There is a beast in Aiden’s house. Its presence arouses fear in his family. From his room, Aiden hears the shrieks and screams as they try to make their escape. The heat in the room is incredible. Through his open door, Aiden sees the creature burn its path up the stairs. They cannot escape it. It is a beast of smoke and flame. It roars at its prey, and flashes its mane of black and red. Yet despite the intensity, a chill runs through Aiden as he recalls the day.

It had been quite a while since he had seen his street. The brisk winter day was icy on his bare arms. Aiden had hitched a ride back home in the bed of a truck that contained only a weed-eater, a red plastic gas can, and himself. Night was in full effect when the truck pulled onto his suburban street. Aiden signaled the driver where to stop, and then walked up to his house.

The windows were all darkened; his family must have fallen asleep hours ago, ready to wake early for presents. What a surprise his parents had in store for them when they would wake to find that he had returned! He plucked the key from above the door jam and stepped inside. The lights from the Christmas tree twinkled bright in the darkness of the house.

Aiden stepped around the presents placed under the tree. None for him, of course. Who would’ve expected him back, after all? He made his way up the stairs and listened at his parents’ door. The soft snores proved their slumber. Aiden continued toward his sister’s room. Sweet Emily. He missed her most, and would always miss her most. He placed a hand on her door, and kissed the hand. A tear fell to the floor with a splash as Aiden stepped away. His trail marked, he descended the stairs to his room.

The memories fade away as Aiden traces his sight through the black smoke filling his old home. The beast had already done damage. The tree blazes brighter than before and the presents beneath it add to the ember glow. Sweat drips down Aiden’s brow as he looks around. His life is burning around him. The beast rakes its burning claws across the walls and the symbols of his youth—his posters, paintings, photographs—they burn in the beast’s rage. Having seen enough, Aiden makes to leave, but comes face-to-face with the beast, itself, blocking his exit.

The shadow monster became, in Aiden’s mind, his father from the year before. He remembered the way he had stood there, quaking in fear, as his dad yelled at him in the door’s frame. His mother watched, from behind, and his sister, sweet Emily, had been crying at his father to leave Aiden alone. The cat had been cold, Aiden argued. It was freezing! But his father rejected his argument. The cat had perished because of Aiden, true, but he was only trying to help. He reasoned that fire warmed the family, and therefore fire would warm the cat. But his father was greedy, and punished him for trying to share the family’s warmth. By his father’s rule, only the family could live. And since he tried to break the rule, they sent Aiden away.

And now he is back, but the beast had followed him. Its fiery feline eyes gaze at him as it creeps forward. Aiden stays still and calm as it brushes against his leg. The beast reaches up and licks Aiden’s left hand, scorching skin and bone. There was no pain greater though than the pain from his father’s betrayal. So Aiden stands with his beast, satisfied in revenge. The white gown from the ward burns fast on his body until it catches fire to the red gas can still in Aiden’s right hand.

“Shh. Shh.” A boy plays about in the shallows. He collects shells that wash up on shore. He is a child who knows only the simple matters of life. He knows that soon, these long weeks of summer will end and he will return to his arithmetic and writing. But for these short few weeks left, the world is his.

His mother, a younger woman herself, sits watching this boy. It had been many years, many years indeed, since she had come to this place. As a child, she visited often; she stood, herself, upon the shore, soaking in the summer’s last rays of shine.

But she sits restless now. She looks at her son in the sun and wonders how long the shells and shore will keep his focus. The respite they traveled on was now a week past, and this day is the first spent basking above the warm sand. The boy’s focus has, to mother’s dismay, been away. This week, he’s longed only for boardwalks and pizza; for arcades and movies.

The area sure has blown up since the mother was here as a child.

She recalls with a sigh the “Shh, shh” of the breaking waves. In those days, the beach was empty. There were no boardwalks or pizza; no arcades or movies. There was a beach though, which lay unspoiled along the coast, and on it she and her parents could rest in peace.

But now they rest in peace, and she sees her son in the shallows. She has grown up, and so has the beach. Now there are people everywhere. They’ve heard of the beauty, and come to take as much as they can. Along the beach there now winds a road littered with various shops and restaurants. The peace is gone.

The boy, of course, knows nothing about the past. He sees the beach now for what it is. He enjoys it just as much as his mother had in the past, for he has no memory with which he can compare. It can be said, though, that when he returns here with his son, he will, likewise, miss the older days. These days he lives now will be the best he ever has, for with growth comes death. When everything around him changes, it is the boy’s memories that will keep him unhappy of the differences.

The seashells are now collected. “Shh. Shh.” It’s time to move along.