The Monster Within

The Monster Within

         “Somebody’s got a big birthday coming up in a few days, ‘eh?”

I’ll hand it to my father, he really did try. Sometimes it made me want to cry, how hard he tried. We all knew I was a freak. Why pretend? Yet there he was, looking at me with a grin on his face and pity in his eyes. I was torn between wanting to run from the table screaming or leap across it and plant my fork in his eye.

“I think somebody’s coming down with a bad case of puberty,” Dad teased.

I cringed. No. Please. Not here. Not now. Please let us not be having this conversation.

“Her? Puberty?” Bobby howled, “That explains the smell!”

“Robert,” Mother glared. I understood the dynamic in our family well enough. She wasn’t defending me, only chastising him for inappropriate table conversation.

Bobby was the parental favorite, not me. It wasn’t a secret. Older by a year, he was faster in sports, brilliant at academics and loved by old people and dogs alike.

I was the sullen child. My hair was always in my eyes, my knuckles scabbed and dirty and I had recently developed a taste for raw hamburger that our mother found disturbing.

Two days ago, she had caught me, red-handed (literally) filching a handful of tasty ground goodness from the fridge.

“What are you doing?” Her screech jangled my nerves so bad I thought I might pee on the floor.

“Nothing,” I mumbled.

“That will give you worms. Put it away,” she commanded.

I returned my after school snack to the package and tried not to slink away, looking for something more socially acceptable to gnash on.

My attention returned back to our family dinner as Bobby was managing to turn the conversation back to his favorite topic: himself. I kept my head down. Shovel. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. Bobby’s voice was a blur, something about going out with his friends after dinner.

“You’ll owe your sister another night of dishes, young man,” our father narrowed his gaze. Bobby grinned, we all knew our father felt obligated to establish the household discipline. The fact that his follow-through left something to be desired was known but never spoken.

Silence.

I raised my eyes to see everyone looking at me expectantly.

“Huh?”

Bobby shook his head, his disgust evident on his face.

“You don’t mind covering me for dishes tonight, right?”

I waved my fork in the air, shrugging. Our mother hated it when we talked with food in our mouths, she said it was uncivilized. I managed a garbled response from low in my throat while once again lowering my gaze.

“Cheese and rice, Monster. Swallow already.”

I glared up at Bobby, my lip lifting in a snarl. Some days I really hated him.

“Robert, enough,” our mother said, “and really, Margaret, take smaller bites.” By the time I peeked in her direction, her head was still shaking but the worst was over.

I did the dishes alone while our parents watched some mind-numbing variety show, complete with canned laughter. At least I wasn’t required to interact them.

I climbed the stairs, reaching to scratch my back. My skin was crawling. In the last few days stiff, thick hairs had sprouted along my spine. The itch was maddening. Something else the puberty books neglected to mention.

I entered my dimly lit room with a sigh of relief. In addition to my growing list of peculiarities, I had also developed a sensitivity to light in recent months. That and a habit of sleeping in a nest of pillows and blankets in a corner on the floor. I hadn’t shared that little gem with my mother yet, hoping it was something I would grow out of.

Anxiously I fluffed and re-arranged the blankets, fighting the urge to shred them in to tiny strips. By my third time around I was settled and drifted off into tormented sleep.

At first I thought I was dreaming. The pain was everything, all that I was. My skin crawled and I heard bones snap. Oh my god, I’m dying! What else could it be? Fear and adrenaline set my nerves on fire, my left leg kicking uncontrollably. I felt my teeth lengthen, clicking together with a sharp snak! I tasted blood and my nose was assaulted with a thousand scents, my brain frantically trying to organize them. I looked down to see my fingers elongate, my nails turning dark and thick. A naked, scaly rope lashed about my ankles and I writhed away. The length flipped back and forth and my stomach heaved with realization: it was connected to me.

Oh God, I have a tail. A long, naked, flesh covered tail!

