Boy Meets Beast

✧ 3 ✧

The first thing Ilya noticed was the awful stench that he couldn't pin down. It smelled like wet socks in here.

Ilya scrunched his nose.

He pushed himself up enough to see the place this stranger was living in. It was garbage. Food cans covered the living room area. A couch and a chair in the middle were in disastrous shape. An open kitchen to the left had things crawling all over it.

One corner of the house was completely black with mold.

"Oi!" the man shouted outside.

Ilya flinched at that threatening volume of masculinity and, though exhausted, forced himself up on all fours.

"Don't shoot at me house or I'll pay you a visit, pig!"

Ilya stayed on the wooden floor, catching his breath. No more hunted by a crazy shooter; he wanted to lie down and relax if only the floor weren't so dirty.

The door closed with a click of a lock.

"He'll get tired by sunset," the man stated.

Somehow, that did not make the boy feel safer. His heart clenched with fear, realizing that this stranger just locked him here with him. He pulled tightly on the straps of his backpack.

"Don't fret, young one," the man said, taking one big step toward the boy. "You're secured in my home."

Secured? The boy was alarmed. With a lock and key?

Hearing these words, even with that fancy British accent, only swelled up the panic within him. If this was how this man lived, surrounded by filth, then the boy didn't want anything to do with him.

At least he found shelter, for now.

Ilya sighed, "Thank you."

Even in the scariest moments, he never forgot his manners.

"Glad I could help."

When Ilya finally got up and turned, he was faced with a giant trunk of muscles covered with a tight plaid shirt, then a long khaki trench coat that went down to the man's huge hairy feet.

"Wow," the word came out of the boy's mouth involuntarily.

His eyes climbed this mountain of muscles until he saw the man's face. He was met with a big wide toothy smile with teeth that were white and clean—Something the boy never expected based on the disastrous condition of this house.

The man tipped his cowboy hat like a gentleman and said, "Name's Charlie." He extended his hand. "Nice to meet you..."

There was a pause waiting to be filled with an answer, but Ilya was too busy examining Charlie's features.

Charlie had a kind face, that reminded the boy of his grandpa. He had a thick gray beard and eyes that appeared to be brown, at first, but they were actually hazel—Just like the boy's eyes, only darker.

Ilya soon noticed the hand and snapped out of his focus.

"Oh, umm." He grabbed Charlie's hand and replied, "Ilya. My name's Ilya."

Charlie's handshake was firm, almost painful even, but only at first. Then he flinched when he heard the boy's name.

"Ilya?" Charlie quickly broke the handshake and almost took a step back. "Please, tell me that's just a Jewish name?"

"Umm." Ilya was confused and worried. "It's... Russian."

"Bilimy!" Charlie held his head as if a disaster just happened. "Does that mean you're Russian?" He stepped closer to Ilya with wide eyes. "Huh?"

That fast panicky way of speaking scared the boy. He shrunk on himself and stepped back until he met the couch. He stared up at an angry six-foot-five man shouting.

"Answer me, lad!" Charlie started to shake him. "Are you Russian?"

"No," Ilya quickly answered. "I'm American, born and raised, but my dad's Russian. Why?"

"Oh." Charlie held his head again and started pacing. "This is not good..." He mumbled a few hushed words to himself then turned back to Ilya. "Don't tell them."

His voice was calmer but sad. His face had that worried grandpa aura surrounding it. Charlie was afraid. He was worried about the boy's sake.

A big guy like him was afraid of someone? Ilya panicked. Or something.

"Who?" Ilya asked. "Tell them what?"

And Charlie partially answered:

"Don't tell 'em your name or they'll rip you to shreds."

What the hell is Charlie talking about?!! 😢

Btw, do you guys prefer new chapters on Fridays & Sundays?

Or Wednesdays & Fridays?

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