Under the blanket of midnight, darkness is my safe haven. Isn't it natural for a beast to thrive in the dark?

I simply follow tradition. I lurk in the shadows, creep up in dark alleys, and sneak along abandoned roads shrouded in black. Darkness frightens people and so it is my shelter.

Children and adults equally fear me. The little ones cry and run away. The older ones halt and behold in horror, waiting for me to attack - to bare sharp fangs and claws, to rip them to shreds and devour their flesh. That horrified look in their eyes is what taught me to hide. It is what taught me how inhuman I am.

Human beings seem to have the same look every time they lay eyes upon me. The look of fear and hate.

Isn't it truly fascinating? Fear of the unknown has always been the enemy of humankind. If it’s something they do not understand, it's something they cannot change. If they cannot change it, then it is pure evil. People loathe the unknown, because it reminds them how ignorant and powerless they are.

I am the unknown. And to them, I personify evil. They cannot change me to be something that makes them feel safe. I do not blame them.

Here in the ruins of this old town, I do not need to be seen or feared. I wander for hours, bathing in darkness inside and out. There's hardly anyone living near by, except for the nocturnal creatures. The howling wolves and hooting owls are my loyal company.

As I pass by an old, decaying house, I hear a distant creak that halts my midnight trek.

“Hello,” a trembling voice says.

I quickly pull down the hooded cloak over my face.

“Help me, please.” The voice sounds as ancient and decayed as the house it came from.

I stand still.

“Please, son. It's a frigid night. I need to carry some firewood inside and I'm too old.” The voice trembles again. Thin female voice, mixed with teeth chattering

I grunt and remain immobile.

I am not here to help anyone. She doesn't know whom she's asking. The old woman's heart will fail if she caught a glimpse of my face.

She moves in the periphery of my sight. I see her stumble down the unpaved ground, nearly losing her balance.

My breath quickens. My  hands curl into fists. I consider ignoring her and treading away.

The woman limps closer and I take a stride farther.

“Wait!” she shrills, increasing her speed. She looks pitiful with her faltering steps.

I stop and turn, keeping my concealed face down. “I am in a hurry,” I say gruffly.

“It will only take a few minutes.” She stands in front of me, her hands held up in a plea.

I reckon with her request, making certain she doesn't catch a clear glance. Then I let out another grunt, and nod my agreement.

In the dim moonlight, I follow the old woman to a small shed beyond her rickety house. A stack of split firewood lies on the ground chaotically. I bend down and gather several chunks of the wood, securing them in my arms.

While I circle back to leave, my cloak clings to a rusty nail and it slides off my head. It reveals my disfigured face in the silver light.

A gasp makes me whip my face away. I stiffen on my spot. The poor woman must be terror-stricken.

Petrified, I stumble. The wood drops from my hands, and I growl as my toes throb painfully.

I must leave!  It is either I leave her to die of the cold, Or stay and give her a heart attack.

Quiet steps shuffle closer and suddenly the woman is in front of me, staring directly at my face

I gulp and dare to appraise her. There's an unknown look in her withered eyes. It's neither fear, nor hate, but it is as pungent... Sympathy?

“You poor thing,” she croons and lifts a veined hand to my branded face.

I shut my eyes and hold my breath. It's been a long time since I've been this close to a human being. A human being who's not afraid of me...

Her fingers trace the pits and bumps on my features. My skin is nearly dead. It's difficult to distinguish the sensation, but the faint friction almost made me feel human again.

“Who are you?” She whispers. A tear sparkles and glides from her eye.

“A beast from hell,” I reply cynically.

“You are not.”

“How can you be certain?”

She smiles a youthful smile that doesn't match her age. “Beasts don't take pity on old helpless women.”

Collecting the fallen wood in silence, the dry valleys on my face turn up into a hideous Quasimodo smile.

The old woman pats me on the back, clutches my elbow, and steers me into her humble home.

“What happened to you?” she asks as I help her start the fire in the hearth. Something I haven't done in… I cannot even remember.

“I lived,” I murmur.

