What Man Makes of Himself

I was the kid who went home from school with bruises almost every day. I would spend lunch time hiding out in the library. Sure, I would be starving by the end of the day because food wasn’t allowed in the library but it was better than getting cornered in the schoolyard and getting the crap beaten out of me…again. I would spend most of free period hunched in a toilet stall hoping they wouldn’t be looking for me in there. On the days my mom would pick me up I’d hang out in the lobby where the teachers were. The safe zone. When mom would pull up I’d sprint to the car, dodging insults and the occasional spitball. Yep, you can definitely say my high school days were not the best years of my life.

There was however, one particular week that I’ll never forget. It was during the spring of my sophomore year at Montgomery Scott High School. I would like to share with you what a living hell that week was for me; the beatings, the teasing and the harsh ridicule from my peers, but most of all, I want to tell you about the thing down by the creek.

I was an honor student, taking mostly AP classes. There were a few classes I had to take with Brad Hudgins. He was seventeen and still a sophomore who spent most of his high school career killing time with the other stoners and burnouts behind the dumpster out back and would occasionally show up for class, usually when it was raining outside. Anyway, we had Classic Literature together. The teacher, Mr. Schultz, had given up getting through to his pupils decades ago. His lackluster enthusiasm in the classroom made it fairly obvious he was simply punching the clock until his retirement. Sure, those of us who took an academic pride in ourselves would complain to our parents, school board and the principle herself, but it’s virtually impossible to fire a teacher. It’s a union thing. You were guaranteed at least a C in his class if you showed up and kept your mouth shut. This, of course, drew in all the derelicts, underachievers and lifers…like Brad.

I remember we were reading Beowulf in that class. I loved that story. I found it so vivid and full of wonderful imagery, no thanks to Mr. Shultz, of course. It was something I could relate to. There was one day I remember in particular. The bell rang and I gathered my books and my buddy Scott and I headed out the door into the hallway. The danger zone. There was this tug on my collar pulling me back so violently, my books hit the floor and my feet came clear out from under me. I banged the back of my head on the hard tiled floor. When I regained composure and began to stand back up, I finally saw who it was that had grabbed me. It was Brad, my own personal Grendel. Just like the story Beowulf. He stood there laughing. I reached to pick up my books and his foot came down on my hand. I bit my lip and tried not to cry out from the sharp pain. He let up and I held my hand to my chest trying to hold back the tears. Scott was nowhere to be found.

By now a crowd gathered. I read this story once about a man who noticed the way a crowd materializes whenever an terrible accident occurs, how hungry they look, hoping to get a glimpse of raw mortality, pain, suffering and even death.

I heard Brad’s raspy voice amidst the crowd. “Geez, Peter, you really need to watch where your going. You could get hurt. You wouldn’t want to get hurt would you? I mean, I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt, Petey.” drawing out the words the way you do when you want everyone within earshot to know just how much bull you’re really slinging. He bent over to help me up with this total evil grin on his face. Ms. Flint stepped out from her classroom and asked if everything is ok. The crowd began to evaporate.

“Uh, yeah…everything’s fine, Ms. Flint. I just dropped my book, that’s all.”

She glanced over at Brad, “What about you, Brad? Any problems I need to know about?”

“No Ma’am. No problem here. My buddy Petey here tripped. I’m just helping him up.” he innocently says. I couldn’t believe he could even keep a straight face. Ms. Flint retreated back into her classroom.

A few seconds pass and Coach Reinhardt came walking down the hall. He’s a big guy with a marine –style close-cropped buzz cut and a crooked nose that never healed right from when he played for the Detroit Lions. He wears his whistle around his neck and his shorts two sizes too small. He stops mid-hall to chat it up with head cheerleader, Summer Thompson, which is gross if you knew him and heard him talk in the locker room. He swings our way and pats Brad on the shoulder.

“So…Bradley…when are you going to finally man up and come play for me? We need an ox like you on the line since Murphy is going to be out on an injury.”

