Beithir

Chapter One -- The Old House

    “A Monster lives there,” a balding man in his thirties said. “At least, that’s what they say. People who go there have never come back. No bodies can be recovered. They try, of course - the families do but… no one comes back from there. People have decided it’s best to leave the old house alone.”
    “The house used to be owned by a sweet man,” an elderly woman who wore a white kerchief in her hair told him. “The story was passed down to me from my great grandmother who knew him at the church. Handsome, always smiling, wonderful with kids. Then one day, he never stepped out of his home. His body was never retrieved. And anyone who tried to investigate, disappeared. They say he was killed. They say it was by a shadowy creature. I know, it sounds like utter nonsense, but it’s hard not to wonder about, now isn’t it?”
    “Crying. Screams,” a young blonde woman said to him in a hushed tone. “It comes from the house sometimes. It could be a ghost or - or just the wind but - no. No, something must be there.”
    Shane talked to the people of Kilan, a small coastal village on Inishmore island in Ireland. Every answer he got was similar: there is something bizarre, dark and sinister at that old house on the outskirts of the village. He lived here for twenty-eight years, and his interest in the seemingly abandoned home only started when a friend of his went missing when he went there with two of his buddies a few months ago. The other two were found dead in their homes with deep claw marks. Normally, he passed it off as an animal attack, and he used too, or he thought it was just a story, but now, his friend is gone and the people he talked to about it made him curious. Now, he is staring down an old three-story house perched at the bottom of the small hill, guarded by alder trees. The siding has sun-bleached wooden planks with remnants of faded blue paint in spots the sun couldn’t reach. The windows were either cracked or dirty, or wood planks hid the broken remains to prevent the wind and rain from getting in the house, or it was a mixture of all three. The house has a porch that wraps all the way around to the back, with stairs that lead up to the door. The grass, weeds and flowers around the base of the railing are untamed like it was on the trail he took to get here. 
    He stopped stalling, took a deep breath and pushed himself to step further into the boundaries. The hairs on his neck stood up. He searched the windows vigilantly for a glimpse of some crotchety old man glaring down at him with aggressive distaste, but they remained dark and uninteresting. He climbed up onto the steps which creaked every time he put his weight on the rotten boards. The door is ornate – or it used to be. It has four panels with little reliefs of simple trees in the center. It was white once, but now it was just a splintered and chipped, barely holding onto its hinges. The frame was once ornate as well, but it had so many chunks broken off, it’s hard to tell what it could have been. There is no knocker, or bell of any kind that he can notify the owners of his presence. Whether it was deliberately removed or it was stolen or broken, he wasn't sure, so an old-fashioned knock it is. He raised his fist and hesitated. 
    What if something burst through and grabbed him after he knocked? Maybe he could knock and run? Could whatever be inside catch him? Could he fight it? Would he win?
    You're just thinking about what they told you. You're here to find your friend. Relax, he told himself.
    And then he knocked. He waited a moment. Nothing. 
    He knocked again. Nothing. 
    He lowered his eyebrows and looked up at the old building. Then he stepped to the side and peered into the dusty window. There are stairs, a door frame beside it with no door that led into what he assumed is a kitchen, but that's all he could see.
     Something fell behind the house. Something of heavy iron rustling through grass or bushes. 
    He swallowed, pulled himself away from the window and followed the porch to the back of the house. He placed his hand on the siding to keep note on where he is if he needed to run. His heart thundered, trying to break out from its cage to do what he stubbornly refused to do. 
    He craned his head around the back corner of the house, searching over the railing at a carefully maintained garden in the backyard. There are daisies and roses; tomatoes and peppers; a small apple tree and a whole range of ground vegetables from what he could see. Then he saw a young woman bending over and picking up a spade from in the bushes. Her hair is auburn tied off and neatly tucked into a headband of green and yellow. Her dress was black and blue checkered, with a loose white petticoat held neatly to her body with a black corset.
