The Beast Within

We like to think of ourselves as civilised. We dress in neat clothes, shake hands politely, speak in calm tones, and follow rules written to keep society in order. We lock our doors at night, but it’s not just to keep others out—it’s also to keep something inside.

Because beneath the pressed shirts and polite smiles, something feral waits. Something old, older than our cities, older than our gods. The beast is still with us, pacing in the dark corners of our minds.

The Thin Mask of Civility

It takes very little to tear through the mask. A raised voice. A broken promise. A single betrayal. Suddenly, the civilised one becomes unrecognisable. The voice grows coarse, the eyes flash, and fists clench with prehistoric memory.

We pretend we are creatures of reason, but anger proves otherwise. When instinct breaks through, no logic survives. Only hunger. Only lust. Only rage.

And when it happens, it doesn’t feel foreign. It feels natural. Too natural. As though the beast wasn’t hiding at all—it was waiting.

The Beast in Relationships

Nowhere does this eruption show itself more cruelly than in intimacy. Couples build routines, craft polite habits, and create rituals to keep themselves safe. But in those moments when jealousy strikes, when betrayal enters the room, the mask slips.

What was once a gentle touch becomes a grip. What was once soft words becomes sharpened knives. Lovers become adversaries in a heartbeat because nothing awakens the beast more effectively than the fear of losing what we thought was ours.

The beast is territorial. The beast is possessive. The beast doesn’t care about the vows we spoke or the promises we wrote in neat calligraphy. It cares only about dominance. About survival.

The Beast in Polite Society

It isn’t limited to bedrooms. The boardroom. The café. The church. The courtroom. All of them are arenas where civility can crack.

Watch a man cut off in traffic. Listen to the edge in his voice. See how quickly his hands tighten on the wheel.

Or listen at a dinner table, when one guest pushes too far, when a joke cuts too deep. A smile lingers, but the eyes betray it. The beast is awake, straining against the chain, daring someone to say another word.

Predators in Disguise

Some people don’t even hide it. They polish the mask, yes, but it is thin. Their laughter is too loud, their charm too practised. You feel it when they enter the room—the air shifts, your stomach tightens. You know the beast walks with them, close to the surface.

They may never raise their voice, never strike, never confess—but you know. Instinct recognises instinct.

And sometimes, it isn’t the loudest one you need to fear. Sometimes, it’s the one who sits silently, smiling gently, while their eyes never blink.

What We Do With the Beast

Most of us suppress it. We drown it in wine, bury it under routines, smother it with religion, or lock it away behind therapy sessions. We say it’s unhealthy, primitive, evil. But suppression is not the same as elimination. The beast does not vanish—it waits.

And sometimes, it emerges when we least expect it.

When the polite husband smiles too broadly as he hands his wife’s glass of wine to another man.
When the faithful wife sits quietly as secrets pool in her lap.
When the counsellor listens and listens, but sees more than she should.

The beast does not always roar. Sometimes, it whispers. Sometimes, it simply watches, waiting for the right moment to strike.

SEETHINGS III

The beast runs through the veins of SEETHINGS III. It’s there in Sandra’s glances, in Samantha’s control, in the men who smile while quietly breaking. Beneath the calm words, beneath the candlelit dinners and polite rituals, something older stirs. Something that doesn’t need etiquette, that doesn’t care for civility.

The beast emerges in subtle ways—a hand that grips too tightly, a smile that hides too much, a silence that lasts a beat longer than it should. It shows us that we never really left the cave. We simply decorated it, hung curtains in front of its mouth, and pretended we moved on.

But SEETHINGS III rips the curtains away. It reminds us that beneath the suits, beneath the pearls, beneath the practised smiles, the beast is always there. Waiting.

And when it comes, no one is civilised.

–Michael (Dark fiction. Author of SEETHINGS (the first book), free for a limited time)