image [https://h.top4top.io/p_3236mvgfn0.jpeg]He was sprawled out on one of the sofas in the living room, clad in his soft, blue pajamas. Darkness filled the space, broken only by the flickering light of the TV screen, where evening shows and the nine o'clock news played out. A plate sat nearby, bearing a few greasy spots and a sad couple of popcorn kernels. Glasses dotted the surrounding tables, holding remnants of juice, water, and a smattering of sodas. Farther away, on the dark brown coffee table, rested numerous plates bearing the ghosts of meals past. His sleep schedule had become a complete disaster. He was bored out of his mind; it had been four days of this same dreary routine, shuffling from the bedroom to the kitchen and back to the living room. Barely a moment had passed when the doorbell shattered the silence. He jumped, startled, feeling a genuine jolt of fear, as if death itself had come calling. "It's much too late for someone to be visiting," he muttered to himself. "Okay, no need to panic," he tried to reassure himself. He threw off the blanket draped over him, a colorful spread adorned with roses and flowers. The blanket was a sandy color, the roses a vibrant red, and the flowers a pure white. It was his favorite, his go-to comfort. He pushed himself up from the sofa and swallowed hard. He moved on tiptoe, his fear so intense it was almost a physical weight. His extremities had turned icy, and his blood felt as if it were drying up in his veins. He crept slowly towards the front door, a distance that felt like an eternity, a minute and a half. The door was an off-white shade, the color of cream, with a golden handle intricately decorated with roses. He edged closer and peered through the small, golden peephole to see who was outside, trembling with fear, his body racked with shivers, dreading what awaited him.

He blinked rapidly in surprise, "It's my grandma!!" Just moments before, he'd been gripped by terror, but now he felt a surge of relief. His nerves loosened, though his muscles remained tense. "Oh my God," he chuckled softly, unable to believe it. He had been expecting a policeman, or worse, one of those criminals. The bell rang again, but this time the sound was different, more forceful. His grandmother was pounding on the bell with her fist, and a stream of curses could be heard, muttered under her breath: "Stupid," "Idiot," "Damn you," and "Open the door, now!" The last insult hit the hardest: "It's not you, Dan, but this spinelessness... you're acting like one of those pansies you know!" His eyes widened. Those words were so sharp, so cutting, that Dan broke into a fit of hysterical laughter, wiping away tears as he mumbled, "The world changes, but Mrs. Johnson never does." Outside, his grandmother's annoyance and anger only intensified. "Why isn't he opening the damn door?" she grumbled. She began to kick the door forcefully with her red heels, yelling, "Danny... Get out here, right now!!" She punctuated her demands by banging on the door with her hands, "Dan," she hissed through gritted teeth, "Open the door!" She was truly losing her patience. With the rising volume, the situation started to scare Adrian. He panicked and lunged to open the door, not thinking, afraid he was attracting too much attention.

His eyes met his grandmother's the instant the door swung open. She gasped and exclaimed, "What is this?" Her gaze swept over her grandson, scrutinizing him from head to toe. "What happened to your face?" she demanded, her voice rising to a shout. Adrian instinctively covered his ears against her powerful voice. He reached out, grabbed his grandmother by the arm, and pulled her inside like a lightning bolt, while she shrieked, "Damn you!" As he pulled her in, he quickly scanned the street, trying to determine if anyone was watching him. Satisfied after a few brief seconds, he slammed the door shut behind them. He turned to face his grandmother, still holding her arm. "What's going on, sweetie... What's wrong? What's happening, Danny?" she asked, her voice now laced with fear and concern. She sensed something was terribly wrong. Dan's behavior was so unlike him; to be so cautious, so silent with her, was truly disturbing.

