Twenty-Five years later…
“It’s terrible! Absolutely terrible!”
“Och! Are ye serious? Another sighting?”
“Aye! At Reed’s Grocery, I hear. They apparently raided the place; tore it asunder!”
“Bloody hell! This is the second sighting in—what?—three… no, two weeks!”
Abigail couldn’t help but to listen in as she finished ringing out her last customers at the pub. The regarded with just enough attention to be certain their money wouldn’t drop on the floor, but otherwise ignored her as they talked amongst themselves. Though she’d tried her best not to eavesdrop, the sheer volume and energy behind the gossip proved too great and she found herself drawn more and more into the subject. A part of her ached to ask them what they were talking about, even though deep down she knew exactly what they were talking about, but a little voice in her head reminded her over and over that that would be crossing the line. The only gossip that the villagers went on about with this much detail were the exact thing that Abigail had obsessed over for years. She had just started the job, and though waitressing was already proving just as tiresome and tedious as she’d expected she wasn’t about to risk it out of a wandering curiosity. Besides, she was already sick of the clientele, and if anything could prove worse than insulting them by barging into their conversation it would be enticing them to include her and risk having them stay longer. Not that they wouldn’t be back, of course. They were among the most regular of the pub’s regulars—she often wondered why they bothered leaving at all when it was likely they’d be back in only a few short hours—and, even in the short time she’d been there, they’d established themselves as painfully familiar faces, always sitting in the same places within the same booth and reciting whatever different-yet-always-the-same gossip each new day delivered. The repetition of it all was dizzying, making it hard to tell one day from the next, and Abigail often panicked at the idea that one or more of the elderly women might choose something different one of these days and catch on that she’d stopped listening to them when they placed their orders. Every meal was the same, though, and just as predictable was the nature of their conversations: complaints about the latest fashion trends, the arrogance of this generation, affairs that they’d caught wind of… yadda yadda yadda. Always—ALWAYS!—the same! Except for now, Abigail found (and didn’t that just figure?).
“Do ye think they’ll ever be able to catch one?”
“I certainly hope so!”
“I doona! It would be most dreadful! I mean, they’d probably tear apart anyone who even tried!”
“Mercy me! That’s too dark for my liking!”
As eager as she was to ring out and close up, the break in habit and their words tempted Abigail in a way that challenged even her desperation to be done with work. By some strange miracle, though, she kept her curiosity to herself and watched as the most regular regulars left with the most irregular sense of conflicted interest. Moments later, though, freed by the curiosity’s spell with their absence, Abigail moved on, locking the door and beginning the process of closing up.
“Another sighting?”
“… raided the place; tore it asunder!”
“Bloody hell! This is the second sighting…”
“Do ye think they’ll ever be able to catch one?”
“… they’d probably tear apart anyone who even tried!”
Abigail replayed the most interesting parts of the conversation in her mind, trying to hold back an outburst, hold back the obsession she had kept stowed away for so long.
Keep it together, Abby…
This wasn’t disrespectful, opinioned, over-privileged and underdressed kids, and it certainly wasn’t the disgusted-yet-excited update on the rumors of Father O’Mally’s “randy fingers” and whose skirt they’d found their way into this week. No, this was different; there was fear and substance there—a genuine subject built around the wellbeing of their community.
This is no’ a time to be obsessing over the bea—
“Abby!” her boss’s voice yanked her from her thoughts. “What are ye still doin’ here? Yer shift was over ten minutes ago!”
She turned her eyes to the clock on the wall and flinched. More than anything else Ross hated paying overtime, and in his eyes any shift that ran late was an attempt at extra money. Any other time she might have tried to argue that the demands of the job had kept her late, but he’d caught her scrubbing the same circle on the table she was cleaning for… how long had it been? “Ah!” She hurried to tuck the rag into her apron pocket and appear in a hurry to leave (an easy show since she was) and carried the last of the dishes towards the back. “S-sorry, Ross! I didn’t see the time!”
