Being locked in the old basement isn't a good idea, I initially thought. That was until Warren pushed away an old shelf, making dust flutter everywhere, revealing a hidden nook. In the nook, of course, is Aurora.
This is seriously started to feel like a weird novel.
We're ushered in, and Warren quickly shuts the shelf back, setting Cece down in a chair, before gently seating me before Aurora, before going to stand a bit ways back, shotgun tight in hand.
I gaze up at Aurora, befuddled, exhausted, and most of all, delirious from everything that's happened.
Aurora sighs softly. "This wasn't supposed to happen, child." She murmurs, taking a sip from her maroon mug, before going back to knitting. She sure likes to knit. It's a little cliche.
I raise a brow in response. This wasn't supposed to happen? No duh. I purse my lips, picking at my nails.
"Tell me," I begin, clearing my throat as it's a bit hoarse. "Tell me about the beast."
She ceases her movements, even Warren straightening. She glances at me, regarding me for a long moment. "Do you believe in fairytales, dear?" She avows. My lashes flutter as I consider her question.
"Fairytales? Folklore?" I repeat, even though I know I heard right.
"The beast of the woods. He's a very old one, that creature. Has lived centuries, if not longer. Go on, I can see it your eyes. Ask your questions." She begins to knit again.
She didn't have to tell me twice. "Does it...does he have an actual name?" I decide to ask first. She hums. "The beast is named, yes." Is all she says. I give her a quizzical look, expecting her to say it.
"No one has heard it for decades, dear. And I had only heard it once, when I was a girl. My old brain is too fuzzy to remember it completely." She mutters.
Well...alright, then.
"Can it—he speak?" I inquire, fidgeting with the fabric on my arms for comfort. Aurora nods. "Yes, the beast speaks. It is uncommon, though. And his English, from the stories, if I recount well, is terrible. He is beyond intelligent and smarter than any average being, but his lack of speaking falters his communication abilities. Not that he'd want to communicate with any human much, anyway. It's known that he is able to speak a hundred other languages, though. He is a master of tongues, though his mouth has not spoken for centuries." She goes on, her demeanor serene.
It's unnerving, the way she's so calm.
"You seem to know a lot." I comment, regarding her as I curl into myself more. She simply smiles, without looking up.
A creak above us, though, and the flickering of the lightbulb sweeps the curve of her lips instantaneously. Warren curses under his breath.
"He's here, Ma." Warren's gruff voice mutters, more irritated than fearful.
I glance at him. He hasn't spoken much, since I met him a few hours ago. I glance back at Aurora, her eyes already glued to me.
"He's here for you."
YOU ARE READING
Hunter Prey
Paranormalperhaps going on a getaway with three dollars to my name, my older sister (in college debt, might I add), an old van, and my hopes and dreams (if any) fueling my eagerness to enjoy a weeks stay at a beautiful (so they say) cabin in the middle of tot...
