The Beast Approaches

I was lulled into a false sense of security, believing that the closed classroom door was somehow an impenetrable barrier that my nightmares could not cross. Annoyances, idiocy, mild disturbances...I knew these could enter but I had grown so accustomed to their presence that I hadn't given my defenses a second thought. Adding to this complacence was the fact that it was halfway through our second meeting, a time when the roster and seating arrangement should have been entirely static. When the door creaked open whilst we were discussing the desperate tale of a slave girl, my eyes were greeted with a horrific sight.

The Beast stood at least six feet tall, broad at the shoulders and square in the jaw. Its bulging frame was poorly restrained by the unisex white undershirt tucked fiercely into the khaki capri pants. The Beast's muffin top strained for freedom, stretching and pushing at the fabric of the unwitting shirt-victim, billowing over the two-sizes-too-small short pants. As my eyes traveled up the hulking figure, I was horrified to find sagging orbs hanging nearly to the waistline, accentuated by the taut cotton covering. Two chins later, I discovered, to my great dismay, a wispy salt and pepper mustache speckled onto the Beast's upper lip. Said 'stache did nothing to mask the deep trenches of wrinkles that surrounded its mouth like tiny spokes of a wagon wheel.

The most terrifying feature of this thing did not become apparent until it began to approach the rear of the room, where (until this moment) I had been seated with relative comfort and safety. The Beast had moist, thin hair of the same color of its mustache. The hair had been parted in the middle and pulled back even tighter than the aforementioned t-shirt, constrained to two small pigtail-style buns at the base of the Beast's neck. As I gaped in horror at the sight before me, it opened its mouth and began to speak of signing up late, being on the new roster, and, pain of all pains, intending not only to remain but to return weekly. Not only was the content of this brief conversation scary beyond all measure, but also was the Beast's low and rasping voice, indicative of years of smoking, drinking, or both. The teeth, revealed only for short periods and not completely, were not white but a strange melange of grey and yellow.

I had yet to process the strange assortment of visual and auditory information when I realized the Beast was heading directly toward me. I stiffened, hoping that a lack of movement or breath would somehow disguise my presence. Thankfully, it passed, but my relief was short-lived. It took a seat directly behind me and then, as if to cause me the greatest possible discomfort, pulled its squeaky-wheeled chair up to within a foot of my own seat. I imagined I could feel the Beast's breath on the back of my neck, and though I am fairly certain this was a creation of my own, it still haunts me as though it were indeed reality.

The rest of the class seemed oblivious or otherwise indifferent to the Beast's presence, as if enormous trolls were known to roam these parts and occasionally join classrooms for a spell. They continued to discuss the story of the slave, citing pages from the novel and even engaging in conversation with the cursed creature. Each time it was addressed, the Beast would inhale a great breath, filling its massive lungs with the stench of my fear, and respond with remarkably syntactically-correct prose. It had undoubtedly spent many months, possibly years, living in the human world and attempting to pass as one of us. From what I can tell from the reactions of those around me, the Beast's plan was working.

Even now, as I reflect upon this incredible encounter, I count down the minutes until the next appointed time when I am to share a room with the Beast. It lurks in my mind, breaking into even my most peaceful thoughts and spreading a sickening fear through my heart. I know not whether I would be able to slay the Beast, as both my physical strength and intestinal fortitude would likely be insufficient for such an epic battle. Were I more like the great Odysseus, slaying monster and god alike, perhaps I would find the strength within and conquer that which scares me most. Given that I am far from Odysseus and his heroic brethren I must instead strive to survive the next few months with my body - and my sanity - intact. God help me.