The beast raised its head and sniffed the wind. It could smell her just up ahead. Crossing the bridge, passenger from a departing train.




He swallowed, his mouth wet with anticipation. The beast in him clamoured, desperate to be heard. Get her, get her, get her. We must have her, own her, rip her, devour her. Have her, want her, have her! He tried to block out the voice. It was too public, too many people, too likely to be caught. He had to wait and the beast had to learn how to be patient.

The beast gnashed its teeth and growled but in the end, listened to reason. The games (oh, those glorious, messy, red games!) would end if they weren’t cautious. He slipped quietly up the stairs behind her and watched as she made her way over the covered bridge to the other side. Nothing magic about her, nothing special. Just a middle aged woman making her way home after a day at work. On the train, she’d be anonymous – just another passenger.

But to the beast, she was lush, tasty and ripe for the picking.

The beast murmured in his ear, tone seductive now, promising games and satisfaction. He couldn’t help but close the distance between them a little. Her scent drifted back to him, sharply increasing his appetite. He crossed the bridge quickly. She was almost at the bottom of the stairs and he was struck with the concern that she could soon be out of reach. Get her, get her, get her. We must have her, own her, rip her, devour her. Have her, want her, have her! Licking his lips, he watched her walk through the train station car park. Would the game be over so soon? What if she got into a car?

He faltered at the top of the stairs, trying to hide in the minimal shadows. The beast wanted to take over, run down the stairs and chase her down. But his sense of self-preservation stopped him  – it was too risky, too bright. All he could do was watch and allow her to escape.

He pushed his hands into his jacket pockets and turned away.

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