Brad looked down at the ground, “Oh, I don’t know coach…been real busy lately. Maybe next season.”

Coach Reinhardt doesn’t even look at me. I suppose I wasn’t worth a gaze from his aged, has-been face. He pats Brad on the shoulder one more time before heading off.

“Loser”, Brad mutters. I’m not sure whether he’s talking about Reinhardt or me. He turns and looks at me with an anger in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. He reaches out his arms and smacks my books back down to the ground. That one was from the heart, which I figured was a chunk of ice in the middle of his chest. He leans closer to me; close enough that I can smell his stale breath. “Today, after school…three-thirty, out behind the bleachers.” He jabs his finger into my chest. Even that hurts. “Don’t make me come looking for you.” He turns away and heads down the hall. I began breathing again.

The warning bell rang. The hallway emptied with the clangs of locker doors and sneakers squeaking. Somewhere a girl laughed high and sweet. It was just me and the hall monitor now. “Hey, get to your class, loser, or I’ll write you up.” I never liked hall monitors. They ran the hallways the same way Nazi Gestapo ran the streets of Poland.

The tardy bell rang as I ran to class, squeaking my own sneakers now.

Scott stared at me from across the aisle as I took my seat. “What happened?” he said, just mouthing the words. I took out a sheet from my notebook and wrote, “Like you don’t know. Thanks for leaving me high and dry, jerk.” I dropped my pencil and when I leaned over to pick it up, I slipped the note into his hand.

It came back a few minutes later with one sentence on it:

“Awe, man. What are you gonna do?”

I sat there staring at the question for the longest time. In fact, that’s all I could do all day. I thought about it during Chemistry, French and English Literature. I gave myself a break during lunch period, hiding out in the library. Instead, I read an article in Scientific American about these scientists who kept putting more and more mice into a single cage until finally they became cannibalistic and began eating each other. Sounds vaguely familiar.

Algebra was my last class of the day. Mrs. Shaw was a rarity among teachers in that school; she actually cared. Unfortunately, Brad was in that class as well. He sat four seats across from me, right next to the window. On any other day, he would’ve done his usual routine of just sitting there, staring out the window, pondering his next evil scheme. Not today, though. Instead, he sat there, leering at me, occasionally mouthing the words, “I’m gonna kill you.” over and over. Needless to say, I learned nothing about quadratic equations that day.

The bell rang at three o’clock. I slowly rose from my chair and gathered my books. In my mind I was asking God for a miracle. Then I got one. As I was walking towards the door, Brad walking right behind me, I heard the voice…

“Uh, Bradley Updike…we need to talk about your homework assignments. Come back here, please.” Mrs. Shaw was an angel sent from God.

I jogged down the hallway and ducked into the bathroom, locked the stall, and hunkered down on top of the toilet until all sounded quiet outside. When I figured it was safe, I stepped out of the bathroom and headed down towards the south entrance, by the gym. The entrance leading out to the lot where the dumpster sat was to the north. I figured I would cut across the football practice field and through the woods to my house. Maybe another miracle would happen and a meteor would fall from the sky and land on Brad.

As I pushed the exit door open my nose was hit with the smell of fresh-mown grass. Charlie, the school maintenance man, was raking up some leaves over near the end zone on my right. To the left, cheerleaders stood in ranks at the other end of the field. The football team was running laps in a pack around the track, whistling and howling at the girls as they passed.

“There he is! C’mon, let’s get him!”

I took off like a jackrabbit, not even bothering to turn around and see how far behind Brad was. I heard two voices shouting. I assumed it was Brad and his sidekick, Frankie, who were in pursuit. When I reached the tree line on the other side of the field, I snatched a quick glance over my shoulder. Yep, it was Brad and Frankie coming to get me. Great, four fists punching my stomach instead of two. I slipped into the cool pine-smelling shadows and began working my way through the trees towards home. I was hoping that my short stature would give me the advantage in the woods. I could duck under branches more easily than my pursuers. I zigzagged through the pines, trying to throw them off. I did not want them to figure out where exactly my house was. I climbed Miller’s Hill faster than I think I ever have and practically rolled down the other side to the woods. I was running out of steam fast and decided to make a cut across the creek to save some time.

