Monster

Chapter 1

         Angela was a fairly typical nine year old girl. She was outgoing, happy, and also just happened to be one of the smartest students Chris had come across in many years of teaching. She had tremendous potential for someone as young as she was, especially evident in her art.  She was constantly drawing pictures, typically of a mythological nature, seeming to strongly favor unicorns and fairies.

         Lately however, all that had changed drastically. She had become very introverted and quiet, whereas before he would usually have to warn her to stop talking so much. Her grades dropped sharply as the schoolwork no longer seemed to be of any real importance to her anymore. Worried, he had set up a meeting with her father the previous week. Apparently her mother had walked out of the two of them recently.  In a way that did sort of explain the issues, but he'd seen many such cases over his teaching career and yet none who had taken it quite as hard as she appeared to.

         The father himself, seemd to be a very geniune and caring man.  He had shown considerable concern over what Chris had to tell him, as well as expressing things he had also noticed first hand.  It was only when questioned further about the mother that the conversation started to deteriotate.  The more Chris pressed, the more agitated he had become.  He had sensed some kind of latent... hostility? Perhaps that was too strong a word, but certainly a defensiveness whenever Chris would ask him a question. Then again, that could easily be attributed to the sensitivity of what their personal life had become.  Perhaps it was simply the bitterness of a man who felt that he had been betrayed, coupled with the discomfort of having to discuss such issues with a man who was essentially a stranger to him.  Of course, there was also the trash can. Filled with can after can of beer, it was a sure sign of alcohol abuse. Alcoholism can sometimes lead to physical abuse in some cases. However, again, he never truly found anything to suggest the father was doing anything wrong.  Not only that, but frankly he had seemed in no way the type of man who could lay a finger on his daughter in violence.  Finding nothing, he decided to let it go.

         A week had now passed and the problems only continued to worsen, so he decided to press the issue again. This time he had decided he should go directly to Angela herself. He waited until recess and asked her to stay inside. It was now only minutes ago but the entire episode was still fresh on his mind.

         When he questioned Angela, she herself asserted that her father had never been anything but loving to his daughter.  Chris had told her that he believed her, that her father seemed like a very nice man.  He asked instead if there was anyone else who would visit them on occassion.  It was then that the conversation took an immediately stranger and disturbing turn.

         Angela described for him a monster which would lie in wait until her father slept, then "attack" her. She walked him through a typical night and what would happen to her, how the creature would assault her and turn violent if she resisted.  Not only was her verbal description detailed, but she produced a sketchbook with dozens of images, all fitting exactly what she had told him. Even more shocking was the fact that while what the monster did in the pictures was different, the look of the creature itself never once wavered. Each demonic visage looked exactly like the others.

         It was as if the pictures, ridiculous as it sounded, were drawn from memory. Usually when a child makes such a thing up, details vary with the child's recollection of the fabrication. This was certainly not the case here. Each subtle feature of the creature seemed etched in her mind.

         The quality of the work itself was nothing short of incredible. Had it been drawn by someone many years her senior, it could be taken as some of the best in abstract art, despite the violent and sometimes graphic nature of the images. In a strange bit of professionalism, Angela had even gone so far as to add in the dates she had drawn them on the bottom right corner of each. He had to stop and remind himself that this was no artist, but a nine year old girl crying out against the abuse and sexual assaults she claimed to be enduring at the hands of some horrifying nonexistent entity. All of which appeared to occur in her own bedroom.

         He looked at the monster again, its shadowy humanoid body, its hideously disfigured face, its impossibly claw like hands, its burning red eyes...

         Then he looked into Angela's eyes, hoping desperately for some twisted smirk, some avoidance in her eyes, some type of signal which would say that this was all some sick lie. "Angela, this is very important and I need you to be completely honest with me, okay?" She nodded. "Is this creature, what is happening in these pictures, real?"

         Again she nodded. She neither averted her eyes nor could he see any degree of deceit in them, only a deep sadness and revulsion as she looked back over her own drawings.

         They sat in complete silence for several minutes. What should he do now? What could he do? The child was obviously losing some degree of her sanity, or suffering from some horrible trauma-induced nightmares potentially brought about by the sudden separation from her mother. But who would he even tell this to that would not simply laugh in his face at the completely nonsensical story the girl was creating?

         He decided instead to simply keep a closer eye on her for the moment, see if any new developments arose. After all, he could not help her unless he knew exactly what was bothering her. He sent her on her way to join the rest of the kids on the playground. She did not play. She talked to no one. Instead she retreated to the cover of a tree that was shrouding the ground beneath it with its shade. She withdrew her sketchbook and began drawing another picture.

