Cat & Mouse
Belle crouched in the corner, her fingers raw from scrambling across the stone floor. The Beast lurked somewhere nearby. She couldn’t tell exactly where, but she didn’t doubt it knew where she was.
It found her first in the forest. She’d been looking for her father. She hadn’t realized she’d wandered so close to the manor. She wasn’t too concerned about it anyway. Everyone knew the stories about the Beast of the manor, but many brushed them off as fairy tales. There were those who swore they were true, that she shouldn’t dismiss them. Well, she did. And now look at her—running around the old abandoned home like a mouse from a cat, desperate for a way out.
It just dragged her in and left her there. Other than the bite on her arm, it had left her relatively unharmed. She’d thought she’d been abandoned, that the beast was too full from whatever else it had eaten. There was plenty of evidence that it wasn’t going hungry. But as soon as she climbed to her feet and made a move for the door, it was there again, barring the door and inching her back with its growls. When she tried to run, it would swat her back and forth like a plaything.
Eventually, Belle found one place the Beast wouldn’t go. It was a hall in the west wing. Something about it seemed to scare it away. No windows. No light. An abandoned hall that smelled of rot. She’d stayed there for a while. A day or two. It may have even been hours. She couldn’t get a solid grasp of time here with all the moments spent running for her life. But soon, the hunger grew too strong, the thirst too dire. She had to leave her refuge.
First, she tried to escape again when she thought the creature was sleeping. But it never slept—or it did so with one eye open and an ear perked because it was always there in a moment, ready to stop her and chase her back to her hiding place.
Another time, she made a move for the kitchen. She didn’t expect to find anything to eat in there that wasn’t a few years past poison. But there was a spigot to a well somewhere. The pipe was rusted and she rummaged to find something to prime it, having to settle for vinegar from dusty jars. When she finally pumped it, the sound was grating. The noise made her heart race as fast as it had during any one of her chases with the Beast. She quickly filled the jars and turned to leave. And the Beast was there, sitting inside the kitchen, just near the door. It didn’t move.
She dropped one jar at the sight of it. Glass shattered across the dirt-strewn floor, but she held to the other two. Slowly, she crossed to the door, eyes on the Beast. It watched, long rumbling breaths rolling around in its throat. Its head turned to follow her, but the creature stayed sitting. Content, seemingly, for her to get what she needed to keep her strength up. To keep running. To stay entertaining.
When she got back to her corridor, she dropped to the ground and drank deeply from the jars. The water tasted like metal and mold. It was the best thing she’d ever drunk in her life. When the second jar was empty, she set it aside and curled her knees up to her chest, absently scratching at the marks on her arm. It burned most of the time and was turning an unpleasant color. She was so thirsty she’d nearly forgotten about it.
She couldn’t keep running. Her stomach twisted in knots from hunger and her wounds itched where they hadn’t quite healed right. She didn’t want to be in the dark, anymore. Shielded from the light and unable to sleep for fear of being set upon by the monster. And even if she were to escape the manor, she wouldn’t make it far. Reaching the door was difficult enough. Moving beyond the grounds would be impossible. She really only had one choice. It was just like the books she read growing up described. The way creatures built their hierarchy in the wild. Kill or be killed...
Either would be better than this.
Belle walked quietly down the dark corridor. To do what she had to, she would need supplies. But she didn’t yet feel comfortable scavenging what she’d need from around the manor—not with the Beast following her every move. But it didn’t come here. And the passage extended far beyond her little nest.
Belle spotted a flint striker on the hearth during her trip to the kitchen the day before. She also dipped some old rags in a long-expired bucket of lard before making her way back to her shelter. She wrapped the grease-soaked fabric to the end of a broken chair leg. It took quickly to a spark from the striker and made a decent torch, though the heat licked her wrists and black smoke stung her eyes as it curled from the flames. It brought her tremendous comfort to finally be able to see the hall in which she’d been sleeping beyond the small haze of light that spilled in every time she entered.
The hall continued much further than she’d expected. The light of Belle’s torch died in the darkness only a few feet away and it made it feel like the passage went on forever. Like a bottomless pit that you could walk into… which she was currently doing.
As she walked, Belle found a few promising items, though most of the area looked as if it had been ransacked. An armoire lay in shambles and paintings were scattered across the floor. It seemed a vase of some kind had been shattered judging by the shriveled rose petals that rested near the mess. Great marks in the walls told her the Beast had been here, at least at some point in the past, even if he was afraid of it now. Wondering what sort of thing could be keeping the creature away sent chills down her spine.
