The Forgotten Beast, page 2
“It’s a shame I have to go back into the office after lunch then, and have to miss all the fun getting everything ready for Christmas,” he smoothly says. As if we don’t know he has just been twiddling his thumbs in his office all morning.
My dad is an electrician, he owns his own company, and while he gives his guys days off after the holidays, he could definitely take any calls from home and not have to go into the office. He does this so he doesn’t get roped into helping us, just for us to complain he’s doing it wrong.
“Whatever you say. Don’t think you’ve got us fooled one bit, though. We’ll make sure to eat all the good pie before you get home.” I giggle as he gives me a mock angry face.
My phone chimes in Huxlee’s special text tone. While my mom says goodbye to Dad, I pull it out to see what she’s said.
Huxlee
I hate Black Friday. My sister brought me tea. TEA!
Me
RUDE! I’ll be back soon, don’t worry!
Huxlee
You’re my favorite employee.
I roll my eyes as I tuck my phone back in my pocket. I’m her only employee. Except when I’m out of town and her sister pitches in. Usually when I get back, Huxlee is ready to fall at my feet and beg me to never leave her again. She actually did that. Once. And since I never let her live that down, she has made no mention other than the little texts now and then when her sister is in town.
Once Dad’s gone, it’s time to get down to business. Mom and I rinse the dishes off and put them in the dishwasher. Then we move into the living room where I put all the boxes to start organizing. The living room is always the room that gets the most decorations.
I start by grabbing the outdoor lawn ornaments—we went with the Santa and reindeer set this year, since we did the nativity last year. It takes me a little while, but I manage to wrestle the large things out of their boxes and drag them outside. Finding the extension cords and timers to plug everything into is another challenge. Usually my dad keeps things like that in the garage, so I make my way in there and start digging through everything.
I must be making more noise than I thought. On my fourth box of random cords, my mom calls out, “What are you doing in there, Callie?”
“Just looking for the extension cords and timers,” I yell back.
“Oh, honey, those are up in one of the Christmas boxes. It must be one of the ones you left up in the attic.”
After getting up from where I was digging through the latest box, I close it and put it back where it came from.
Climbing up the attic stairs again for trip number who knows how many for today, I decide I’m going to take a look in the mysterious chest while I’m up here and Mom is distracted.
I can hear her singing to the music playing downstairs. Another tradition of ours is to turn on a massive playlist of all the Pentatonix Christmas albums. I know I’m safe at least until the end of “Deck the Halls” which plays loudly from my Bluetooth speaker. Slowly making my way over to the chest, I pull the key out of my pocket, insert it into the lock, and with a slow turn, the chest softly clicks open.
The wooden top is heavier than I expected, and when I look in, I see dozens of journals. They are several rows deep, and appear to all be leather-bound, some older than others, possibly going back a few generations.
I assume these are some kind of family heirloom-type journals but, my mom’s reaction to my asking about the chest has me suspicious there might be something in here she doesn’t want me to see. Slowly, I run my hands across the spines, deciding which journal I want to grab.
All the journals are labeled on the spine with letters. I run my finger across a few of them. They must be initials for something since there doesn’t appear to be any actual pattern I recognize to words. After the letters, there is what looks like a year. I dig down into the bottom row of the books and pull out what must be the oldest journal. On its spine it reads MM 1740. It’s hard to see all the journals at the very bottom though, so I might be wrong. Clutching the journal in one hand, I close and lock the chest with the other.
Next to me, I notice another box labeled Christmas I hadn’t seen before, and open the lid. Right on top of the box is the extension cords and timers I was looking for. I pull them out, close the box back up, and shove the journal into the back of my pants, pulling my shirt down to cover it before heading down the ladder.
Once I get downstairs, I peek in on my mom and she’s sitting in a chair pulling ornaments out of a box and decorating as high up as she can reach on the bottom of the Christmas tree.
She glances up at me and I smile and hold up the cord and timer. “Found it in a box up there, I’m just going to use the bathroom real quick and then finish setting up outside.”
“Okay, sweetie, no rush at all. I’ve made it into a game to see how high I can reach to place ornaments. See!” She stretches her arm up as high as it can go to hook the ornament on the branch above her.
“Nice, Mom! See you in a few.”
I walk backward out of the room so she doesn’t see the lump under my shirt. My purse is in my old room where I always stay when I come here. Quickly, I shove the leather-bound book deep into the front pocket of my purse. Thank God my purse is the size of Mary Poppins’ bag.
I decide I probably should use the restroom just so my absence, and the sound of the toilet flushing, makes my story seem more plausible. Once I’m done, I grab the extension cord and timer and make my way outside. “I’ll be back in a minute, just have to plug these guys in and get the timer set.”
“Okay, see you in a few,” she replies distractedly, as she’s again trying to reach up as high as she can before doing a little happy dance in her chair. I smile at the ridiculous motion before walking out the door.
