No, no, no! This is all wrong! I screamed venomously at my professor; who, despite looking very intently into her student’s eyes, didn’t manage to hear the screaming match between the two of us happening in my head.

How DARE she take my book, the one I spent years writing; countless days and nights fawning over, and use it like this. How DARE she interpret my words, so rehearsed and poetic, to mean those foul things. How DARE she take my hard work, my life’s goal, and use it to fuel her vendetta. My work was NOT hers. My voice was NOT hers. And everything she said, with every puff and sarcastic stare, was wrong.

I didn’t write this book with hidden intent. There was no hidden meaning. Not underlying messages. The blue walls didn’t represent depression. The hero’s fight against the villain doesn’t represent the fight against addiction. Her constant battles, with various armies, didn’t stand for loss or grief or greed.

It was simply a book I’d dreamt up, years ago as a wide eyed high school senior with big dreams, and I brought that to life. That I put into words. Something that meant a lot to me. To my life. To my family.

And here it was, being discussed and degraded in my college Lit class. Being used for unnecessary metaphors, being dissected sentence for sentence, word for word; only for all of it, to be all wrong.

“Are you okay?” My friend whispered to me, clearly noticing the glare that I’m sure consumed my now, angry, wide eyed.

I shook my head, but I couldn’t tell her why. I couldn’t tell her that book was my book. No one in this class, in this school, knew it was mine - only my parents and younger brother, Zay. That was part of the deal my parents made with me, and our publisher. We could only go through it, if it was published anonymously. This was my parents’ way of protecting me, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful. The book took off after a year or so, finding it’s audience amongst women my age (and even men) - the fantasy rom/com genre was the perfect fit; my perfect niche. And honestly, I don’t think I could’ve handled the pressure. The fame. Not at that age.

But I was older now.

I hoped I didn’t regret the decision I was about to make.

I cleared my throat, “mhm,” I stood. “Ms.Stills,” I paused, making sure every eye in this room was on me. They were intrigued. “I don’t think that’s at all what the author intended.”

“Oh? And what makes you so certain?” Her eyebrows were raised, but she didn’t look angry, not yet. “No one knows this author, this author has only ever had ten interviews. And not once, we’re they asked these hard hitting investigative questions that we as journalists are expected to ask!”

That’s what she called her readers, her students, journalists.

“The author never intended those meanings, Ms.Stills. I know that, because I’m the author. I wrote Our Metal Heart. I’m P.A Lucas.”

Me.

Sckkkkkk… There is was again, that damn scratching coming from somewhere within my old Victorian home. This one was soft that time. The noise long, winded. Almost as if it was tired, as tired and as old as the wood flooring. I don’t blame it frankly, it’s been nonstop these last few months; even with myself and my wife in and out of the house, with dozens of people coming and going. The noises never stopped. Dusk til dawn, this house was screaming, but never singing. The noises were always bitter, never sweet or gentle - and I couldn’t help but shake the feeling it was speaking to me, telling me something.

Warning me.

I left my office, it was nearly midnight; I’d been hiding out long enough. It was time to get back to reality. Back to my wife, who was somewhere in this home; this too large home. I wasn’t but a few steps into the hallways when I heard a creak, and once again, the door to the spare room where our stuff was stored was cracked. I went to close it, but noticed a frame; cracked and broken laying in the gap preventing the door from closing.

I picked it up, and in that moment; my breath caught. I could feel my palms get clammy, the photo beginning to slip…the photo that contained two teenagers - both of whom looked like Jenny. Looked like my wife. Is my wife.

But it wasn’t my wife. She was pretty. Blonde hair, curled to the ends. Grey eyes that sparkled like the moon. A smirk, with the right side curled slightly higher than the left.

The girl on the right, however, was almost unidentifiable. Her face was scratched out, the eyes scratched out; the nose was replaced with a hole. And the mouth, the tiniest and whitest smile the woman could muster; was covered but a giant black”X”, that was thick and scribbled all over. I knew those features, I knew that face…

That’s the woman I fell in love with.

“Leif?” I heard her voice ask, it was sharp, stinging. I turned around, and saw that crooked smirk first. Uneven. Unsettling.

This wasn’t my wife.

We stopped in our tracks, a latte in my hand, and the door in hers as I was leaving and she was entering. We stood in silence, assessing one another and the creatures behind.

“You see it too?” She mouthed to me, her eyes were watery and heavy, the sky blue irises contrasted by the deep purple circles under her eyes.

I gave her a curt nod, not wanting the Beast to see that I saw what I saw. Be vague. Be mindful. Be stealthy. The Beast that followed her was small, not much bigger than myself. It was covered, in what I presumed to be a cape, but I could see the two features that my creature had - it’s stomach churning, pointy tooth smile, and large empty white eyes…my Beast, however, had eyes as black as night.

Our creatures minded a good distance between, a dozen feet or so. Despite that distance, I knew they could hear, knew they could see. The Beast never missed a thing.

