full
[18+] “How They Brought the Good News to the Beast of Aix” by Solomon Harries and Rob MacWolf (read by Icefang)
[18+] According to legend, a beast called the Bahkauv stalks the streets of the city of Aachen, hunting drunken men.
Today’s story is “How They Brought the Good News to the Beast of Aix” by Solomon Harries, following in the time-honored tradition of responding to one of Khaki’s idle remarks on social media with an entire story, and by Rob MacWolf who just likes to help.
Read by Icefang, in the cozy corner of the café.
thevoice.dog | Apple podcasts | Spotify | Google Podcasts
If you have a story you think would be a good fit, you can check out the requirements, fill out the submission template and get in touch with us.
https://thevoice.dog/episode/18-how-they-brought-the-good-news-to-the-beast-of-aix-by-solomon-harries-and-rob-macwolf
Transcript
Today's story concerns adult subject matter for mature listeners.
Speaker:If that's not your cup of tea,
Speaker:or there are youngsters listening,
Speaker:please skip this one
Speaker:and come back for another story another time.
Speaker:You’re listening to Pride Month on The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:Today’s story is
Speaker:“How They Brought the Good News to the Beast of Aix”
Speaker:by Solomon Harries, following in the time-honored tradition of responding
Speaker:to one of Khaki’s idle remarks on social media with an entire story,
Speaker:and by Rob MacWolf
Speaker:who just likes to help.
Speaker:As bad as external queerphobia is,
Speaker:internalized is worse.
Speaker:It is a grievous wrong
Speaker:that our society so convinced itself
Speaker:we were threats and monsters.
Speaker:It is more grievous on those occasions
Speaker:it convinced us ourselves.
Speaker:But let us take heart
Speaker:that what can be learned
Speaker:can be unlearned.
Speaker:Read by Icefang,
Speaker:in the cozy corner of the café.
Speaker:Please enjoy“How They Brought the Good News to the Beast of Aix”
Speaker:by Solomon Harries
Speaker:and Rob MacWolf I’m a monster.
Speaker:My slit-pupiled eyes peer from the darkness of the alley.
Speaker:The shuffle of my leather jacket is practically inaudible
Speaker:as I shift my weight,
Speaker:anticipating. A predator.
Speaker:Eyes fixed on the door across the road.
Speaker:The one with the rainbow flag.
Speaker:A creak as it opens,
Speaker:releasing a burst of dance music out into the night.
Speaker:My ears perk up; fangs and claws bare in preparation.
Speaker:Four men in disheveled clothing stumble out,
Speaker:loudly singing something incoherent.
Speaker:My ancestors have stalked these streets for centuries.
Speaker:Before the Romans built their bathhouses on them,
Speaker:we were already dwelling in the hot springs here.
Speaker:My paws slide me silently into the darkest shadow as the group crosses and passes the alleyway.
Speaker:They’re singing a new verse, or the same one,
Speaker:it’s hard to tell.
Speaker:My great great grand-something, seven hundred years ago,
Speaker:once stalked a drunken monk all the way back to the abbey
Speaker:and tore out his throat.
Speaker:The singing fades into the distance.
Speaker:My great grandmother was fired on,
Speaker:in the eighty years war,
Speaker:by a company of Spanish soldiers,
Speaker:when she pounced on and dragged away a Flemish mercenary with whom they’d been drinking.
Speaker:Of course they hit nothing.
Speaker:The door creaks again.
Speaker:My father’s father, with one blow of his claws, took off the head of a Napoleonic officer with nothing in his stomach but champagne.
Speaker:Another man stumbles out.
Speaker:Beard, suspenders.
Speaker:Bit of a belly. He fixes his hat,
Speaker:as much as his drunken hands can, at least.
Speaker:Humming to himself the same tune as the group now turning the corner a block away.
Speaker:He walks, or stumbles,
Speaker:or dances maybe,
Speaker:past the alley. The hat
Speaker:falls to the ground.
Speaker:Beware, they used to say,
Speaker:the dreadful bahkauv!
Speaker:A hideous monster stalks this town,
Speaker:something primeval that crawled up from hell through the hot springs.
Speaker:It stalks drunken men, at night;
Speaker:it pounces on their shoulders and rides on their backs,
Speaker:so the story says,
Speaker:and then devours their flesh and drinks their blood.
Speaker:Ten steps later, a hand goes up to an exposed balding head.
Speaker:A quick curse and a turn,
Speaker:eyes searching the sidewalk.
Speaker:Stumbling feet turn back,
Speaker:back to the gaping mouth of the alleyway.