After finishing outside, I come in to see she has finished decorating the bottom of the tree and is currently teetering on her good foot to hang some garland.
“Hey, Mom, I can get that.” I gently take the garland from her. The prickly texture tickles my palm as I reach up and drape it around the tree.
“I hate being so useless at this time of year. You shouldn’t have to decorate the entire house by yourself. This stupid sprained ankle has completely ruined Christmas,” she grumbles, getting progressively more emotional as she sits back in her chair.
Gently I say, “Hey, it’s okay, you didn’t know you were going to sprain your ankle. Besides, I love decorating for Christmas, and now I get to set up everything the way I’ve always imagined they should be.”
She blows her nose and laughs. “Oh, really? And what exactly would you change?”
“Well, first of all, Rudolph doesn’t deserve to be in the front of the outdoor display this year. He really should stop being so selfish and give someone else a turn. This year, it’s Dancer’s turn to lead the sleigh.” We both burst into giggles, resulting in us snorting and then laughing so hard we’re holding our sides and crying happy tears. The smell of the live tree surrounds us as we continue to decorate its branches before moving on to other decorations.
We spend the rest of the day talking and laughing while we set up the other Christmas decorations. Dad comes home about the time dinner is ready.
“Well, hello, ladies, I can most definitely tell a difference in the house now! But what’s up with Rudolph?” he asks as he comes through the door. We burst into giggles again. Dad thinks he’s hilarious, but really, he tells the same jokes every year, minus Rudolph. This is the first time I’ve unseated him from his place.
Once we’re done with dinner, I head to my room, snag the journal out of my purse, and look at the cover. Someone spent a lot of money on these beautifully crafted journals. All the ones in the chest appeared to be of the same quality.
I carefully run my hand over the smooth cover before untying the leather strip holding the book closed. Bringing the book to my nose, I inhale the smell of the wonderful old pages and old, worn leather. That old book smell is one of my favorites. I can never get enough of it.
Gently, I open the journal, admiring the handwritten words on the pages. I slowly flip through and glance through the text. Someone wrote this journal a long time ago. The dates on the cover indicate this one was written in 1740.
Where did my mom get this and why doesn’t she want me to know about it?
Inhaling the scent of the pages deeply one more time, I flip back to page one and start reading.
CHAPTER 3
Sleigh Ride
The handwriting is beautiful, very classic-looking. The short, slightly-hard-to-decipher words have a masculine feel to them.
I was forced into this world with nothing more than the clothes on my back and the leather journal in my hands. I suppose while I’m trapped here, I’ll make use of my time.
I’m sitting on a large rock by a stream, possibly a river. It’s wide, and the water flows like the river that runs by my house back home. There are trees all around me, short ones and tall ones, wide ones and thin ones, so many trees, so many smells. And the flowers, the flowers are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. More beautiful than the flowers that grew in my benefactresses’ garden. Though, I suppose you couldn’t really consider it her garden, since she was rarely the one tending to it.
This appears to be some kind of written account of someone’s life, or possibly just someone making shit up. But transported to this world? What? I wonder again how my parents came to own this. I continue reading while the author continues to detail his life in this new world. He explores the world and on his first night, he sleeps under the stars. On his journey, he’s written so far that he has seen no structures or anything other than trees and flowers, and the occasional small creature skitters by. I picture the world in my head and imagine I’m taking the journey with him.
I’m torn from the story when I hear, “Goodnight, honey,” from my mom as she moves down the hall. I look at the clock and realize I’ve been reading for several hours.
“‘Night, Mom, love you.” I stand and grab my pajamas to get changed and ready for bed. Once I’m done washing my face and brushing my teeth, I pick the book up, get comfortable in bed, and continue reading.
As the author continues to explore his world, he outlines the landscape surrounding him, and more creatures he sees. But one thing continues to be clear to me: there are no other people in this world, at least none he comes across. I continue to wonder if possibly this is someone’s beginning of a fiction novel, one which they were writing their first draft by hand. But, the way it’s written definitely makes me think this is the journal of someone with a very active imagination. Transported to new worlds? It has to be made up, right?
I look at the clock and see it’s the middle of the night. Getting up, I decide I’d like a cup of tea, so I make my way to the kitchen. When I’m settled back into my bed with my warm tea, I continue reading while I slowly sip the drink.
My tea finished, I decide to hide the journal under my mattress and get some sleep. I have another couple of days here with my parents and I want to make sure I’m awake for whatever activities they may have planned for us.
The sun streaming in through my window wakes me up in the morning. I gently reach under the mattress to make sure the journal is still there. Although really, who would have come in here to take it in my sleep? My mom told me not to worry about it so, I’m sure she hasn’t even wondered if I disobeyed her.
I get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom to get ready for my day. Deciding I should probably take a shower since I don’t know what we’re doing today, I stand under the spray and enjoy the warmth of the water pouring over my body.
“Sweetie, are you coming out soon?” my dad calls from the hallway.
