Night of the Beast

"Oh yes," Christy said, her voice so deep and throaty as to sound positively inhuman now. "Yes, Robert, yes," she growled in his ear as she pushed herself harder against the statue, all but climbing up his body in order to ride him harder. "Love me, Robert," she whispered in the dark, "love me."

"We can't," Robert muttered in return-but of course, he was already doing it, thrusting up and into her with all of the force that he could muster. The heat of the moment-and the mad dance of the moonlight in his brain-made him feel as if he were in two places, one of him doing what he was doing but the other one just watching, as if he had no power to intercede.

He wondered if Christy felt the same way-but if she did, she gave no indication of it. Instead she threw back her head and, just as she'd corrected him minutes earlier, she all but howled: Yes, beasts on nights like this howled at the moon, she'd reminded him. It was the sound of all things natural, all things terrible and gratifying and fearful in the world. Her sharpened nails dug into his shoulders.

Robert tried to pull away as he felt hot release bubbling inside him, but Christy's body coiled around him like a constricting snake, and within seconds she had pumped it up and out of him, groaning in satisfaction as he let it go. When she finally released him he almost fell on his knees, holding himself up only by catching the robes of the angel statue, a touch that made him feel guilty and start, as if his hand was burned.

Breathing raggedly, Robert tried to put himself back together. Orgasm had slightly cleared away the manic energy of the moonlit night, leaving him to consider the consequences of his actions in a moment of horrifying lucidity; Christy said nothing, but continued to pant in the dark behind him.

Finding his voice at last, Robert said, "What just happened; it was-"

That was as far as he got; Christy interrupted with the ghastliest sound, equal parts horror and delight. Rounding to look at her, Robert couldn't decipher what she was reacting to until she held up her hands and all but cried out:

"Robert, look-it's starting!"

Blinking, Robert said, "What's starting?"

Rather than answer directly, Christy took a few meaningful steps toward him. "I understand now what this strange feeling I've had all day is, and why it became so much more intense when we came in here. I understand the family legend now too-the curse. Do you finally know what it is too?"

"Curse? Christy, we don't have time for-"

"I see it all. You were right: Great Grandfather Reginald didn't kill the Beast-he was the Beast. That's how it keeps coming back on this night: We become it! Look. Look!"

"Good god, your hands!"

But they weren't hands now, really; as Christy held them up, there was no proper word for them except "paws." They both watched, horrified but awed, as her fingernails melted into claws, sharp and poised; Christy almost cooed looking at them, while Robert gagged.

"I feel myself changing all over," she said-or at least, she tried to say it: The shape of her mouth and teeth, as well as certain other, deeper changes inside of her body made it hard to speak. "It's happening, and I can't stop it."

"Let me help you," Robert said, and in spite of everything he did go to her, trying to put his jacket around her still mostly naked body. She pushed him away with a strength and violence that shocked him.

"Run, Robert," Christy said; her eyes were red now, burning, inhuman. "If you make it back to the car you might stand a chance of getting away. I'll stay here and hold it off as long as I can-but it won't be much longer now."

His jaw slack, Robert said, "Much longer until...what?"

Retreating, Christy shook her head and said, "Run now, Robert; run as fast as you can. Run—RUN!"

Whether it was the words themselves, the voice that said them, or the awful, truly horrifying chorus of bones popping and bending as they reshaped that finally shook Robert out of his stupor he'd never know, but, turning, slipping, and stumbling, he tried to run-tried to run as hard and fast as he could, to run as he never had in his entire life, running not just toward safety but also toward sanity and a world that could make sense to him again.

But Christy had been wrong: He'd never had a chance. He was barely more than a few steps outside the mausoleum's rusted gates when something-some thing-hit him from behind, knocking them both to the ground and sending them slipping and sliding down the hillside in tandem for a moment, turning up rocks and rough earth.

It was a blessing that Robert never saw what caught him. He did turn his head-instinctually-to try to see it, but he only managed to crane his neck around far enough to see the moon, fat and bright, still hanging on the horizon over their heads...

And then it was over.

***

Most of the public believed Robert's death was accidental, though the precise details of the accident varied with the telling. The timing of his demise was enough to dredge up old stories about the Hammond Curse anyway, of course-but such stories were good for his (posthumous) book sales, so that was all right.

Only a few people heard-and even fewer believed-the truth about how he'd been found. Or rather, of how little of him there was of him left to find by the time anyone came on the scene. And of how they found Christy that same morning-naked, covered in blood, raving-even less was said; in spite of everything, the Hammond family name was still respected enough that some secrets were maintained simply for propriety's sake.

Robert was quietly interred alongside Great Grandfather Reginald; Christy was admitted to a sanitarium in the countryside under the vague diagnosis of "hysteria." When she was discovered to be pregnant, doctors at the hospital had some debate over whether it was more humane to terminate it. In the end she was allowed to give birth, and the child-a girl-was discretely sent away to some far-flung branch of the Hammond line to raise as their own.

The question of what the girl may have inherited besides the family name was never discussed. Although in time, many would come to wish it had been.