None of the Beatles slept well that night.
The four lads lived in an interconnected house that looked like four houses on the outside, but was really all one room when you went in. Each Beatle had his own section painted in his own choice of colour, but tonight no Beatle wanted to leave the others even to go to his own room. The four of them spent the night huddled on John's black leather sofa, trying to relax and trying not to jump at every sound.
Eventually, they must have nodded off, because suddenly the sun was rising and the four lads were all curled up together peacefully. Paul was the first to open his eyes, and couldn't help feeling a little relieved when his mates did the same a moment later. What if one of them had started acting like those girls or their road managers, cold and unblinking?
George got the newspaper from the front step while the others fixed breakfast. "No one out there is acting strange," he reported when he came in. "'Course, I didn't see the paper boy come by...." he added.
"I don't like it," Ringo spoke for all of them. "It's sort of like - they died but they're still living."
"I think I've seen this in a horror movie," grinned John. Grinning was the best way to deal with this sort of thing - it helped disguise the fact that he was worried, too.
Paul was agitated. "But these are real people here! We knew some of them! What's happened to them? They can't be dead and still living!"
"Can't they?" Something was tugging on the edges of John's memory, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. He didn't want to say anything, though, because it would look silly if it turned out he was just remembering a horror movie he'd seen.
"Boys." George's voice was much too calm. "They've done a piece in the newspaper. There were some others acting the same way that we didn't know about, seemingly..."
The other Beatles leaned over him. Of course it made sense that this - whatever it was - wouldn't affect only people the Beatles saw, but somehow this news made it worse. This was no longer just some horrible happening in the Beatles' lives - it was a whole epidemic!
Suddenly, something in the article caught John's eye. "It says the workers in that bank we passed were affected. The one with all the glass broken outside."
George shrugged. "That would make it easy to do a robbery if they were acting all soulless."
"Who'd go in there just to mess up the place?" That thing at the edge of John's memory was growing stronger now; it was right on the tip of his tongue... "It looked like a wild animal was loose in there, she said..." Wild animal... people walking around like they were half-dead... and what George had said... soulless....
The others were still talking about it over breakfast, but John tuned them out. He was so close to remembering what he needed to know....
That was it! John had it now. "I think I know what's doing it," he announced. "Follow me, men." Curious, Paul, George, and Ringo followed John to the brown bookcase in his room. John spun round the shelves a few times, looking for where he'd put a certain book. After a few seconds he pulled one out: "English Folklore".
"English folklore?" Paul repeated. "How's that goin' to help us? This is real!"
"Look at the real animals, then, and see if there's any that can do this," John replied, half-listening. He was flipping through the book, looking for the page. "There we are." He held it open. The page showed a drawing of a horrible, ferocious-looking beast. It was something like a cougar, only a lot scarier than that. It was brown, with talon-like claws and long, straight-edged fangs. On the opposite page was the description, and it was entitled: "The Beast of Bodmin Moor".
The four lads lived in an interconnected house that looked like four houses on the outside, but was really all one room when you went in. Each Beatle had his own section painted in his own choice of colour, but tonight no Beatle wanted to leave the others even to go to his own room. The four of them spent the night huddled on John's black leather sofa, trying to relax and trying not to jump at every sound.
Eventually, they must have nodded off, because suddenly the sun was rising and the four lads were all curled up together peacefully. Paul was the first to open his eyes, and couldn't help feeling a little relieved when his mates did the same a moment later. What if one of them had started acting like those girls or their road managers, cold and unblinking?
George got the newspaper from the front step while the others fixed breakfast. "No one out there is acting strange," he reported when he came in. "'Course, I didn't see the paper boy come by...." he added.
"I don't like it," Ringo spoke for all of them. "It's sort of like - they died but they're still living."
"I think I've seen this in a horror movie," grinned John. Grinning was the best way to deal with this sort of thing - it helped disguise the fact that he was worried, too.
Paul was agitated. "But these are real people here! We knew some of them! What's happened to them? They can't be dead and still living!"
"Can't they?" Something was tugging on the edges of John's memory, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. He didn't want to say anything, though, because it would look silly if it turned out he was just remembering a horror movie he'd seen.
"Boys." George's voice was much too calm. "They've done a piece in the newspaper. There were some others acting the same way that we didn't know about, seemingly..."
The other Beatles leaned over him. Of course it made sense that this - whatever it was - wouldn't affect only people the Beatles saw, but somehow this news made it worse. This was no longer just some horrible happening in the Beatles' lives - it was a whole epidemic!
Suddenly, something in the article caught John's eye. "It says the workers in that bank we passed were affected. The one with all the glass broken outside."
George shrugged. "That would make it easy to do a robbery if they were acting all soulless."
"Who'd go in there just to mess up the place?" That thing at the edge of John's memory was growing stronger now; it was right on the tip of his tongue... "It looked like a wild animal was loose in there, she said..." Wild animal... people walking around like they were half-dead... and what George had said... soulless....
The others were still talking about it over breakfast, but John tuned them out. He was so close to remembering what he needed to know....
That was it! John had it now. "I think I know what's doing it," he announced. "Follow me, men." Curious, Paul, George, and Ringo followed John to the brown bookcase in his room. John spun round the shelves a few times, looking for where he'd put a certain book. After a few seconds he pulled one out: "English Folklore".
"English folklore?" Paul repeated. "How's that goin' to help us? This is real!"
"Look at the real animals, then, and see if there's any that can do this," John replied, half-listening. He was flipping through the book, looking for the page. "There we are." He held it open. The page showed a drawing of a horrible, ferocious-looking beast. It was something like a cougar, only a lot scarier than that. It was brown, with talon-like claws and long, straight-edged fangs. On the opposite page was the description, and it was entitled: "The Beast of Bodmin Moor".