He stared at the clear space on his log cabin wall. Here is where it would go. Right in the middle is where the beast’s stuffed head would hang.
He sat alone, his cabin was vast yet lonely. From every angle a head was eyeing him. Stuffed mounts long dead, their glass eyes reflecting the orange flicker of the fire. He watched the flames illuminate a picture on his mantle, it showed him as a boy, his father’s hand on his shoulder. His poor father was the reason he isolated himself.
Long ago the boy had been sitting in the hunting lodge whilst his father recited a tale of a beast. A beast that roamed the surrounding forest – yet never killed anyone. His father told the story with a glint in his eye. For he wanted to kill this beast.
“But Pa,” The young boy asked. “Whatever would make you want to kill a beast who does no harm?”
“Son,” His father struck a match against the fireplace and lit a cigar. “I wish to mount it’s head upon my wall, a beast so fine will have me known as the greatest hunter around.”
Suddenly a sound like a struggling car engine, coughed from outside the window. Low and quiet, it caused the boy some distress. He grabbed his father’s arm in fear. Again it sounded this time it rose to a slight roar, resembling that of a lion.
His father grabbed his .348 Winchester and exited the cabin.
The world was black, the sky and forest had melted into one. Wind whipped through the hair of the boy as he watched his father run towards his prize. The next roar from the beast made the very ground shake. The boy felt tears brimming in his eyes as he hopelessly searched for his father.
“Pa!” He called. “Pa, where are you?”
No answer, he ran towards the noise. Before finding anything he stumbled on a bramble and tore his trouser leg open. He felt his own blood on his hands. He whimpered and pulled himself up to hear a gunshot.
He ran towards the shot calling for his father over and over until he came to an open clearing. It was too dark to see but he could make out the devil glaring at him, it was funny, he was almost certain he saw two pairs of eyes. He was was sure his father had hit his target, yet it was not dead.
His father lay before him, a hole in his chest from the monster’s claws. His oh-so-tough father looked him in the eyes and began to cry.
“Take me home,” He wept.
The boy, so young struggled to hoist his father’s arms over his shoulder and limp away. He threw him down when they reached the cabin for he had already died.
Now the boy had become a man, he was cleaning his father’s rifle waiting for the day he could pierce the heart of the beast with a righteous bullet.
Many a time, since his father’s death, had the man searched for the monster. Days he spent stalking the woods for a tiniest sign, the tiniest hope that the beast had come this way. No luck led him to decide that the beast had to come to him.
So patiently he sat, spending many days with his ears trained ready for the mechanical gurgle that would signify the beginning of his father’s final fight, his father’s final chance of redemption.
Then one day, there it was. He put down his book. There was the sound. Grabbing the gun, he was the perfect image of his father.
Slamming open the door, he heard the roar, he roared back louder. He was so hysteric he looked almost inhuman.
He ran to the same spot, the spot where he had encountered the beast last time. There it was. It was huge, dark and stood on its hind legs. Red eyes worked as a gateway to its evil soul. He had never seen anything so terrifying.
“I’m going to kill you,” He said aiming his gun square between the creature’s eyes. “You killed my father.”
The beast took a breath and slowly approached. It spoke.
“I have killed no men,”
“You killed my father, I was a boy. I saw your eyes and your claw marks on his broken hide.”
“I will repeat,” The beast spoke again. “I have killed no men,”
“Then why do you advance on me so?” Spoke the man, noticing the beast moving closer and closer.
“I plan to kill you.”
“Why is that?”
“You killed my mother. ”
“I have killed no beasts.”
Realisation dawned on the children. There had been two beasts, the mother must have died of her wounds. The man’s father had killed the beast’s mother and the beast’s mother had killed the man’s father, each wanted revenge. Each had an insatiable wrath.
“I wish to mount your head on my wall as a monument,” The man spoke.
“I was going to say the same.” The beast stopped his advancements.
The man lowered his gun.
They had almost reached an understanding - that neither was guilty. But wrath is a complex sin. It creates anger, a need for revenge. The two broken hearts bled.
A sudden rush of anger launched the bullet from the gun, at the same time the beast’s claws found their mark.
Dying together, the two had accomplished their duties, for each was a beast in the other’s eyes.
Retribution had promised them both a better life.
Wrath had betrayed them all.
