woken by loud bangs on the door and the guard calling me. I rushed over, only to find carnage and two wounded guards telling me that some ‘beast’ is attacking the town. As I came outside, I heard another howl. Only this time, I finally know what it was, a Nauro �" a Werewolf. I didn’t know how to act, I was too afraid to act. The beast jumped down from a rooftop and landed near me. I ran as fast as I could, the gates were already open as several others fled.

Outside, I heard the screaming of a child and thought about what I was doing. I was supposed to evacuate the people and get the men together, but all I did was run like a coward. So I did what I should have done in the first place and turned back. The men were waiting for me at the barracks as other guards helped to evacuate the town’s people.

With the men rallied, I picked up the sword from the table and lead them to battle with the beast. We were no more than twenty men at the centre of the town, calling out to lure the beast towards us. Silently it crept closer in a moment of ambush. The attack was swift and accurate, we didn't stand a chance. With a lot of luck, the remaining men and I were able to draw him into a trap.

We ultimately killed it with a silver sword in the heart. The men celebrated and cheered, but I couldn’t help to notice the scrape on my lower arm. The next day some masons have already started on rebuilding devastated buildings and statues. Including one dedicated to the twenty men and I, of which most did not survive.

 27 days later;

The wound hasn’t healed yet, I think it actually got worse. Every night I dream of strange and bizarre things. I fear what it might mean.

 A memorial ceremony, honouring those who bravely stood and fell that night, was held today. I was asked to lift the sword that we slew the beast with, as a sign of triumph. Everyone’s dressed up and I was standing in the middle of a stage with the sword in front of me. I reached out to pick it up, but as I did my hand started to sting and I dropped the sword on the floor. Gasps flowed across the crowd as I looked at my hand; a fine impression of the decorations on the handle of the sword was scorched into my skin.

I have denied these signs from the beginning, but now reality has seeped through my walls and I now know that I am diseased. I am becoming the beast.  

Author's Note

This was an essay I wrote for English last year. Comments are welcome.

Reviews

[Vartul]

Hmm. As an essay, thought on the spur of the moment, this is really good. But as a story that is meant to captivate readers, a lot of work is needed here. Nevertheless, i like the effort.