Belle itched at the wound on her arm.
She moved further down the hall and, as she did, the pit in her stomach began to grow. It had been there every moment she’d been trapped in the house, but the feeling of unease was expanding now and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe the chaotic flicker of the torch caused the shadows to dance around her as if striking in at her and swiftly retreating like the head of a viper. Or was it the disheveled mess that increasingly piled up the further she went? Claw marks in the carpet and the wooden floorboards made her think, just for a second, that another beast might be here, waiting. One that was terrifying enough to scare off the one she knew and feared. The thought stopped her in her tracks, but the light of her torch now gently danced on a wall ahead of her. It was the end of the hall. Firelight whipped up against it enough to reveal that there was no other beast lying in wait.
As she approached, the first thing her light revealed was a massive painting. It was the largest she’d seen in the house and depicted a small family. Maybe whoever once owned the manor. A mother and a father. Both smiling which looked even eerier in the decrepit hall. And a… she couldn’t quite make out whoever was standing between them. Tall enough to be a teenager, but the face was torn from the canvas and hanging raggedly. She took another step closer and her foot bumped into something. Startled, she jumped back. On the ground were two mounds shrouded by large curtains. A hoard maybe? Did the creature like to collect things? Her dog at home at done things like that. She reached down to remove the cover and see what the Beast would find so valuable when her fire revealed a large, dark stain on the floor. It began where the mound lay and had long ago soaked into the rug. Her heart seized in her chest. Realizing that these might not be “things” at all, Belle carefully lifted the edge of the fabric. Just underneath, a withered hand protruded out of an old, tattered sleeve. She dropped the cover and stepped back. Her eyes wandered to the other mound. She wanted to run, but her curiosity held her there. She approached it and, with her foot, moved the fabric over. A leathery, bone-thin foot rested in a heeled slipper, too withered to fit anymore.
Gooseflesh pocked Belle’s skin as she looked back up at the painting. She didn’t know about the rest of the clothes, but the shoes matched those the woman wore in the picture. But… their child?
Her legs felt like stone as she approached the painting and pushed the torn canvas back into place. It was still hard to make his face, but she could see tell it was a young man. His eyes peered at her through the cuts in the canvas. They were only layers of oil, but they looked real enough. Blue and hopeful, with a sort of youthfulness to them. Innocent... looking towards some dream of his future. How the artist captured that with a brush she would never know, but she recognized it. Belle had those dreams once, too. She didn’t think she could bare to find his body among the others. The wound on her arm burned again, worse than it had before. Wincing, she released the painting and turned to go when the torchlight glinted off of something mounted to an adjacent wall.
A sword, a rapier to be exact, was mounted to the wall. Unlike the rest of the hall, it was pristine other than a thin layer of dust. And it was exactly what she needed. Standing up on her toes, she removed the sword and rubbed some of the dust away. There was a word etched into the side. “Lumiere.” She smiled. A light in the darkness is exactly what she needed right now. Threading it through her waist sash, she moved back down the hall the way she’d come—determined never to visit this part of the manor ever again.
Hurriedly, Belle tied the rope around the banister and then a support beam. She found another from a moth-nibbled curtain and began tying it around the foot of a chair. The other end would go to a piano—it would be the last. The rest were strewn high and low across the room.
The Beast paced outside. She could tell it wanted to chase her but was too curious about what she was doing. It stalked back and forth outside the room, a thin beam of sunlight glinting off its big, blue eyes every time it passed the thin opening between the doors. She walked towards one wall and made sure the broken plank she’d found was secured properly. It was hard to get it to hang just right, pointing outwards like that. The pitchfork she’d discovered in a closet and a sharpened shaft of wood she’d carved from a broom handle was already positioned as well as she could make them. Belle stopped in front of a heavy brass candelabra on the mantle. It reminded her of herself: the candlesticks wilting, wax dripping down it like tears. Almost like it sympathized with her. Like a friend. Which meant she must be going mad.
She wanted to keep checking the room to make sure everything was just right. But her nerves were too frayed to do it properly and, besides, she probably wasn’t going to survive anyway.