Running through an old thicket, a rogue dry branch caught my right cheek. It pulled at my skin, tearing, leaving a jagged red slash across my face. I winced and ran my hand over my cheek. Pulling my hand away and looking down I could see the blood. I kept running the whole time.

I stopped long enough to roll up my pants, never bothering to take my sneakers and socks off. After crossing the creek, I stood to hear if they were close. I could hear their voices coming over the hill.

“C’mon, I think he went this way!” They were approaching the creek. I ducked behind an old maple tree that must’ve been over a hundred years old. It was perfect for hiding behind.

I could see them now, maybe twenty yards away, flashed of blue jeans and doc Martins hacking their way towards the creek, Brad chanting on and on, “I know you’re here you little turd! I’m gonna find you and when I do, I’m gonna beat your sorry little butt!”

Brad and Frankie now stood directly across the creek from me. They stood there silent, listening. I tried controlling my breathing down to a whisper, which was difficult considering I had just run about a mile and a half. Frankie lifts his head, like a bloodhound scenting the wind. “What do you think you’re gonna do, never come back to school? Your butt is mine, dipstick! Just give up now and get it over with!”

“Shut up, you idiot.” Brad hisses. “Listen!”

So they listen…and I hear it, too.

There was this high-pitched howl. It almost sounded like a dog whose tail caught fire but this was no dog. I didn’t recognize the sound at all. I will admit, it sent shivers up my spine and made my hair stand up on the back of my neck. I almost pissed my pants.

“What the heck?”, Brad looked worried. I couldn’t recall ever seeing that look on his face before.

“Let’s get out of here!” Frankie tugged at his arm. “I don’t like the sound of that, Brad!”

“Wait a minute, “Brad waived him off, still gazed around into the surrounding woods. “ I think it came from over there.” The two of them head off down along the creek, whispering to one another. It was obvious by Frankie’s body language he did not want to follow Brad, but he did. Their voices were getting shallower every second until I could hear them no more.

Five minutes passed and I assumed it was safe to come out from behind the tree. I blew out a long breath and wiped the stinging sweat out of my eyes. I looked down to realize I actually did piss my pants.

As I walked along the creek, being very cautious of those two in case they decide to back-track and find me, I noticed the silence. It seemed as if every bird and bug had stopped their orchestral songs. The only sound was that of the rippling creek. I continued walking a little further down the creek and noticed a discoloration in the water. It looked like some kind of black mud. With Brad and Frankie nowhere in sight, I decided it was safe enough to investigate. I stepped to the creeks edge and with my hand, scooped up a handful of the water. The water ran thru my fingers and left a bright red liquid stain behind. I swirled it between my forefinger and thumb. That’s when I heard the high pitched screaming-howl again.

I could have run away. I could have ignored it, and maybe everything would have turned out different. But there was something too awful in that sound, something so pained and terrible, that to dismiss it would have been against my scientifically inquisitive nature. So I paused, listening, and I let the sound draw me to it, pushing my way thru tangled branches that scratched at my arms.

I found the thing at the base of a gully, huddled in a bed of rotting leaves. It stared at me…great big yellow eyes staring back at me. Its skin was a wet, translucent, pale grey. Just below the skin I could see thick purple and blue veins running all over its body. It just sat there, unmoving. I was terrified and intrigued at the same time. Years of reading comic books and science fiction made this entire experience a little easier to digest, I suppose. I still didn’t know what to make of it. I thought for a minute, maybe it’s a being from another planet?…or something from the spirit world?...or maybe it escaped from a governmental lab. I stood very still-Brad and Frankie momentarily forgotten-starring at the thing before me. I reached out my hand and very softly said “Hello.” The thing grimaced at me. I mean, if there were any left in me, I would’ve peed myself all over again. The corners of the thing’s mouth extended so wide, I would’ve sworn its lips touched in the back of its head. It had very long, very sharp dagger-like teeth, yellow stained with red. There was no nostrils that I could see; just a smooth bump where a nose would be.