Chapter 2

         Chris hadn't believed her either, no one ever did. They thought she was a liar. Even her own father, the man she loved and respected above all others, could only tell her that it was nonsense and that monsters didn't exist. She must have been having another nightmare. Sometimes out of anger, he would go so far as to tell her she was making it all up. But the pain was real. What this thing was doing to her was real.

         It didn't matter, she would take care of it herself, tomorrow night. She'd been planning it all week. First she would fake sick tomorrow and then while her father was off at work, she would steal one of his guns, hide it in the bed with her... and when the monster came... she would kill it.

         Her newest drawing reflected her intentions. Lying in her bed, gun pointed at the creature, blood splattering through the back of its head as several bullets carved hollow trails through it. The thought filled her with a sort of twisted satisfaction to know that, soon, all of this would be over.

         It would all end tomorrow night. She would no longer be a helpless victim to this creature's advances. And with the body... her father, her teacher, everyone would have to believe her. No one could call her a liar again with the monster's bleeding body lying before them.

         The bell rang, signaling the end of recess. She stuffed her things back into her backpack and headed inside. It would come again in twelve more hours. She would have to endure one last time. It wouldn't be easy, but it would all be worth it in the end.



         The next four hours dragged by slowly. Chris tried to go about the day as normal, but he couldn't stop thinking about Angela and these recent sinister revelations, trying desperately to figure out what they meant. There seemed to be an answer there in the back of his mind, he just couldn't quite put everything together. Something was missing. His eyes kept returning to her as she worked on what appeared to be another picture.

         Mercifully four did eventually come and the children began filing out. He watched them go, especially Angela, and hoped she would be alright.

         When the room had emptied, he went about his typical after school clean up ritual. He went desk to desk making sure everything had been put away when something caught his eyes. It was Angela's sketchbook. He considered for several minutes whether or not he should take it home with him, maybe look it over a bit more. Eventually he decided against it, figuring she might come back for it, and instead tucked it safely in her desk. Tomorrow though, he would ask her to let him have another look at it. Maybe there was something he was missing, something he could use to help her.



         The night went by far too quickly.  Like most nights, she went through the same rituals, pretending to be fine. Her father getting home, dinner, watching a movie together... and now it was already time for bed. She made excuses, but eventually her father would win as he always did, leaving her to a fate which he denied.

         She lay in bed in the darkness, waiting for the moment to come. It would come again; it did almost every night now. She had tried so many ways to avoid it, but it was futile. No matter where she slept, it found her. Even in her fathers’ bed, eventually the creature would somehow dispose of her father for the moment and take her. Her father, of course, never remembered such events. It seemed strange, yet everything about this was so impossible that it wasn't that far of a stretch. Nothing made sense anymore. This monster ran from a completely different set of rules than people did.

         The door began creaking open. She'd lost track of time in her head. Sure enough, the first thing she noticed was its bright red eyes, shining through the darkness. It moved slowly, silently, creeping over to the bed with evil intent. She began crying then, knowing all too well the events to come. It was upon her, she did not resist. She did not scream. There was a time she tried to fight back, but it was much too strong for her and only denied the inevitable. Instead, she once again retreated to that place in her head as she had done so many times before, far away from this hell. She played with her friends on the playground, laughed, chased the other children... and in this moment, all was right in the world again.

         When it was finished with her, it forced her to drink a glass of some nausiating unknown liquid which would always make her pass out shortly thereafter. As she drifted off, her head was filled with the murderous intentions she was about to release soon enough. Enjoy your victory while you can, it will be your last.

Chapter 3

         Chris was a bit worried: Angela had not come to school today. Every so often he would glance over at the door, hoping to see her coming in, but she never showed.

         At lunch, he broke away to the lounge room to call her home. There was no answer. He called her father's work instead, and he told him that she had been sick earlier in the morning and he had decided to let her stay home, of course adding afterward, "and don't interrupt me at work unless it's over something important." I'm concerned for your daughter, you self righteous prick, isn't that important enough?

         He was dwelling too much on this. Perhaps there really was nothing to be concerned about, just the nightmares of a young child. Something inside, however, told him otherwise.

         The day ended, and again he returned to his cleaning ritual: sweeping the floors, clearing the chalkboard, and finally giving the desks a quick wipe down. He stopped at Angela's desk. If she was not here today then that meant she would not be in at least until the morning. Now was the opportunity to grab her sketchbook, he could look it over tonight. There would be no interruption at home and he would be free to look them over as much as necessary. It would, hopefully, provide the missing link in his mind as to what exactly was going on.