    Shane blinked. Is he seeing a ghost? Or are people afraid of a young woman? His eyes went to the spade. Maybe she was burying her victims in her garden. It made sense. Even so, she didn't appear strong, or fast moving, nor shadowy. 
    "Miss? Hello?" 
    She turned and stared at him with eyes of emerald. Her face is young and beautiful. She looked about mid twenty, but even so, she looked mature. Knowing. 
    She shook her head. "You shouldn't be here."
    "What? What do you mean?"
    "You have to go," she said as she stepped up the porch stairs. "As soon as you came here, you put your life on the line. You must leave. Now."
    "Wait, but - what about you? Why are you here?"
    He caught her nervous smile before she forced him around to walk back down the porch. "I live here. It's a long story."
    He craned his head back to look at her. "Live here? This house? You live in this house?"
    "I told you. It's a long story. Now leave or - or else..."
    "Or else?" He scoffed. "Or what? What will you do?"
    "Not me." He saw her glance up at the building with apprehension in her eyes. A stone dropped in his stomach. "Him." 
    He knew it. "Him. Someone… else lives here."
    The woman’s eyes went back to him. "Look, he probably - he knows you are here. And if you want any chance of survival, you have to leave now. Now go." She said with a shove. 
    He turned to her and lowered his voice. "Are you being kept here?"
    "You don't have time to-"
    "Go with me then. We can both go, and I’ll protect you. We can notify the Constabulary and-"
    "You can't. No one can save me. I'm not going to ask again. Please, for your sake, leave."
    "Those people couldn't but not me. I came here to get answers and I'm not-"
    He wasn't sure at first, but behind the young woman, a figure stood on the porch, just before the steps, thin and tall, red eyes on him. A shadow with a hat. 
    Oh no. No, no, no. "That - is that-"
    She closed her eyes. "Go. Please."
    They were all right, and he was just a foolish man. 
    Go. 
    He turned and ran, and he left the girl and the shadow behind him. 

    The sun started to go down when he got to the village. Shane shoved people out of his way, ignoring their bewildered, angry screams behind them. He doesn’t have time for them. He had to go to the Constabulary. They will help him. They will help him save that girl, and they’ll protect them. Then again… 
     He slowed down to walk, following the same pace as the crowd, though not quite as discrete with his perspiration. He glanced back on occasion hoping that thing wasn’t following home.
     Wouldn't people have gone to the police before? Wouldn't have they done something already? Maybe they did try. They must have. Maybe no one was strong enough to fight it, and whoever they sent to investigate, or to protect the victims where killed. If that was the case, he was out of luck. There is nothing they would do. He needed to make a plan. 
     At the other side of the village, he turns down a small road and chatter turns into the crunch of his shoes on the dirt road. Oak trees stood side by side along the length of the road in front of each property like guardians. Little pathways of stone or dirt lead down to the house’s front door. Shane liked that about the street he lived on. The trees provided him privacy and security, and though his house is at the very end, he didn’t mind. People liked the easy access; he liked the quiet. 
    He frowned and turned. His eyes searched the road, in the trees, and the houses. He could have sworn someone was walking behind him. His mind must be playing tricks on him. He is recovering from the effects of adrenaline and paranoia. But… but he could have sworn-
    Calm down, Shane. Just go home. Barricade the door and board the windows and get something to drink. We’ll figure this out, he thought to himself.
    He let himself look around one last time before continuing down the road. 
    Shane stepped down the stone path leading up to his little two-story house and peered at the long grass in front of it as he passed by, searching for his keys. He should probably cut it honestly.      
    He stopped in front of the stain faded door, took out his keys, unlocked it, stepped inside and grabbed a candle holder. His house is simple: a main room, a fireplace, a kitchen, and a bedroom upstairs. He took out a match and lit the candle and observed his door carefully. The door is rather thin. Well worn. It's a good door. Aged, but good. Probably not against whatever that thing was. Not even a bit, no. 