My mind racing, my body riddled with pain, I launched myself toward the window, intent on ending this madness. Except instead of splatting into the shrubs a story below, I landed silently on my feet. My happy new tail helping me nail a landing worthy of Olympic Gold.

The pain was subsiding, something new taking over. My senses were heightened, I was excited, suddenly lusting for life, lusting for the sights, scents, lusting for, hunt? That was it, I wanted to hunt. I wanted to smell, to track, to run, to feed.

I lifted my nose, testing the air, sifting through a myriad of smells to locate that single exotic aroma that was a siren song to my salivary glands. My mouth watered. My tongue flicked out, moistening the end of my nose, amplifying the scents a thousand-fold. I leaped into the darkness, seeking my prey in the night.

I learned quickly. Scents hung in the air at different levels, some heavy and musky, close to the ground, others sharp, floating higher on the breeze. Amazingly, my brain was categorizing and storing as fast as I could take them in. Food and non-food were my primary concerns, but one special scent ranked above all others in the food column. That was the scent that drove me now. I was a prisoner to its aroma, I would not stop until I had it.

I ran through the darkness, sometimes on all fours, leaping backyard fences, passing windows of slack-jawed people staring mindlessly at flickering television screens. Dogs barked but retreated from my glares. He was near, the smell warm now, filling my nose and mouth. An overpowering urge to destroy drove me, and I leapt in the air. For one exhilarating moment my prey was below me, disbelief in his eyes at the death hovering above him. Descending, jaws wide, my mouth salivating for his taste, I sank my needle teeth into the warm flesh of Bobby’s neck. There was a startled cry, cut short as bones snapped. Heat rushed into my mouth and flesh yielded under my claws. On the perimeter of my consciousness I could hear frightened screams and the heavy beats of retreating footsteps, but what consumed me was my prey.

I ripped and tore, sinews snapping and warm muscle filling my mouth, sliding down my gullet in chunks of meat, skin and gut. It was glorious, the flesh quivering beneath my jaws, trembling on my tongue, the stink of fear and adrenaline wrapped in a bouquet of blood and bile. Satisfied growls rumbled in my chest like a purr, as I slurped and half-chewed my way through what used to be my brother.

***

I woke myself, belching contentedly, the morning sun streaming through broken glass in my room. Startled, I sat upright, staring at the shattered window. What in the hell have I done now?

I reached for the curtains and stopped. My outstretched arm was covered in dried blood up to the elbow. I turned my palms over, staring, my nails and the tiny creases of every finger stained a rich ochre. My belly rumbled and I looked down, shocked to see that my abdomen was distended like a starving child, or someone who had just gorged themselves on--

Oh shit.

My door opened and there was a shocked gasp. I looked up to see my mother staring at me, hand over her mouth.

“I, didn’t mean, ah, I don’t know what happened--“ I stuttered, trying to explain something I didn’t understand myself.

“Oh, my darling baby,” my mother came toward me, cooing, arms outstretched. The look on her face was one I couldn’t remember seeing before: motherly pride, tears shining in her eyes.

I took a step back.

“Don’t be scared darling, it’s alright.”

I tried to hide my bloody hands behind my back but she reached for them, clutching my fingers tenderly in hers. The tears were running down her cheeks now.

“I’m so proud,” she cried, “you can’t know how proud we are. We always thought it would be him, but he never changed. I really didn’t think, oh, but you’re so small, I wasn’t sure, but oh, darling,” she hugged me then, pulling me to her in some kind of sick embrace.

I pulled away. “Mom, I think I killed someone last night.”

She pulled me to her, stroking the back of my head, “Of course you did darling. The stronger one always kills the weaker one ’swhat we do.”

I let my mother pull me into her embrace, my mind a swirling mass of confusion. I was empty, a strange dark void where I was pretty sure the guilt and shame were supposed to be. Instead, in that space, something like pride bloomed, a cheerful yellow light of confidence, ringed with just a hint of conceit. I burrowed deeper into my mother’s arms and we both burst out laughing as my tail circled us both.