A string of blurred memories assault my mind as I stare at the blazing fire. The fire that mocks me every time I remember.

“You lived?” she asks.

“I wish I hadn't,” I say in a monotone.

“Why?” she asks, her forehead full of thick wrinkles.

“Because I failed to…” I break off and bite the remnants of my lips.

She furrows her faded eyebrows.

“Rescue my parents… from the fire,” I continue.

The woman groans. She holds my hands and pulls me to sit on a tattered seat. I slump down and bury my scarred face in my hands.

“Don’t berate yourself. It’s your destiny.”

“What a cruel destiny!” I retort.

“Oh, no. It's the most merciful one.”

My head jolts up and I send her an incredulous glare.

“I had a son,” the woman says. Her  eyes overflow with tears and her face crumbles in anguish. “There had been an accident…”

My heart pounds.

“He saved me, but he… “

I shut my eyes in pain. “I'm sorry.”

“It's easy to loathe yourself when those who give meaning to your life are gone.” The woman wipes her face while watching the crackling fire. “I wanted to end my life. I thought it defied nature that I lived and my son didn't.”

“He did what I could not,” I whisper.

“What he did made me suffer,” she whimpers. “Think about your parents if they lived and you died. They could have ended up like me - miserable and tormented by your loss. ”

I stare at the woman, contemplating her astounding logic. I have never thought about that.

“Would you rather they survived and hated their lives without you? Or is it better that they're now resting in peace?” she asks. A serene expression unruffles her wrinkles.

She's right! How self-seeking I am!

“You only lost you face, but you shouldn't lose your faith.” The woman smiles and pats on my marred features. “Death is not a punishment for the dead. It's a lesson for the living. Learn to live because that's what your parents would want for you.”

“With this face?!” I snort, passing my fingers along the rough scars.

“No.” The woman takes my hand and pulls it down to my chest. “With this heart, you deserve to live.”

“People are afraid of me,” I argue.

“You don't let them see past your dead skin. It's time they do. You will be seen for who you really are.” The woman grins and nods.

I blink in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She lifts her wrinkly hands to my face again. “Close your eyes,” she commands.

“What are you doing?” I ask while her hands enfold the sides of my head.

A sedative warmth takes over my senses and I cannot flinch. Her voice warbles as she says  unintelligible words, telling me to rest. My eyelids become heavy. My body turns numb. My consciousness gradually slips away…

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A spine-tingling shiver invades my body, sending my senses on alert. I prop myself up on the seat and rub my cold arms.

The place is bleak and deserted. The fire is no longer blazing. The only light was the silver moonlight coming from the old glass window.

I spring up, looking around. The old woman is nowhere to be found. The furniture is dusty and falling apart, as if the house has been abandoned for decades. How come I haven't noticed? What happened?

“Hello,” I call out.

No answer.

I wander around the house in search of the lady. The rooms are empty and dilapidated by neglect.

How odd!

I massage my temples, trying to recall what happened before I lost consciousness. Suddenly, my fingertips freeze on my face. Something is wrong. The texture is wrong...

I gulp and move my shaky fingers across my features, where the dead skin used to be coarse and uneven. The smoothness under my fingers is unfamiliar. Have I gone insane?

“What has she done to me?” I mouth to myself, out of breath.

I need to see!

Hurriedly, I search for the exit. The wayout is in my view when I catch sight of a small object on a table by the door, casting back the glimmer of the moon. There was a single lit candle next to it and a folded piece of paper.

My heartbeat accelerates while I pick up the small object... A mirror.

Holding the mirror in awe, I trace the parts of my face that used to be maimed. The curve of my ear. The straight bridge of my nose. My thin lips. Somehow, they are all intact.

The old woman's voice echo in the back of my mind as I read the inscription on the paper:

You will be seen for who you really are.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the molded walls, then I open the house door, and step out to meet the daybreak...

****

A/N

This short story has been in my drafts without an ending for months. I'm glad I finally finished it to be my first short story in 2018... Not sure what you're going to make of this vague little tale, but I hope you enjoy reading. :D

Much love

Most_bay