Speaker:Where the hat rests innocently.
Speaker:My kind has been preying on drunken men since the days of Dionysus, since the days of Kvasir,
Speaker:since the humans first gave up their vigilance and inhibitions to fermented honey
Speaker:in exchange for a single night of liberation and ecstasy.
Speaker:Suspenders stretch and bend.
Speaker:Fumbling fingers pick up the hat.
Speaker:In the shadow, a long tail whips left and right.
Speaker:Bald head turns to the darkness,
Speaker:sudden fear behind a long drooping mustache.
Speaker:A low growl, almost a purr,
Speaker:escapes my lips. The fear in his eyes
Speaker:changes to something else.
Speaker:And now I stalk the streets, like my ancestors before me.
Speaker:His shaky hand moves toward his heart.
Speaker:A snap cuts the silence as his fingers release a suspender clip.
Speaker:A step taken, toward the darkness.
Speaker:Toward the beast waiting in the shadows.
Speaker:I lie in wait for men like this.
Speaker:There comes a moment,
Speaker:there always does,
Speaker:when he stumbles close enough.
Speaker:Beyond what he expects my reach to be,
Speaker:but in fact within it.
Speaker:I’m a monster. I step out of the shadows, just enough.
Speaker:Just enough that the streetlight washes over me,
Speaker:shows the thick pelt under the leather jacket,
Speaker:the thick claws tugging at the denim waistband.
Speaker:The jagged tail. The light reflected from the back of slitted eyes.
Speaker:But not like my ancestors before me.
Speaker:He takes another step forward.
Speaker:I hunger. His lips find mine.
Speaker:I can smell the alcohol on his breath
Speaker:—rum, vodka, and hard cider
Speaker:—but those are just seasoning to the taste of his mouth,
Speaker:his tongue. His hands find my chest,
Speaker:easily brushing aside the trappings of mortal clothing
Speaker:despite his intoxicated state.
Speaker:His fingers bury themselves in my pelt,
Speaker:run through my soft fur,
Speaker:discover my muscles,
Speaker:and keep exploring.
Speaker:His tongue presses deeper between my fangs,
Speaker:and my ears detect faint moans under his breath.
Speaker:I pull him deeper into the shadows.
Speaker:My ancestors would be disgusted.
Speaker:The forefathers who stalked courtiers after the feasts of Charlemagne,
Speaker:who devoured jubilant pilgrims to the coronations of Holy Roman Emperors,
Speaker:who prowled the gunpowder-scented nights of both world wars,
Speaker:they would call me an abomination.
Speaker:But he has no complaints.
Speaker:His hands leave my body just long enough to fumble open my belt
Speaker:and shrug off his suspenders.
Speaker:I don’t need to be told what he wants.
Speaker:The paw that isn’t gripping him tight against me follows his lead,
Speaker:and he’s every second more eager to put himself into my clutches.
Speaker:I feel him thrust,
Speaker:rigid and heated, against my pads,
Speaker:so I wrap that paw around him and keep my claws carefully sheathed.
Speaker:I always keep my claws sheathed, with them.
Speaker:It’s what would so disgust my ancestors.
Speaker:But I’ve got something much better than claws to unsheathe.
Speaker:Not here, though. His eyes go wide as I pick him up.
Speaker:He’s on the heavier side.
Speaker:But still not much effort to a monster like me.
Speaker:I hear his trousers fall off of him in a heap.
Speaker:Hot springs and caves would be more pleasant.
Speaker:But we go where the prey goes.
Speaker:I heave him over my shoulder,
Speaker:carrying him down through the darkness.
Speaker:The metal stairs clank from my claws.
Speaker:Echoes of dripping water syncopate the rhythm of my breath.
Speaker:A few turns and here we are.
Speaker:My father went on about a farmer he tortured for days in the dark
Speaker:before tearing his guts out.
Speaker:It’s dry. Warm. But it’s dark.
Speaker:He probably can’t even see.
Speaker:I can smell him, his panting breath.
Speaker:His adrenaline. His primal need.
Speaker:I put him down and he stumbles forward,
Speaker:onto his hands and knees.
Speaker:Disgusting, my father would say.
Speaker:Giving in to their base urges,
Speaker:shedding their morals in drunken revelry.
Speaker:We’re doing a service to society, taking them off the streets.
Speaker:The man doesn’t get up.
Speaker:He drops to his elbows.
Speaker:Still breathing fast.
Speaker:Waiting. I’m very fast, when I strike.