   He shut the door, went to the couch and shoved it against the door. Then he looked at his windows. That, too, was easy to break. He didn’t get a good judge on the size of the monster, but it could probably find a way to fit. He grabbed a few planks of wood he left leaning by the front door, and then went to the kitchen, opened a cabinet door and took out a hammer and some nails. He brought the first board over the window and hammered it into the frame. One board per window should be fine, considering he didn’t have many boards to spare for each one, and he didn’t have time to go and cut more. Well, actually, he didn’t want to go out and cut more with the possibility of that thing out there wanting to kill him. So, one board had to be enough.
    Afterwards, he put the hammer back in the kitchen cabinet, put the candle holder down and ran some water into a glass. He sipped from it and looked at the bottom as he swirled the water around. Next morning. He’ll figure out something next morning when his mind is clear. He picked the candle holder up and stepped into the main room. 
   “Nice house yah have.” 
    Shane dropped the candle holder and the candlelight extinguished. Shane was left staring at red piercing eyes as the tall creature stood in his living room. He could see the smile still in the fading sunlight, broken yet wicked, from the jagged teeth jutting from its mouth. From this distance, he noticed it had – at least from what he can tell – very large pointy ears. He looks more like a tall grotesque man than a shadow creature like everyone had said.
    The figure tilted its head. “Not going to welcome your guest? I suppose my appearance warrants some shock, hm?” Its orotund voice echoed mildly after it spoke.
    Shane’s lungs failed him, and he could only manage a squeaky, shameful ‘what’ in response.
    “I didn’t get a chance to welcome my little visitor. Such a pity that they always run away. So, I thought I’d make a good first… "impression.”
    “Please,” he managed, “please don’t kill me. I… I don’t want to die. I just wanted to – I heard my friend went missing and I just wanted to find him.”
    “Kill you?” The creature said with shock in its voice. “What on Earth made you think I would do something like that?”
    “Y-you followed me to my house. People have- people go missing when they go to that house. They are murdered in their homes.”
     It nods with acknowledgement. “I suppose, I can't argue with that, but I assure you, I did not come here to kill you.”
    “Then, why… why are you here?” He asked.
    “I told you: first impressions. How rude of a host I would be if I didn’t.” The figure took off its hat, revealing a silhouette of small horns, and he gave a small bow of his head. “M’name is Thomas Hayes. I'm, as you can tell, not quite a human." He put the hat back on and nodded his head to him. “And your name, lad?”
    He swallowed. "Shane."
    “Wonderful name. It’s… simple.”
    “So, are you… you're going to let me live?”
    A playful tilt of its head. “For now.”
    His heart jolted. “Please, I’ll do anything. I don’t want to die. I only wanted to help my friend, that’s all. You have to let me go.”
    The Monster stepped forward. “And you’re brave. Very brave. And very foolish.”
    “I’ll do anything, I swear. I will never bother you again. Please. I’ll do anything.”
    Its smile stayed but its voice emanated with annoyance. “There is nothing you can offer me, lad. Just don’t try to fight too much. I would hate to leave a mess.”
    His hands caught the stairs before he could even breathe out his next word. His cheek hurt and it took a moment for his vision to refocus before he realized his blood was dripping on the step.
     Then he lifted off the stairs, cold blade like claws digging into the flesh of his arms and he slammed into the floor. His warm blood soaked his shirtsleeve from the new gouges he earned.
   “Just stay down. Don’t try to fight back.” He said, gentleness in his voice.
    Shane ignored the Monster and got to his feet again, but the Monster’s elbow rammed into his face, and he stumbled back. Then the wind knocked out of him with a heel to the ribs and he hit the floor again, rolling until he slammed into the chair. His head spun and his body screamed with pain. He heard the Monster’s footsteps step toward him. He lifted his head to see dusty shoes.
    “Alright, enough, lad. You tried your best. It’s time to give up.”
    Shane got his elbows beneath him and tried to lift himself off the ground again. The Monster let out a sigh and slammed its foot down on his back, ramming his chest into the floor. 
    And then he screamed. He cradled his broken leg, tears flowing from his eyes from the pain. The Monster broke it with one swift, forceful movement of his leg. He managed to catch the wide grin it had. Sick with satisfaction. Twisted with amusement. 
   “Well, now,” it said softly, “are we done fighting your guest now? Good. I think you deserve a small rest.” 
   He couldn’t protest. He could only listen to the slow footsteps approaching his face. He managed to see it tilt its head, those red eyes blurry in his vision before everything went black.

   His blurry vision saw fire. It faded. His vision saw the roofs. It faded. His vision saw the house. It faded.

   Two voices – one male and one female – argued back and forth when his brain started up again. The pain of his broken leg clambered back, and he whimpered. He preferred being unconscious. He tried to open his eyes and it felt like little needles were under his eyelids. One eye couldn’t open. It’s much too swollen. However, the vision in his good eye focused on a young boy who stared at him. He looked to be around ten, and though he was hiding behind the blue checkered dress, he wasn’t unnerved by a man laying on the floor of his home, brutally beaten. The boy has an over-sized white shirt and a baggy pair of black trousers for clothes. He has little claws on his fingers and on the toes of his feet which are bare and raven black hair. It is clear the child belonged to the Monster. But those emerald green eyes…
   That girl.
   The Monster is keeping them here hostage. They needed help. They needed his help. He needed to get them out of here. He needed to get out of here. 
    “Why couldn’t you just leave him alone, Thomas? He was leaving. He wasn’t doing anything to us.” The girl’s voice said.
    “Word spread easily. One person tells another and then suddenly a hundred knows. Would you rather me kill one or kill a hundred?” Thomas said. 
    “I’d prefer if you didn’t kill people at all.” 
    “It’s a necessary sacrifice to keep this safe.”
    “It is not. You make up these- these ridiculous lies just to convince yourself that what you are doing is okay. It’s disgusting!”
    “I never said it wasn’t ‘disgusting’ or ‘okay’, I said it was necessary. You can oppose of my actions all you wish, Anne. My mind is set and frankly, I am in control here.”
    Shane could feel the frustration in the quick pause. “And what of Jack? You think it’s alright for him to see something like this?”
    “Well, now you’re reading my mind, sweetheart.” 
    “What... do you mean by that?” Her voice resonated with caution. 
    “Jack is going to accompany me as I teach our lovely visitor some manners.”
    “Thomas, you can’t do that!” 
    Shane brought his arm underneath him and gritted his teeth with the pain as he lifted himself from the ground.
    “I think I can.”
    “He’s ten.”
    “And that’s the best time for him to learn.”
     Her hand moved down, shielding the child. Shane watched them and pushed himself backwards.
    “I won’t allow it.”
    “That’s hardly your choice.”
    “I am his mother. I deserve a choice.”
    “And I am his father.”
    He got to his hands and his on his one good knee. His eyes bounded between them, hoping they didn’t notice. 
     “Then maybe you should act like it.” She said.
     There was a silent pause, and the girl hit the floor and the child let out a scream. She cried softly. The boy stayed beside his mother, hands together at his chest, his eyes on his father. The Monster then turned its head to the child, stepped over to him, and picked him up.
    Then it turned to Shane with a maniacal grin.
    He turned and used his adrenaline to crawl away as fast as he could. The footsteps got closer. But he wasn’t far from the door. Just a little farther and-
    No, no, no.
   The door slid away from him. Shane clawed at the floor trying desperately to find a grip, but he isn’t strong enough. He tried to grab anything. Nothing worked against its strength. Everything moved too fast. There’s nothing he can do. It’s too late. He’s like them. 
    He failed.