“‘Sorry’? Well, sorry t’say ye won’t be gettin’ paid for those ten minutes! Ye doona expect me to be payin’ ye to sit around dreamy-eyed and dumb, do ye?” he demanded, glaring down at her and grabbing the dishes before turning away. “I’ll be finishin’ these m’self, but doona go thinkin’ I’m happy about it, y’hear? Now, ye best be gitten’ out o’ here! It’ll be dark soon!”
“R-right. Of course. Thank ye,” she did her best to give him a smile while wondering if his warnings about it getting dark had anything to do with the most regular regulars conversation. “I… uh, yea—have a good night, Ross!” she called back, ignoring the ongoing irritated mumblings, as she slipped out through the back entrance.
As she made her way out into the village streets, she thought back to the rumors of the beasts. Though the stories varied a great deal depending on who was telling them—no one had ever truly seen them, after all—there were certain details that always seemed to remain the same. The exact size could never be agreed on, but they were undeniably larger than any man. Most accounts sized them at about three or four meters in height, and as wide across as the tallest of their village. Like a fisherman’s tale, however, the numbers became evermore unbelievable as they acquired more attention and got more drink in them. But sobriety, it seemed, was not enough to stave off the beasts, though it did seem to narrow the details of the accounts. In those instances, the beasts’ size and ferocity seemed more reasonable, often leading the conversation towards the subject of bears or wolves. Such reasonable claims were, however, taken as insults to those who’d seen things differently (or those who believed strongly enough to argue without having seen them themselves), and the ensuing fights would soon swallow any notion of realistic creatures roaming the landscape.
Bears. Wolves. Ghosts. Demon-hounds. It was impossible to get a clear idea of what was being described when all the stories could only seem to agree that they were “large.”
Abigail sighed and absently twirled a finger through one of her blonde curls, her curiosity hazing her vision as she navigated the streets more out of routine than sight. There was something to the stories; whether or not anybody could agree on what they were, she knew that the beasts had to be real. Whether they were animals or men who’d run off to live like animals in the mountains, she couldn’t be sure, but she was sure that they were out there.
And that certainty only made her that much more eager to see them for herself.
Neither a drunk nor a seeker of attention for boasting exaggerated tales, what she saw with her own eyes would serve to put an end to the nonsense. For her, at least. She’d know better than to challenge the others’ stories once she had her truth—hell, she’d know better than to share that truth with any of them—but when she passed by another boisterous, blundering fool speaking of what they’d seen, she’d be able to roll her eyes and carry on without that irritating spark of curiosity burning away at her attention.
But it wouldn’t be easy.
Abigail’s parents were terrified of the rumors. Moreso, it seemed, than any of the other villagers. If a merchant were to arrive with barrels of ale that they swore would keep the rumored beings away, she was certain her parents would buy out their entire stock and bathe every inch of their home and its occupants in the stuff. The lengths and degrees that their fear of the beasts knew no limits, and if they suspected for even one second that she, their own daughter, held a fraction of the intrigue that she did they’d likely have her locked away, quarantined, and exorcised. At the very least she’d never be allowed out of the house.
Shivering at the thought, Abigail pushed onward, reminded of the lecture she was probably already in store for.
“Abby?” the sound of her friend, Tarah, calling her jostled her out of her thoughts and she turned in greeting.
“Tarah? What are ye doing out this late?”
“Och!” her friend rolled her eyes, “Doctor Spencer didn’t even come in today—prolly drunk off his arse again—and I was stuck handling all o’ his appointments!”
“Oh my… again?” Abigail gave her a sympathetic look.
“Aye, an’ I know better than to think this was the last time.” She muttered and let her head fall back, exhausted. “It wouldn’t be so bad if the others would just take me seriously.”
Abigail offered her a pout. “They still doonat?”
“Doona get me started!” Tarah groaned.
