The
whole town lived in fear of it.
They
wouldn’t talk about it, not anymore.
But
they kept feeding it.
They
had brought it on themselves.
They
made a deal, hurried and fevered, fuelled by greed.
A
stranger had appeared one day from the fog, as certain types of strangers often
do.
He
was cold, wet, in a bad way yet no villager offered him kindness.
Until
his coin purse appeared. Then they offered. What could have been a smile
briefly crossed his lips.
They
all took turns, gleeful and eager. One coin for shelter. One for food. One coin
for drink. One coin to take his dirty clothes, one to return them clean. They
all took a turn.
“I
have no gold left to give but feel you deserve something in return for your
treatment of a stranger. Would you like a gift?” he asked.
The
villages nodded in excitement.
“You
must promise to look after it.”
“We
do,” they cried.
He
produced a small animal, the likes none had seen. And then he was gone.
They
fed it and it grew fast, rarely moving from the Village square.
The
Oh-Beast was grotesque creature, created by their own greed.
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