Belle shook her head to clear it and took in a trembling breath from fear. Exhaustion?… hopelessness. Whatever happened, she wanted it to be over. She made her way to the center of the room and stood amidst all the hanging ropes like a spider in her web. Only she felt like the fly.
She raised the sword, “Lumiere,” over her head and looked at the door. The Beast stopped pacing. Its eyes locked on her and waited. Belle wrinkled her nose, just like the beast did with its muzzle when it was really angry—and screamed. She screamed with everything she’d been holding in over the past days out of desperation to stay quiet—to not be heard. To not be found. Her voice echoed across the chipped marble pillars and absorbed into the warped walls.
The beast tore open the door and lunged inside, eyes wide and fierce as Belle’s voice took on a feral rumble at the full sight of him. Her stomach clenched to squeeze out the last bits of air her lungs held. They stood in silence for a few moments, eyeing each other, her hand hurting from her grip on the sword as the Beast stared back. Gauging her. Then its muzzle curled up and it returned the roar. Rage. It wasn’t playing anymore. It knew this was a challenge, and it wasn’t going to back down.
The Beast launched forward. Belle bolted out of reach just as the Beast ran into the first set of ropes. They pushed against its face and chest, making its eyelids pull up in a crazed look. They were no more than strings to the creature though and gave way almost immediately. Belle ducked under the next set of ropes and scrambled ahead just as the Beast crashed into them as well. They were stronger, so it pushed harder, its jaw snapping toward her. Belle felt tears chill her cheeks as she changed directions. The Beast broke through the ropes and rushed forward, slamming into the wall… and the pitchfork that was propped up there. The monster let out a pathetic howl. She hadn’t expected that. A cry like a stray dog being kicked out of the way. She glanced back just as the monster recovered and saw that the pitchfork had gone deep. Only a few feet of the handle stuck out of its side. But the creature didn’t slow.
Belle wrapped an arm around a pillar as she hopped through another set of ropes. The Beast chased, trying to avoid the next obstacle and failing. It broke out and rolled forward, bracing itself against the wall with a great paw just above where the splintered wooden shaft lay. It didn’t even seem to notice it. The second trap failed.
Still, Belle ran. She didn’t have much chance of surviving, but that didn’t mean she was just going to give up. One more. Just one. She turned and crawled through the last tangle of ropes. Her scuffed boot caught on one of them, but it came loose and she stumbled forward. She heard the old piano make a discordant cry as it was suddenly dragged across the room when the Beast tripped into the ropes. A great claw caught her skirt and she fell, turning over as she slid to find the creature looming over her. She swung Lumiere hard into the creature's face. She drew blood, but it braced against it as if the attacks were an annoyance, but nothing more. But she slid to a stop just a few inches from the final trap. The Beast reared for an attack and she braced the sword against the floor, its blade shining even in the dim light.
Belle couldn’t breathe. The weight of the creature had collapased on top of her as warm blood made her already sweaty hands even slicker. Her head pounding with the pressure. She pushed to get out from under it. Luckily, he’d fallen mostly to one side, but it still wasn’t easy. She was able to force herself out enough to scrambled free. She crawled to a wall and fell against it, eyes darting back to the Beast and waited for it to move. Waited for it to get up. But its eyes stared lifelessly towards her. And for a moment, they looked familiar. Stoic. Hopeless. Dreamless of any future… She could just see the steel tip of Lumiere glinting among the coarse hairs on the monster's back, its light fading.
Soon her vision became blurred with tears and she sobbed. The tears were hot and painful and necessary. They poured out fast and but her heart slowed and her mind cleared, they stopped. Because they had to. She needed to move.
Belle stood, eyes still on the beast as she backed through the door. Then she ran for the front entrance. She kept feeling like it was still there, lurking in the shadows, ready to block her path at any moment. Until she pushed through the doors. The sunlight bit at her skin with warmth. The path ahead was clear. Despite her exhaustion, she kept running and didn’t slow until she was at the edge of the grounds. She stopped at the edge of the rose bushes, gasping for air. With each breath, she could smell them as if they were pressed up against her face. The smell was so rich and strong and welcome it almost masked the scent of the Beast on her. Almost unaware, she reached out and plucked one. It pricked her skin, making her bleed. She hardly felt it. She ignored her own blood mixing with the Beasts on her hand. She tucked the rose into her hair and continued away from the manor—the burning from the cut on her arm just one pain among many.