She flicked on the lights and muttered, "Are you a bat or something?" She examined her grandson more closely. His face was covered in bruises, his eyes were bloodshot, and his lip was split. Dark circles painted the skin beneath his eyes, betraying exhaustion and fatigue. She saw that his vitality had been drained; there was no spark of life in him. His skin was damaged, his hair a mess. His overall condition was wretched, his complexion ashen and gray. The only thing hinting at brightness and life was what he was wearing... his soft, blue pajamas. She lifted her hands and gently cupped his face, her gaze tender and worried. He was her Danny, her little one. "Are you alright?" she asked softly. He looked away from his grandmother, and tears began to stream down his face. He didn't meet her gaze. He started to sob, his left hand covering her hand that rested on his cheek. "Things are terrible, Grandma... you can't imagine," he choked out between sobs. A broken, tearful smile flickered across his lips, and he began to breathe in ragged, gasping breaths, punctuated by his crying. His grandmother quickly embraced him, not pressing for answers, simply offering comfort. She was shocked, her eyes wide with surprise at her grandson's behavior. The gravity of the situation awakened a memory from the distant past. After a long embrace, lasting perhaps fifteen minutes, she pulled away and gently wiped away his tears. "Whatever's going on, it will pass, dear," she said softly. "If you don't want to talk about it now, that's your choice. I won't force you. But if there's anything I can do to help, tell me. Anything at all." She patted his back reassuringly, and he nodded, muttering, "Of course, I will." He offered his grandmother a watery smile, and she returned it. "Everything will be alright, Dan. Okay?" she asked. "Much better now," Dan replied. "I really needed that." He gave his grandmother a slightly mischievous smile, raising his eyebrows playfully. She laughed and playfully nudged him. "Stop that. Oh my God, what a naughty boy," she said, chuckling at his antics. He was the only one left for her; she couldn't bear the thought of losing him, too.

Normajin was a beautiful woman with golden hair, blue eyes, and a rosy complexion. She was slender and tall, striking whether she was young or old. Annoying, as Danny sometimes described her, she was at the tail end of her fifties. She loved her grandson dearly, even though she often got angry at his antics and his reckless behavior. She tried to overlook his flaws, seeing herself as the ideal grandmother for her sometimes foolish grandson. "Where's our agreement? You were supposed to visit my farm every Monday," she said, giving him a sidelong glance. "Didn't you break our deal, Dan?" she asked, heading toward the living room. Dan's eyes followed her as she walked. "I completely forgot, I'm sorr—" She cut him off with a shout, "What is this?" Dan shrank back, and she continued, "When did all this mess appear?" The words were practically spat out from between her teeth. 'Oh my God, she's really angry,' he thought to himself. "Well, I—" he stammered, unsure of what to say. "Okay, so it's..." he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. He finally reached the living room, where she stood, seething with anger and disapproval. "All I know is that my grandson is organized and tidy. And now I'm seeing the exact opposite!" She jabbed him in the stomach with her finger. "No, please," he groaned, wincing from the pain. He tried to dodge her, but she landed another blow, making him cry out. She glared at him, warning, "Now, you clean up this mess, and you clean it up fast! What's gotten into you? You're not the Danny I know!" She pointed at him accusingly. The last sentence hit Adrian hard, piercing his heart. 'If only you knew,' he thought bitterly. "I'm going to get the groceries from my car, and I swear, if you haven't cleaned up this mess by the time I get back, this night is going to go very badly for you," she said, her voice trembling with indignation. Who could blame her? The boy was clearly lost in some dark place. She stormed out of the living room and headed toward the door. "Okay, okay, here we go again," Dan muttered, realizing that the situation was spiraling out of control. He limped after her, trying to stop her from leaving. "Grandma... please, just go and sit in the guest room. I'll get the groceries," he pleaded. She yelled, trying to push him away. "Get away from me! Don't touch me!" He begged her to go back inside, trying to convince her to let him get the groceries himself, but she struck him hard, trying to shove him away. He simply absorbed the curses and blows.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She finally overpowered him, bringing her shiny, red heel down hard on his foot. He screamed in pain and collapsed to the floor, clutching his right leg. Just what he needed. She looked down at him, triumphant, making it clear that she had won this round. She turned and stalked away, the sound of her heels echoing through the house like gunshots. Dan lay groaning on the floor near the stairs leading to the second floor. He was actually crying now, the pain was so intense. He didn't dare move, fearing he had actually broken his foot. She had stomped on it with all her might. "Crazy grandmother... really! I can't believe she just showed up! Why couldn't she stay at her farm? Damn her! I'm not that demanding little teenager anymore!" he said, scowling. The front door was still open, and he could see her out in the street, standing by her yellow car, hauling out brown paper bags from a grocery store. The bags were emblazoned with the words: "Healthy Food." Dan thought, 'Groceries. This means she's planning to stay the night.' The thought swirled in his head. 'I can't handle this. Oh God.' He mentally slapped himself, remembering his current situation and the threats that still echoed in his mind. And now, his grandmother had arrived to upend everything in a single, dramatic swoop. 'She's a master at putting me in the line of fire.' He struggled to his feet and limped into the living room, his face a mask of despair, determined to start cleaning up.