Speaker:I pounce. The Bahkauv, according to legend,
Speaker:begins its attack by latching on to a drunk man’s shoulders,
Speaker:and forces them to carry it on their backs before it slays them.
Speaker:My arms wrap under his armpits, my chest
Speaker:rests against his bare back,
Speaker:my snout reaches over his shoulder to sniff at his neck.
Speaker:He can’t suppress a whimper when he feels me resting between his cheeks.
Speaker:Hard, rigid, almost feverishly hot.
Speaker:But he presses back with as much hunger as I have myself,
Speaker:slowly impales himself on me.
Speaker:He carries me on his back.
Speaker:I lick and nibble his neck,
Speaker:and he shudders when my teeth brush his skin.
Speaker:Our rhythms line up,
Speaker:breaths and thrusts,
Speaker:moans and oh-gods and growls and purrs echoing along the concrete walls.
Speaker:When the poor man becomes too exhausted from the weight of the monster,
Speaker:the legends say, and collapses under it,
Speaker:then it devours his flesh
Speaker:and drinks his blood.
Speaker:He’s panting by the time I bury myself deep inside him and hold there.
Speaker:My hips press hard against his backside.
Speaker:I can feel the tingle as my hanging balls tighten
Speaker:and let out a low roar as I spend myself within him.
Speaker:I’m very strong. But I’m not done with him.
Speaker:I roll him onto his back.
Speaker:My nose explores his chest, his belly,
Speaker:and lower till my muzzle works its way between his thighs.
Speaker:He’s still hard, so very hard,
Speaker:and he gasps when I run my tongue down his aching desire.
Speaker:I taste the salt of his excitement as it tickles the back of my throat.
Speaker:This isn’t how I’m supposed to devour him.
Speaker:But I gave up caring about what I was supposed to do long ago,
Speaker:and this? The feel of his greatest vulnerability
Speaker:trembling on my tongue,
Speaker:the taste of his drunken sweat and taut skin,
Speaker:the sound of him moaning
Speaker:not in pain,
Speaker:not in fear, but in the same kind of ecstatic surrender that his kind are used to getting from grain and the grape?
Speaker:This is more savory than killing.
Speaker:He tastes of smoke and leather,
Speaker:he tastes of sweat, and in his sweat I can taste everything he drank tonight.
Speaker:But most of all he tastes of man,
Speaker:and that’s what I want.
Speaker:I’m a monster after all.
Speaker:Oh, I’ll still devour his flesh
Speaker:and drink his blood.
Speaker:But I do it on my terms,
Speaker:my way, and he’ll live to thank me for it. ~
Speaker:Some time later, his passion and mine more than spent,
Speaker:my head rests on his belly,
Speaker:following the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.
Speaker:The bitter taste of him still on my tongue;
Speaker:the slowly-drying sweat of our efforts in my nostrils.
Speaker:His hand moves across my head,
Speaker:scratches the soft fur on my ears.
Speaker:I purr. “I half expected you weren’t real.”
Speaker:The man’s whisper is tentative, like he’s worried he’ll wake himself from a dream.
Speaker:I have to suppress my startle.
Speaker:They usually don’t speak.
Speaker:He rubs the back of my neck.
Speaker:“At least, that’s what I thought the first time.”
Speaker:The first time? “With most of my one night stands,”
Speaker:he goes on, “at least
Speaker:I have an email or something.”
Speaker:And I remember. It is some years ago,
Speaker:who cares how many.
Speaker:I am grown, and my father is gone,
Speaker:and I’m not just a bahkauv anymore,
Speaker:I am The Bahkauv of Aachen.
Speaker:The monster they are supposed to fear.
Speaker:Fear is the point.
Speaker:If they fear the beast that attacks the drunkards,
Speaker:they stay sober, restrain their animal passions,
Speaker:and society improves.
Speaker:Doesn’t it? But if it did,
Speaker:then why do they all still drink?
Speaker:If all my ancestors before me did this,
Speaker:then shouldn’t they have made some progress?
Speaker:Maybe animal passion isn’t the enemy they think it is.
Speaker:Maybe a man is the same person, deep down,
Speaker:whether he’s drunk or sober.
Speaker:So when I set my sights on a victim,
Speaker:when I watch him stumble through the shadows,
Speaker:I don’t do as my father would have done.
Speaker:Instead my lips find his.
Speaker:I smell the alcohol on his breath,
Speaker:I taste his mouth,
Speaker:his tongue. His… And now I do remember him.
Speaker:“You’ve changed… since last we met.”
Speaker:I find myself saying.
Speaker:I don’t talk much.
Speaker:The words feel strange in my mouth.