         After some expert acting and faux vomiting, she eventually convinced her father to let her stay home alone. She was not worried about the creature, as it only came to her at night. She had the entire day, if necessary, to prepare herself for tonight. As it turned out though, she hadn't actually needed much time. She found the key to the gun cabinet in her father's desk after only thirty minutes of searching. The bullets were already in it. She familiarized herself with it as much as she could, with how it worked. She could leave no margin for error. If she missed the creature, there was no telling what it would do to her then. She would have to hold back and only fire when it was close enough that she could not possibly miss it.

         The rest of the day was uneventful. Around noon the phone rang, the caller id showing it as her school calling. She ignored it. An hour later her father called to check on her, to make sure she was alright and ask her if she needed anything. He was a very sweet man, always looking out for her. She knew he was worried about her "lying" and this creature she claimed was attacking her, but that would be over soon enough and they could both get on with their lives again.

         She spent the rest of the day watching random television shows, but nothing of interest. Now she knew why she never took off from school: day time television sucked.

         Finally her father got home and she feigned being sick again for the sake of getting some sleep early. The sooner the night came, the sooner she would be free.



         At home, Chris looked over the pictures intently, but could find nothing. He had to be missing something, somewhere. An hour had passed and not a single hint, not one small clue as to what was going on. He flipped another page. He was greeted by a close up view of the creature's face, simply revolting. If this thing truly was haunting her nightmares, the poor girl must be scared out of her mind.

         Something in the background caught his eye, lying on the bedroom floor: a can. It looked very similar to the beer cans he had seen the previous week, but in her room? Even then, it seemed odd to even bother adding that into the picture unless... maybe the can itself held significance. He moved back a page, then another, then another... but there were no more. In a few pictures however, a glass of some liquid rested on her bed stand. He went forward another page, and another beer can... in the monster's hand? This didn't make sense. The monster was on top of her and for a moment Chris was transfixed by her cold blank gaze. She wasn't so much looking at the creature than at a spot seemingly through it entirely.

         But the beer... that was it. That was the link he was missing, wasn't it? It had to be. He flipped to the next page, her last drawing. He sat in horror of the violence portrayed. Her, with her face stuck forever in a vicious scream, shooting the creature in the face. It was quite gory, with blood splatters everywhere. But the date... the date was not correct. She had drawn this one or two days ago and yet... it was dated for today instead. Unless, of course, the dates were not actually representative of when the drawings were made at all, but more the date that the event itself had transpired. If that was true, then she had access to a gun, and she planned on using it tonight.

         "Shit!"

         He quickly grabbed his shoes and keys then glanced over his attendance sheets for an address. He found it luckily and it was only five minutes from his own house. He rushed out the door. Something horrible was about to happen and he had to be there to stop it.



         Very soon now. She waited in silence, one hand gripping the blanket, the other gripping the pistol under the pillow beside her. It would come to find her but instead it would find only death. Oh won't it be surprised to find that the weak little girl it had been terrorizing would be the instrument of its death? She replayed in her head images of the shots ringing out and the bullets piercing the creatures flesh, watching as it collapsed to the floor gasping for breath.  Any time now it would emerge... she prayed for it to hurry. She tried desperately to keep awake, not daring to fall asleep and risk ruining all of her planning. Finally, the door began creaking open... the time had come.



         Chris stopped the car on the side of the street and sprinted to the door. Two gunshots rang out in the night and a bedroom upstairs lit up in a flash with each burst. He was too late. He rushed the door with his shoulder and it sprang open with surprising ease. The stairs stood just in front of him and he darted upwards.



         It was dead. It had gone silent instantly. She was unsure of where she had hit it but it was definitely not making any sounds. She switched on the light and glanced at the floor. This... could not be possible. The face of the monster was there, but the body...



         Chris found the room easily once the light was on and he ran in. He stopped in shock. There was Angela on her bed, pistol in hand, staring in horror at the subject of her torment. He looked to the ground praying to find a monster but what he saw was something different entirely. It was merely a man in a cheap Halloween mask... her father he assumed. It all made sense now. He had been wearing the mask to play on her fears and her young mind had put together the rest as a defense mechanism to protect her from the even more horrifying truth of what was really happening to her. Oh god, the poor girl. She knew now... his heart sank... the bastard had used her for his own selfish needs and now she would be stuck living with this trauma the rest of her life.



                  Her own father... it was unbelievable. She had been so sure of what she'd seen and yet, here he was. It didn't make sense. Why? Why would he do this to her? He was her father, he was supposed to protect her... to love her... but the face was no mistaking the form of the man who she had grown up with for so many years. This was what had been haunting her nightly. The blood pouring out of its face and chest belonged to her father. It had been her father all along and now she had killed him.  She could find no words, no explanation for why all of this had to happen... once more, she retreated to that place in her head as she had done so many times before, far away from this hell. She played with her friends on the playground, laughed, chased the other children... and in this moment, all was right in the world again.