"I don't know what you're thinking about, or what you've gotten yourself mixed up in, but all I know is that you're a neat and beautiful boy, not some rotten bum!" she muttered. She placed the bags of groceries on the floor, closed the front door behind her, gathered all the bags in one hand, and hurried toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make some food... and I'm definitely going to force you to eat it!" she yelled. "I'm your grandmother, after all. You can't refuse your grandma!" She finished her sentence with a somewhat wicked laugh. He shuffled into the kitchen, wearing a strained smile that barely concealed his annoyance. In his hands, he carried the scattered dishes and glasses he'd gathered from the living room. "I'm done~," he sang in a sarcastic tone. "The living room is tidied up~ Any other services you require, my dearest Grandma~" He finished with a flourish, trying to make light of the situation. She was exaggerating, anyway. The living room wasn't nearly as filthy as his grandmother had imagined. It was just a few dishes and some glasses. She looked at him and said, "Come on, roll up your sleeves and help me prepare some delicious food... Come on!" She smiled at him, her face radiating happiness. She missed these moments from her peaceful farm. Well, in his eyes there was sadness now, and internally he was screaming, 'I want peace!' He nodded to her gently and began to help, not wanting to ruin this rare, sweet moment they were sharing. It wasn't just because he craved her warm affection, but because there was something far more important at stake: the terrible, ugly mess he had gotten himself into. He didn't want to drag his grandmother into those dark, twisted labyrinths.

He swallowed the last bite of the meat sauce pasta that his grandmother had prepared, with a little bit of his help. He was watching a movie his grandmother had picked out before falling asleep on the sofa opposite him. It was a VHS tape loaded into the VCR, showing a movie called "The Wizard of Oz." It was her favorite movie, and he didn't mind watching something she enjoyed. But she was asleep now, which was odd. The drive here must have been tiring. Her farm was a solid four hours away, not counting stops, and with all those groceries, it must have taken even longer. He stood up and got her a burgundy-colored robe and draped it over her, pressing a kiss on her forehead in gratitude. He needed this warmth. He turned off the VCR and the TV, and switched on a decorative lamp to create a soft, warm, and comforting atmosphere for his grandmother. He gathered the empty dishes and carried them to the kitchen to wash them.

He lay back on one of the sofas, rubbing his eyes wearily and propping one foot up on the armrest. His body was exhausted, but his mind continued to race, replaying the events of the past four days. Those memories ambushed him violently and suddenly, as if a voice was whispering, 'Don't forget me. I'm an important part of your miserable life.' He was haunted by the fleeting feeling that he had enjoyed it, that he had actually liked it... But he quickly banished that thought, condemning himself as a cowardly monster for piercing that beautiful set of teeth, mutilating them, defiling her. Was she that important to him? Or was she just another face in the crowd... Did she mean anything to him at all? For four days, he had tried to convince himself that she was still alive, that she was laughing and smiling as always, and that the events of that day had been nothing more than a nightmare... But the scent of her blood and the frantic pounding of her heart were still vivid in his senses, a stark reminder that it had all been real, a brutal reality, not just a bad dream. He cursed his fate, wondering how he could have done something so horrific. His mind kept telling him, over and over, that it wasn't the first time, Danny. The thought consumed him. He had a dim sense of having felt that pleasure before, but his memory failed him. All he knew was that his body remembered, and that terrified him more than anything else.

The sharp ring of the doorbell dragged him from his dark thoughts. "What?" he blurted out in shock, his gaze snapping to his grandmother, who was still asleep on the sofa. He felt a surge of alarm. Who could possibly be calling at this hour? It was midnight, a time for nothing good. He hesitated, then scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the door. His long, slender fingers reached for the golden handle, acting without thinking. But then he froze, suddenly snapping back to reality. 'What a fool! I almost got myself killed tonight,' he thought, berating himself. 'I need to get a grip, focus on what I'm doing. I'm so jumpy that I can't even see straight!' He shifted his gaze quickly to the small, golden peephole. He was trembling with fear. He never got visitors, especially not at this hour, or any hour, for that matter. He was a recluse by nature, and he never invited anyone to his home, no matter who they were. That was just the way he was. The mystery of the ringing doorbell, at this time, was a puzzle that sent shivers down his spine. Who could be behind that door? He blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. His blinks were rapid, a desperate attempt to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. Standing outside his door... was death itself. The last person he could ever expect to see... Jonathan the Beast!!