Speaker:“You haven’t,” he replies.
Speaker:“You’re just like I remember…”
Speaker:Legends have a way of enduring, I suppose.
Speaker:His fingers are scratching my back now.
Speaker:Oh yes. Right there.
Speaker:My leg shakes a little.
Speaker:He chuckles. “But you’ve got a reputation.”
Speaker:Reputation? “I’ve been bought more than a few drinks, over the years,
Speaker:from a fellow who wanted to hear what the Dreaded Bahkauv of Aachen was like.
Speaker:More than a few wanted to know how to catch your eye.
Speaker:More than a few came back the next day to say my advice worked!”
Speaker:Has he… been sending them to me?
Speaker:Is that why it’s been so easy?
Speaker:“And if they missed you, well,”
Speaker:he’s stroking the fur on my chest, now,
Speaker:“I did my best to make them comfortable myself.”
Speaker:I never considered what would happen if one came back.
Speaker:It was never a problem for my ancestors.
Speaker:I assumed if they did, well, it’d be
Speaker:all pitchforks and torches.
Speaker:Like with King Pepin the Short.
Speaker:Like grandpa. His hands both move to my face,
Speaker:tracing my ears and snout.
Speaker:Pulls me in to kiss me again.
Speaker:But it’s not like before.
Speaker:No urgency, no primal drive.
Speaker:It’s slow. Tender. I taste my seed still lingering on his tongue.
Speaker:“What’s your name?”
Speaker:he whispers. “Does it matter?”
Speaker:I answer. “I think I’d like to know who,”
Speaker:he says, “I’ve been carrying this torch for,
Speaker:all these years.” I don’t know what to say to that.
Speaker:So I tell him, “Roland.”
Speaker:“You know, Roland,” his naked body is warm against mine,
Speaker:like the hot springs this city was supposedly founded on,
Speaker:“next time, you could come in and have a drink with us.
Speaker:Actually meet some of the men who’ve
Speaker:come so far looking for you.”
Speaker:“I…” I’m not used to spending this much time talking with one of them,
Speaker:but I’m not used to the idea that one of them would want to come back to me either.
Speaker:“I only, I mean, I’m only supposed to…
Speaker:you know, when they’re,
Speaker:or when you’re, on your way home
Speaker:drunk.” “As if a man becomes a different being once he’s had a drink?
Speaker:It’s fine! They’ll want to meet you!”
Speaker:His answer is the one drop too many,
Speaker:and I can’t pretend to still be sober.
Speaker:I can’t fight the impulse to pull him closer,
Speaker:to press my head to his chest.
Speaker:I don’t try.
Speaker:Meet the monster? The men,
Speaker:they certainly want…
Speaker:this, I’ve known that all along,
Speaker:but could they actually like me?
Speaker:Enough that I could just
Speaker:show up to the bar and hang out with these men?
Speaker:Like I was one of them?
Speaker:I think, perhaps, I will try. ~~
Speaker:Consciousness returns slowly.
Speaker:It’s been I don’t remember, right now, how many nights since I met him again.
Speaker:I draw a long breath.
Speaker:The dripping sounds greet me like an old friend.
Speaker:I open my eyes.
Speaker:One lone candle is still casting a flickering light over the empty pizza boxes and bottles.
Speaker:I lay, surrounded by half a dozen men.
Speaker:One of them starts snoring.
Speaker:I’m sore and tired and spent several times over.
Speaker:Their hands and faces rest on my bare fur.
Speaker:I close my eyes again
Speaker:and lay my head down.
Speaker:Their breath and warmth surrounds me.
Speaker:I smile as I drift back to sleep.
Speaker:It’s an open secret now,
Speaker:the dreadful bahkauv.
Speaker:If you know enough to ask,
Speaker:you’ll hear whispers of a handsome monster stalking this town,
Speaker:something primeval that makes the rounds of the bars, the clubs, the parties and bathhouses.
Speaker:It flirts with drunken men,
Speaker:night and day; it slinks into their beds, and leaves them thirsty for more. Would my
Speaker:father be proud of me right now?
Speaker:Certainly not. But I’m proud of me.
Speaker:Very proud. I’m a monster.
Speaker:But these men like
Speaker:monsters.This was “How They Brought the Good News to the Beast of Aix”
Speaker:by Solomon Harries and Rob MacWolf,
Speaker:read for you by Icefang, in the cozy corner of the café. You can
Speaker:find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog, or find the show wherever you get
Speaker:your podcasts. Happy Pride,
Speaker:and Thank you for listening to The Voice of Dog.
