Beastly Beautiful

Every year, in our village and the neighbouring villages, we encounter, on what is suppose to be the most divine and celebrated day of the year, a visit from the 'big bad wolf'. At least that's what the children call him. Adults like to call him inhuman or a wild ravenous monster. However, the majority settle for beast. No one knows why he ruins this specific day for us, the day we can celebrate our species: werewolves. Some despise him for taking this day from us and forcefully exchanging our merry and joyful laughs to screams of fear. When that specific day of the year approaches us, none of us are ever prepared for it. He always comes at night. We are told to lock our windows, draw our curtains and our doors. We are told to hide. There's one main rule that we have: don't look at him. Because if you do, no one knows what'll happen to you. Maybe that's the worse part, not knowing your fate. Not knowing the outcome of your foolish actions. If he comes roaming your streets, you have a right to be scared. Us maidens are always encouraged to hide ourselves the most, it's women that he supposedly wants more. However, I believe that that is a cautionary excuse. He'll take you, no matter how old or how young, no matter how innocent or how corrupt, no matter your gender, all it takes is a look. Either he looks at you, or you look at him, or you both exchange looks. Either way, his senses will pick you up, and you can't hide. It'll be too late.

The day had come where the beast would visit us. Worry had churned the minds of the villagers for weeks now. Nausea seemed contagious and fear seemed to spread like wildfire. And the worst part about wild fires are that they are difficult to stop. Fear etched into the faces of the villagers, sweat trickled down their faces and they all seemed to be in their own thoughts.

Fear was natural in this scenario, it was what had kept us all alive. We all took great precautions: investing in several locks; shutting all the windows; screwing wood against all the doors; spreading fear to keep one another safe; telling frightening stories of it and hiding before it would come.

Of course, it had brought us all closer as a community. We were more interwoven with one another. We cared for one another. But we cared more for ourselves. Fear can make a good man known, but it can make a man selfish.

The rich members among us invested in the best safety items, not caring to share. Silver was expensive these days, let alone for its use as jewellery. Unlike the rich families - or even the middle class - mine could not dip our locks or our physical barriers with silver, let alone use silver metal as they do.