On the spot, I had to invent a way to communicate, to speak with this woman. “Oh my gosh, hey! I haven’t seen you in so long!” I exclaimed, bringing her into a hug. “Play along,” I said ever so quietly, I’m not sure I didn’t just imagine it. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” she smiled, a pained smile; I heard the creature behind her snort. “And you?”

I huffed, “I’m exhausted,” I held up my latte. “That’s why I needed this guy, can I treat you to one?”

She nodded, “absolutely!” She let herself in, and I couldn’t help but catch the creature that followed her. Despite the strength and quickness that this woman closed that door, the creature slid through it with ease and grace; almost like a dancer.

She followed me to the counter where I placed the order. “And the name?” The barista asked, very unenthused to be serving me once again. Everyone The Beast touched reacted the same way to me.

“Addison,” she said, and I could feel her creature stir at her words. At her name. At her. My gut started to rumble.

“It’ll be $5.79,” the barista accepted my payment and moved on, while I stood at the bar waiting for her drink, I motioned for her to sit down at a table.

Quickly enough, her drink was in my hand. “Excuse me,” I whispered to the barista, this one reminded me of a pixie. “can I borrow your marker?”

She rolled the marker over to me, clearly uninterested in what I had to say. I jotted down my phone number, and rolled the marker back, catching glimpse of The Beast. Of my creature.

He had an air to him. One of grief. It never touched anything it was around, except for people of course. It was always floating, motionless above the ground. Watching. With black eyes, soulless eyes. And a grin, that stretched the size of its face; containing teeth sharper than I’d ever seen. I’d never seen what those teeth could do, but the nightmares I’d been having told me everything I needed to know.

Right now though, it’s eyes were on Addison’s creature; and it’s was on mine; they knew the other existed. Did they know we could see the other?

I laid her cup down, “well, I really should be going. Have a lovely day,” I hurried out of the shop rather fast, feeling The Beast follow in tow.

•••••••••••••

It had been weeks. I still heard nothing from Addison. These weeks had been rough, the nightmares worse. I don’t know how I know, but I know my time is ending soon. The nightmares are getting worse, my plants are dead, and my loved ones no longer loved me - all because of this creature, my creature, The Beast. As I prepped for bed, I could feel it in the corner watching me; malice in gaze and hunger in his smile. It was nearly feeding time. It was my end.

He had taken everything from me, stolen the life I had built for myself. And now, his meal, baked in its glory; was ready.

I looked at The Beast, tears filling my grey eyes. “I hope you’re happy.” He growled in response, his smile growing wider; he was proud of the meal he had prepared. My phone rang, which snapped us out of our trance. I went to it, not reading the caller. Not particularly caring. “Yes?”

“This…this is Addison,” the voice was faint, fearful. The Beast snapped his head in my direction.

Oh no.

“Are you okay?” I asked, realizing I’d never told her my name.

“You need to run,” she whispered.

I turned around, ready to sprint; instead, coming face-to-face with The Beast.

I wasn’t fast enough.

P.S - This is my first post! I’m really nervous, but so excited! I hope you enjoy!

The morning was hot, the sun was shining; glistening the sweat beads that pooled on Mika’s perfectly tamed copper brows. It was warmer than most days in May, but after over a century of visiting her favorite resort she was prepared; her small white sundress hugged every inch of her curves in a way that I once did; all those years ago. Despite my shock, I should’ve known. I should’ve known then that Mika was like me.

Taking a deep breath, I walked my way over to the other lounge chair that sat under her large blue and white stripped umbrella; I had to do this now, or I’d lose the courage I’d mustered. I sat in the chair, not lounging or laying, but I sat with my feet in the warm sand and faced her. She quickly saw me, and whipped her head to look at who could be so forward; and her jaw dropped. “Pascual?” She asked gently, her voice was as velvet as ever; and her eyes were still that Pistachio green. The exact same shade.

“Long time no see,” I said softly, unable to look at anything besides her.

“You haven’t aged a day,” I whispered, suddenly beginning to feel like I was living in a dream, a daydream of years past. One where, years ago, we had just met. Where we had had our first kiss.

“Likewise,” she said, calculating me. She sat up now, turning to face me and sitting in the exact same manner as I. “How have you been?” It was a small question, in it, meaning that was several layers deep.

I sighed, determining a proper response. “I’ve seen better days, I’m afraid.” I shook my head, what about you?” She shrugged, “I’ve been around. It’s been a few years since I’ve been back on this sand, it was calling to me from the Mountains. I answered,” she smiled, her slightly uneven and white teeth shining in the sun.

“It’s difficult to resist the sound,” I nodded once, at this point, I looked at my toes. I couldn’t keep eye contact with her. “Does it ever get easier?” I asked gently. “Does it get easier? Or do you just get used to it?”

“In regard to which?” She asked me gently.

“You get used to it.” Was all she said.

That was all I needed.