Hunter vs. Hunted: How The Beast Used to Greet Me After School

Whenever I returned home from school as a child, The Beast had a unique way of greeting me.

Its exact mechanics are difficult to explain, but it has been accurately captured by artist Bill Waterson.


My walk home from the bus stop was a simple 3.5 blocks, but it was the final 15 feet that caused all my problems.

Whereas many children happily return home to escape the pressures of a hostile world on a nascent psyche, my final steps across the front deck were fraught with terror.

Remarkably often (though irregularly enough for my guard to go down between events) The Beast would see me coming, or hear my approach along the long wooden planks beneath the awning, and she would quickly position herself behind the front door.

No sooner had I heedlessly and obliviously passed the threshold, when she would issue forth a roar and leap from her hiding place, often knocking me to the ground.

She found this behavior incredibly amusing. While I struggled back to my feet, under the weight of a now-tangled backpack bulging with politically correct text books and a generic brand Trapper Keeper, she would laugh long and hard.

Over time I began to suspect these ambushes and would cautiously approach The Beasts's hiding place. On one particular day when I anticipated an attack, I did something I considered quite clever--I carefully approached her typical hiding spot with the intention of beating The Beast at her own ridiculous game.

But the area behind the door was entirely vacant.

I did not have any time to wonder at any great length where she might be.

As I began to talk toward the hallway, confused at my unusual good luck, The Beast sprung her trap.

She could not have been more pleased with herself. Not only had she scared me worse than any time previous, she had predicted my behavior and capitalized on it.

The vitality of her favorite afternoon pastime remained intact. She had successfully altered her hiding spot (something she would do on numerous future occasions) and remained the single most frightening thing in my life.

One other note: Once, in sixth grade, I refused to enter the house because I knew, somewhere within its apparently innocent confines, The Beast lied in wait.

I had had an awful day, and wanted no part of her shenanigans.

Instead, I sat down on the bench built into the deck, and decided to sit and wait for her to give up her cruel plan and instead come to the door and sweetly greet her child like a typical mother.

After several minutes The Beast realized what I was doing and stealthily left the house via the backdoor, quietly walked around the house, and then snuck up behind my seat and proceeded to make a noise that evacuated my bowels and stalled my heart for over nine seconds.

I worry that someday I will have friends that will throw me a surprise birthday party and I will respond by flying into a sudden rage which will, incidentally, re-break my Trapper Keeper.