The Black Beast of Dartmoor

“The hunter’s eye could see the flower’s flaw;
It was the true invisible that he saw.
When the true shapes extended on the stem;
The shimmer of the rose transfixed him.
He knew the world and its ferocity;
Yet lived in love; and loved what he could see.”
-Theodore Roethke

My name is James Lerner, though many people call me the “Black Best of Dartmoor” without even realizing it. You may be curious as to how I acquired such a name, and tonight I feel obliged to tell you my story.
It was the mid 1800’s, and I had just returned from America. There I had been studying landscaping art. I was 24, of medium build and average height, soft spoken, and well mannered. I arrived home, October 15th, 1851, anxious to get started on my work. I made it to Wistmas Woods about an hour before sunset. I set up my easel and paints and went to work. By the time I had finished, the last rays of sunlight were creeping their way off the green mountaintop. With everything packed up, I was about to leave, and then I saw it. The moon. I stood there, transfixed, as the while light illuminated the trees. I walked, heading into the woods, following it. I had no reason as to why I was so fixated on it. It was just drawing me in, and all I could do was follow. I couldn’t stop myself.
I ended up in a little field, the light shining down upon me. That’s where it started. Up until then I hadn’t recognized the earlier signs. Once a month, it seemed, during the full moon, I’d get angry, aggressive, and I wouldn’t be able to control it. I was sensitive to high pitched sounds. My muscles would tremor. My friends even said my natural blue grey eyes turned to a light butterscotch yellow. I thought they were bluffing, but the other things I chalked up to stress or anxiety. But now it all made sense.
My back started to tremor, shiver, almost. It soon spread through my entire body. My teeth grew longer and they became pointed. I uttered a growl, low, guttural, animalistic. I gnashed my teeth. It was the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in all my young years. My nails on my hands and feet became three inch claws. My ears became pointed and highly attuned to noise. Black fur sprouted out all across my skin. The whole change took about 10 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. I howled, long and loud. I looked at my surroundings, then bounded down the mountain. The wind rustled through my fur. During this whole time, I retained my memory, my thoughts, my conscience. A part of me was terrified. What was this? But I couldn’t help feeling ecstatic. I had never felt as free as I did then. I felt like I had my own secret that was mine, and only mine, that I couldn’t share with anyone. I was the only one of these, creatures, that no one would be able to identify with.
I ran straight into the little village that nestled in the lush green hills of Dartmoor. Most people were in their houses already. I ran through the main street, the red and grey bricks all becoming a blur. Towards the edge of the village I slowed to a stop, raised my head, and let out a long howl. A shriek suddenly broke the air and mingled with it. I turned, laying my eyes on a petite little girl. She had wavy brown hair and wore a blue dress. She ran into her house, screaming for her mother, her father. I bounded off, scared that someone would see me. Of course I didn’t know my full potential then. I just wanted to remain alive. And remain alive I would.
That night was one of great change, not only for myself, but for all of the community I had grown up in and loved. But there was no turning back. The villagers were about to succumb to their worst fears. There was, in fact, a huge, black beast in Dartmoor.