Only Skin Deep

Prologue

There is a legend surrounding the castle on the hill that looms above the village like a great black dragon observing its prey. The legend tells of a creature, a fearsome beast, that prowls these hills in the night time and hides itself away come morning, when the benevolent sun rises. Livestock often goes missing from the village farms, but it is never spoken of amongst the people for fear of a widespread panic. It is a small price to pay for the mercy of the beast.

On occasion however, often when the heavens descend and the hills are shrouded in a soupy fog, a child from the village will vanish. Mothers weep and fathers vow vengeance, but few take action on the only too obvious culprit. The beast, driven by a thirst for blood like no other, steals into the village in the dead of night and softly, silently creeps through the child’s window, taking hold of him with its hideous claws and clamping its jaw down on…

“Belle!”

The small group of huddled children jumped and shrieked and clutched at each other in terror, including the dark haired storyteller. Her illuminated face had been leant over a flickering lantern, giving her the desired ghoulish appearance.  The lantern was kicked over in the panic and extinguished with a sharp ‘tssss’ on the damp straw, but the children’s faces remained lit up by the light pouring through the door that had just been flung open onto the yard. A plump woman stood in the doorway, partially blocking the light, with her hands balled into fists and resting on her wide hips. Her doughy face frowned down at the group of children, who were slowly brushing themselves off and laughing nervously at each other.

“Annabelle Rosalind Saint-Clair, you stop frightening these poor children with your tall tales!” the woman called, striding out into the yard. She grasped the dark haired girl, Annabelle, by the ear and tugged sharply.

“Ooowww!” the young girl squeaked, trying to pull away but only making it worse for herself. “They’re not tall tales Mama, it’s true! There really is a beast in that castle!”

“Nonsense!” bristled the girl’s mother, dragging her daughter back towards the cottage. “And the rest of you, off home with you!” She waved her other hand at the gaggle of children scrambling to their feet and snickering at the disgraced Belle.

“Beast, yeah right,” scoffed one boy with dirt on his face, a boy whose eyes minutes earlier had been round as saucers and had been chewing his lip so hard it was still red raw.

Mrs Saint-Clair finally released her daughter and swung the cottage door shut behind them with a bang, before rounding on Belle once more.

“I have had enough of your stories young lady!” The large woman cuffed Belle round the ear and gave her a sharp push in the direction of the girl’s small bedroom. “I’ve had Mrs Shelley on at me just this afternoon about her Ruby having nightmares because of your tales.”

“Not my fault Ruby Shelley is a wimp,” Belle muttered, rubbing the side of her head where her mother had struck her. Mrs Saint-Clair narrowed her eyes, before sighing deeply and lowering herself onto Belle’s bed. The springs creaked and the frame groaned with the unexpected weight.

“Come here, you.”

Belle looked at her mother warily. “You’re not going to hit me again are you?”

“No, child, just come here!” Mrs Saint-Clair gestured impatiently and Belle slowly crossed the room to set down next to her mother, who placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“I know you’re not afraid of anything, dear,” her mother said, in a gentler tone. “But not everybody is like you.”

“I know, Mama,” Belle replied quietly, studying the dirt caked under her nails so she didn’t have to look into her mother’s weary face.

“It’s good to be brave,” Mrs Saint-Clair continued, pulling Belle into a one-armed hug. “But you have to be careful, too. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity. I’m afraid there will come a day when you dance too far across that line.”

Belle looked up and smiled at her mother. “I’ll be careful Mama. And I won’t tell those stories to the village kids no more.” She looked down again and added under her breath, “At least not to the ones that can’t handle it.”

“Atta girl,” Mrs Saint-Clair laughed, giving her daughter another squeeze. “Now, off and clean your teeth ready for bed now.”