Page 2 of B is for Beast of Dean

"We've set up a bed for you by the window," Margaret continued. "It's not much, but it's dry."

"Thank you," I said, setting down my valise gratefully.

"You missed tea, but there's bread and cheese if you're hungry," offered Bess, a plump girl with rosy cheeks.

I accepted the simple meal and sat at the small wooden table, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was.

"So, Alice," Jane began, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "What brings you to the back end of nowhere?"

"I needed work," I replied. "This position was available."

"Bit of a fall from grace, isn't it?" Jane pressed. "You talk like one of those educated types.”

"Jane," Margaret said with a warning look.

But Jane continued, studying me with uncomfortable intensity. "Has Fletcher warned you about the forest yet?"

"He mentioned I should stay away from it."

The three women exchanged glances.

"There's things in those woods," Bess whispered, glancing toward the window where rain continued to lash the glass. "Unnatural things."

Jane nodded grimly. "Mary Sutton, the girl who had your position before you, she went in there on a dare. Came back white as a sheet and wouldn't speak of what she'd seen. Left on the next morning's train."

"What did she claim to see?" I asked, though part of me did not want to know.

"A beast," Margaret answered, her voice heavy with meaning. "A creature that walks like a man but isn't one. They call it the Beast of Dean."

I forced a smile. "Surely, that's just a local story."

"Laugh if you like," Jane snapped. "But stay out of those woods."

Later, as I lay on my narrow cot, I thought about their warnings. Through the small window beside my bed, I could see the dark line of trees in the distance. I pulled my blanket higher and tried to sleep.

The next morning came too early, announced by Margaret shaking my shoulder in the pre-dawn darkness.

"Up you get," she said. "Fletcher doesn't tolerate tardiness."

I dressed quickly in the work clothes provided, sturdy trousers, a thick cotton shirt, and heavy boots, and joined the others for a breakfast of porridge and strong tea. By 5:30, we assembled in the main yard where Fletcher waited with his usual scowl.

"Margaret, you'll work the vegetable gardens today," he instructed. "Bess and Jane, the dairy needs attention." His gaze settled on me with something that might have been satisfaction. "Miss Harwick, you'll clear stones from the far pasture. It needs to be ready for plowing by week's end."

I gathered the tools he indicated and set off in the direction he pointed with only a few words of direction. The morning was crisp and clear after yesterday's rain, the grass heavy with dew that dampened my pant legs as I walked.

The path led me past Millfield, where several workers were already bent over their tasks, then past Shepherd's Field where sheep grazed peacefully. Finally, I reached the footbridge Fletcher had mentioned. It was a simple wooden structure spanning the Blackwater Stream. The water below ran clear and shallow, babbling softly over smooth stones.

Beyond the bridge lay the far pasture, a field that stretched to the very edge of the forest. Ancient oaks marked the boundary between civilization andwilderness. Beyond the tree line, the woods were nothing but impenetrable shadows and shifting mist. I cast the forest a wary glance as I set down my tools. After a deep breath, I put the rumors from my mind.

I set to work immediately, using the shovel to pry stones from the dirt and load them into my cloth sack. Every rock was a fight, clinging to the ground stubbornly. The bag hanging over my shoulder grew heavier with each victory, but I refused to quit. Sweat stung my eyes as I worked and my long hair escaped my braid to stick to the sides of my neck.

By midday, I had barely cleared a quarter of the field. I trudged over to the stone wall that bordered the field and flopped down. I unwrapped the bread and cheese I brought, setting aside manners to take large bites in between gulps of water from a jug.

That is when I first felt it, the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I paused midbite and glanced around. There was no one in sight, nothing but sheep moving in the nearby field. I scanned the tree line. Nothing. Just the play of light and shadow between the massive trunks. But the feeling persisted, raising goosebumps along my arms despite the warmth of the sun.

I finished eating and returned to my work, but the awareness never left me. Several times I straightened,certain I had caught a glimpse of something moving in my peripheral vision. Each time I turned, there was nothing but forest.

As the afternoon wore on, the sensation grew stronger. Not threatening, exactly, but... watchful. The feeling should have frightened me, but whatever watched from the forest did not feel malevolent. Just interested.

When evening approached and it was time to return to the farm, I gathered my tools and walked back toward the bridge. At the edge of the field, I paused and looked back over my shoulder.

For just a moment, I could have sworn I saw a shadow shift between the trees, tall, broad, and definitely not a trick of the light. Then, it was gone. I blinked, unsure if I had imagined the whole thing. With a frown, I hurried back to the farmstead.

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