Belle and the Beasts

Belle walked up the long gravel driveway, begrudging every step that brought her closer to the looming property at its end. She’d deliberately left the mansion house until last, and even as she reached the gate she’d crossed her fingers that it would be locked so she could turn around and go home. No such luck. It swung open easily, and her potential excuse for not knocking on the front door disappeared into thin air.

She tried to convince herself that it wouldn’t be that bad. Perhaps her sister, Anna, had been exaggerating when she said that the inhabitants were just as creepy and unpleasant as the house itself. Anna was known for her wild imagination, after all.

The thought steeled her resolve. Belle stood straighter, and increased her pace up the seemingly never-ending drive. Soon, she caught her first glimpse of the house between the trees that lined the path. Ugh. Anna hadn’t been exaggerating about the building, at any rate. It was just as spooky as she’d described it. If a person was being polite, they’d call it gothic. If they were being honest, they’d call it a dump. It was all turrets, balconies and tiny, grubby-looking window panes. It had probably been gorgeous in its heyday, but now it just screamed neglect.

It didn’t matter what she thought, anyway. She was just here to collect the confounded book and be on her way. Anna was really poorly in bed, and she’d begged Belle to go around the...