Though she’d proven herself dozens (if not hundreds) of times over to be a better physician than the drunkard whose name hung over the office door, Tarah hadn’t been able to shake the title of “nurse.” Whether this was some sort of unconditional respect to Doctor Spencer or, more likely, that nobody could bring themselves to trust a female doctor was something that went unspoken, but neither of the two saw it as much of a mystery. Worse yet, Doctor Spencer had gained a fair amount of global recognition after convincing Tarah to let him publish several of her theories under his name. Though Abigail couldn’t begin to understand what any of her friend’s findings meant, she knew full well that they were hers, but, despite this, she’d seen no credit or earned no wealth as a result of their publication. Doctor Spencer, on the other hand…
The whole thing made Abigail want to drag the “good doctor” out into the streets by the hair and expose him as the fraud he was, but she knew that doing so would put Tarah out of a job and condemn the village to an incompetent man basking in the role of a martyr.
Tarah yawned and, pulling off her spectacles, rubbed at dark and sunken eyes with the thumb and pointer finger of her opposite hand.
“Ye look like ye haven’t slept in ages!” she frowned. “How long have ye been up?”
“I doona—two days? Maybe three.” Tarah shrugged and looked away, trying to hide her exhausted features from her friend. “The extra appointments kept me from finishing my research, so I had to—”
“Why do ye even bother? He doesn't even give ye credit!”
“It’s no matter if I get credit or no’, Abby. It helps people. Simple as that,” she sighed.
“I suppose… I still canna say I approve of ye hurting yerself like this,” she sighed. “And to be out so late…”
“Oh aye? And what about ye? Prattling on about the hour when yer standin’ here plain as me!” she raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised yer ma hasn’t started hollerin’ for ye yet!” she laughed.
Abigail scowled at that. “I’m surprised she hasn’t called the entire village out on a search.”
Tarah laughed again, then asked, “So why are ye out this late?”
“Same as ye: work.” She gave Tarah a face, “‘Cept I doona get to help people or even take pride in what I do. An’ that’s likely the only reason Ma is alright with it; she can see past me workin’ late so long as she knows I hate it enough to hurry home once it’s done. But that’s where she’s wrong,” Abigail grinned, making up her mind, “because I’m no’ going home yet either.”
“What? It’s nearly dark, Abby! It’s dangerous out now, especially with the…” Tarah paused and looked up at her, her eyes sparkling with suspicion. “Ye wouldn’t be thinking of going out there, would ye?”
“I…” Abigail found herself wondering how Tarah might react to her plans. “I doona know,” she half-confessed. “But even if I was thinking it, I’d be safe!”
“Safe as a mouse in a cat’s claws!” Tarah shook her head. “It is way too dangerous! “Please… doona do it!”
“I havna even thought if I would or no’!” she lied. “Anyway, ye should be getting some rest! Otherwise, ye’ll be of no help to yourself or others… even with yer research!”
“I know…” Tarah nodded, shifting her suspicious gaze back to her. “Ye’ll head right home… promise?”
“Aye! I will! I will! Och, yer worse than my ma! Now go! Off with ye!” Abigail gave Tarah a gentle push away and made a show of starting towards her house.
Tarah’s eyes lingered a moment longer on her, and Abigail wagged her fingers in a playful farewell before turning away and committing to the show of walking home. Then, after a painfully long moment of not looking back, she dared a glance to make sure Tarah was, in fact, out of sight before switching directions and heading towards the outskirts of the village.
As if her curiosity wasn’t enough of a motivator before, she now had a new goal pushing her forward. She was tired of everyone doubting her on her strength and tired of denying her own desires for the sake of others.
She needed to know the truth…
And she had to prove, if only to herself, that she was strong enough to follow through on something for herself.
Besides, she was tired of doing everything she was told.
Taking a deep breath, she set out towards and finally into the forest to sate the curiosity she had been holding back for so long.