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  • Let me write honestly and without fear.

    There is a beast in my basement.

    I've heard it breathing, through the cracks.

    I went down there, naked and stood on tip toes. I put my eye to the keyhole and my hands on the wall.

    Eyeball to eyeball we met last night. The beast's eyeball is the size of a truck wheel. Like one of those clips on youtube of a whale, and that eye, bigger than a sailor's head, looking squarely and intelligently back.
    The beast's eye is threaded with red, its pupil black enough to lose your mind in.
    We breathed in time. The beast on the beast's side of the wall. Me on mine.

    That beast has gobbled men up, like spiders at the poolside. That beast smells of old gods and dark blood.

    That beast is in my basement.

    I wonder, if like dogs, beasts become old and eventually lose their fight. But I have no way of knowing how long a beast can live.
    It looks at me in my eye, and I can see it thinking and considering. It recognises me, like its given me much thought. I think maybe the beast is naked too. Which is a strange thought, because why would a beast be clothed? But I don't know enough of beasts to know what they do and don't do. All of this, its new to me. This is my first beast.
    I must smell of milk and musk and other human things. Sour, salty, a little bit sweet. I walk slowly and deliberately back upstairs.
    I climb back into bed. There is nothing I own that can slay a beast I think. I have a drill and a saw and some high heeled shoes. I do not think these qualify for beast slaying. But I don't know. How can I know?

    The heat of the beasts breathing, rocks the house and I fall asleep. I will think about it tomorrow.

    It will think of me, too.
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