The thing slowly rose and stood up on two legs revealing what it had been huddled over. Everything around me shifted in some subtle way that even now I can hardly describe. It was like looking at one of those three-dimensional pictures where something has been hidden in a blur of color and you can’t see it and then you turn your head slightly and there it is. There, covered in mud, leaves and blood, sat Brad’s head…just the head; the look of pure horror still on his face. I could feel the blood leaving my head and thought I was going to blackout. My legs began buckling beneath me.

The thing stretched out an arm towards me. It was as if it were beckoning me to approach. I dared not. I noticed it did not have fingernails. Instead, it had very long, grey, boney fingers that simply came to a sharp point. There didn’t appear to be any muscle tone running through its arms at all yet apparently it had torn apart Brad and, I’m assuming, Frankie with ease. One thing stood out to me; the sense of sadness in its eyes. Despite its apparent strength, it looked desperate and lost and it was asking me for help.

“Okay,” I said, even though my heart was pounding. “It’ll be ok,” I said, which was what my mother used to say to me when I skinned a knee or something stupid like that. I walked slowly over to the thing and reached out my arm. Just before our hands touched, I hesitated, thinking this may be how it grabbed a hold of the other two boys. I took the chance anyway. Although, it looked wet, its skin actually felt dry and leathery. The points of its fingers were sticking me in the wrist as we clasped each other. It slowly pulled me closer. It stood about a foot taller than me. Now, I could see the eyes more clearly. They were pale yellow with vertical slits, much like a cat. There was an odor about it, a type of ammonia. In fact, it burnt the inside of my nose just inhaling it. I looked down to examine its feet. There were only three toes on each foot. Two toes were pointed forward and the third pointed backward for balance, I suppose. Again, there were no nails at the ends of them. They came to sharp points just like the fingers.

The thing made a low chirping noise. I assumed it was trying to communicate with me.

“I-I don’t understand you. Can you understand me?” I nervously said.

It just stood there, not even blinking. I let go of its hand and stood there, thinking what to say. The two of us just stood there, examining one another. I could’ve stood there for hours but…

“These two, they hurt you?” a gurgled voice came from its mouth.

“Oh! You…You can talk? You understand me?” My heart felt like it stopped in my chest.

“Yesss, I understand you talk.” it hissed back.

“What are you? Where did you come from?” I asked.

“You not underssstand what I am. I not come here new, I always here.”

“You mean you’ve lived here in the woods? You’re from Earth?”

“Yesss, I come from…from you Peter. You made me.”

“What? What do you mean?” At that moment I was completely confused. How could I have had anything to do with this thing?

“All your life, you come here as a crying boy. You come and pour sadness into creek. Tears. The others, they make you suffer. Yesss, Peter?”

“Sometimes, yes. But…Uh, are you saying that sadness made you? My sadness made you?”

“Not Sadnesss, no, Peter. I am yours, yesss. I hurt those who hurt you…like those boysss.” Strands of mucus ran from top teeth to lower jaw. Its breath was foul. It was like dead fish and sour milk combined. Standing closer now, I could see bits of flesh trapped between the teeth and a little piece of purple fabric; the same color of Frankie’s shirt.

While I stood there, talking to this thing I noticed it seemed to slowly change. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was familiar.

“So, what do I do with you? There’s no way I’m taking you home with me. You’ll probably just chew my face off while I’m sleeping…or my mom’s, right?” I asked.

“I am here to protect you, Peter. I only hurt those who hurt you.”

“This is not happening. It can’t be. I am not capable of ‘creating’ a monster like you.”

“Oh, but you are Peter. Mankind is capable of creating much worssse than me."

“So…do you have a name?”

“Yesss, my name is…Revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Yes, