Photo by Jonas Jaeken on Unsplash
THE
BEASTS BENEATH
Lavender and bubbles lapped at her skin
as Allison sank deeper into the tub. For the first time in weeks, she felt
almost safe. Then—
“Allison.”
Her mother’s lilting voice slipped into
her thoughts like a ghost, dragging her seventeen years into the past.
~~*~~
“Allison.”
The sound floated through her room,
soft as an angel’s caress.
“Allie, I need you.”
She hurried to the kitchen.
“Hey, sweetie pie, I’d love your help
with dinner.” Her mother’s smile was warm.
“Sure, Mom. What can I do?”
“Go downstairs for a jar of green beans and pickled beets. We’re celebrating
Halloween with your dad’s favorites. Hurry, he’ll be home soon. Then we’ll all
go trick-or-treating.”
Allison froze. The basement. That swamp
of shadows and ghouls. Not tonight. But her mother’s knife kept chopping
potatoes, steady, expectant.
Hand trembling, she twisted the knob.
The door creaked. A breath of rot curled into her nose.
Eyes glowed in the dark—red,
unblinking. For an instant, she thought she saw more than one pair,
shifting, watching, before they sank back into the shadows.
Something waited at the bottom of the
steps. Horns. Teeth. Sores that oozed poison.
“Allison…” it rasped.
Her scream split the house. She slammed
the door and fled, cowering behind the recliner until her mother’s arms found
her.
“Honey, there’s no such thing as
monsters. Daddy fixed the light. No more shadows.” Her mother kissed her hair.
“We’ll go together. I’ll prove it.”
Allie shook her head, sobbing. “I saw
his eyes. He called my name.”
“It’s your imagination. I’ll prove it.”
She planted her feet, but her mother
marched to the basement door. “This is the last time, Allie.” The light clicked
on. “Wait till your father gets home. I wanted to tell him how you helped with
dinner, how grown-up you are. Now what will I say?”
Her voice was strong, reassuring, even
while scolding. Step by step, she disappeared down the stairs. Jars clinked.
Allison wiped her tears—Mom’s right.
I’m eight—time to grow up.
Footsteps returned. Relief
bloomed—until her mother’s face froze.
Terror. A silent scream in her eyes.
Claws burst from the shadows, locking
around her ankles—then another set raked up her legs. She shrieked as
jars shattered, crimson brine splattering across the floor. Her body slammed into
the concrete below.
But it was the beasts’ howl—that carved
itself forever into Allison’s nightmares.
~~*~~
“Allison!”
Her husband’s voice dragged her back to
the present.
They’d moved into her childhood home
two months ago—an inheritance she’d begged to sell. Tom had insisted they stay.
“Where are my tools?” The back door
slammed. Muddy boots stomped. “How many times do I have to tell you not to
touch my stuff?”
He stormed into the bathroom, where the
broken lock dangled uselessly.
She pulled her knees tighter. “I moved
them to the basement, like we agreed.”
He yanked the plug from the drain.
“Where’s dinner?” His eyes swept the room. “Beauty queen, huh? You’re just an
old hag now.” He swept her toiletries from the counter; glass shattered against
tile.
Her voice cracked. “I—I had the
workshop built for your birthday. The contractor finished today. All your tools
are organized.” She wrapped herself in a towel. “Happy early birthday.”
Tom paused, suspicion narrowing his
eyes. Then he laughed. “I’ll be damned.”
His greasy hand twisted in her hair.
She winced as his kiss broke skin, drawing blood. His voice dropped to a growl.
“Don’t bother getting dressed. I’ll be right back.”
She waited until he left, footsteps
fading, before rinsing the filth of his touch from her skin.
But screams tore through the
floorboards.
Allison froze, heart hammering. For a
moment, she was eight years old again, staring into glowing eyes. Then, slowly,
a smile spread across her face. She rinsed the last of his touch from her skin,
wrapped herself in her robe, and reached for the phone. “Call the police, then
the real estate agent,” she whispered, dialing 9-1-1 as she walked downstairs.
The creak of footsteps stopped her
cold.
Tom staggered into the kitchen,
drenched in blood. His grin was wide, feral. In one hand, he clutched the
severed head of a horned beast, its eyes still glowing faintly as if death
hadn’t claimed them.
“That new hatchet sure came in handy.”
He laughed, breath ragged.
Then the laugh curdled into a snarl. He
raised the ax again, stepping closer. “Your turn, bitch!”
From the open basement door behind him,
red eyes blinked in the dark.
Allison’s lips curved into a thin,
knowing smile. “Behind you.”
The floor trembled. Clawed hands shot out, wrapping around Tom’s ankles. His scream ripped through the house as he was yanked backward, the severed head and ax still in his hands. The basement door slammed shut, his cries muffled by the beast's roar rising from below.
Allison stood in silence, the receiver still in her hand, and whispered to the empty kitchen:
“Told you there were monsters.”
© Yolanda Renée 2025
833 Words
Published initially as The Workshop for the WEP on October 20, 2015, and rewritten for this Halloween celebration.
HAPPY
HALLOWEEN!
Photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash
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