“I’ll be out in a sec, Dad,” I yell back as I turn off the water and reach outside the curtain for my towel.
I love that my parents have changed very little in the time us kids have been out of the house. They’ve kept everything almost exactly the same, even down to the towel I have wrapped around myself. As I dry off and get ready for the day, I can’t stop thinking about the journal and how I will count the minutes until I can get it back out and read more.
Once I’ve made my way into the kitchen, my mom says, “Good morning, sweetie, we were thinking we’d go to the holiday in the park event today, what do you think?”
“Of course! You know I love seeing all the vendors and eating the yummy food every year,” I agree, genuinely looking forward to it.
Usually, I’m the only one in my age group as my parents’ town is all getting older, but I love getting to see the people I rarely get to. I can also usually get some delicious hot chocolate and other warm, sweet delicacies.
I finish getting my shoes and socks on and we all load into my dad’s truck to head to the town square. Downtown Jackson, Wyoming, is set up like those cute old towns, all on a square with a statue in the middle.
One thing I notice while we’re looking for a parking spot is this year someone has brought in a horse and sleigh for people to ride. I have never ridden in a sleigh before, but I hope the long line is a good sign that I’m going to love it.
“Hey, I think I’m gonna go find out the wait time for the sleigh rides. I’ll catch up with you guys later,” I say.
“Okay, honey, we have our phones on us. Call us if you can’t find us,” my dad says and winks at me. Seeing several people I recognize from town, I wave and smile at them as I pass.
I stop and grab a hot chocolate before making my way to the line for the sleigh ride. My phone goes off with an incoming text message. Realizing it’s a little childish to be so excited about riding on a sleigh, I glance around to see if there is anyone else out here on their own. I feel better when I see several other adults on their own. What I really notice, though, is the couple arguing right in front of me. I pull my phone out to see who texted me. It’s the Besties Group Chat.
Jen
Anyone want to come decorate my house?
Stacy
Not feeling the spirit? Maybe a nap?
Me
I think I may take a sleigh ride
Huxlee
Is that what kids are calling it these days?
I’m staring down at my phone when I hear the woman in front of me speak in a high-pitched, shrill voice, “I told you I wanted to spend today with my friends! How could you drag me here instead?” She’s yelling at him because he wants her to spend time with him when she wants to go spend time with her friends? I think all of us within earshot see the writing on the wall for this relationship.
I tuck my phone in my pocket and look off to their right, pretending not to listen in.
“Annette, calm down. You’re making a scene. You know very well why I didn’t want to go with you there. I’m not an idiot. I see the way you and John look at each other every time we’re around your friends,” he snaps.
“Masey, you know I don’t have eyes for anyone but you,” she responds in a sickeningly sweet voice. God, I even want to ditch this bitch and I’ve only been in their proximity for five minutes.
He rolls his eyes. “Annette, stop. Everyone here doesn’t need to be privy to our relationship issues.”
“What? You’re blaming me for this?” she speaks even louder than she was before. “How dare you! I can’t believe I’ve even wasted any of my time with you. We’ve never even fucked. John is sooo much better!” After she says this, she stomps her foot like a toddler and marches off.
But in true narcissist fashion, she turns back around. “Aren’t you coming, Masey?”
“No, I want to spend time here at this holiday event. You enjoy your time with your friends. Tomorrow we need to talk when we’ve both had some time to cool down.”
She stomps back over to him and hisses loudly enough for us to hear in his ear, “Just know I won’t be screaming your name tonight when I’m with John. He really knows how to hit all the right spots.” This woman is trying too hard to convince him this John is the better guy. But then again, the scorned ex always has to have the last laugh, right? Because I’m sure she’s already planning how she’s going to blame him for all of this. That’s what narcissists do, right? It’s sad that this is the most exciting thing I’ve been a part of in as long as I can remember. And I’m just a spectator to the demise of their relationship. Even my own boyfriends, who have mostly been boring, have all parted ways on amicable terms.
My parents instilled in us that you date to get married. No guy I’ve ever dated has fit the bill of someone I could even stand to be around for more than a couple of dates. It has made for a lot of time between guys, even a reputation of being a stuck-up prude in college. Is it so bad that I knew I wanted to be able to have a damn conversation for more than five minutes with the person I plan to spend the rest of my life with?
He grasps her biceps and pulls her into him, whispering something in her ear. Annette’s face transforms as she tries to pull away from him. Finally, he releases her and her face morphs into anger.
The silence is palpable as we all watch her storm off muttering expletives the entire way. Masey takes a deep breath and looks around to see who witnessed their spectacular drama. I think the fact we are all looking everywhere but at him clues him in to the fact we all heard.
He faces the front of the line, a new stiffness in his broad shoulders. The sleigh pulls up, and he’s next up.
“All aboard,” the driver says as a couple gets down from the sleigh. But when Masey gets up into the sleigh, the driver turns to me. “Ma’am, are you going to join him?”
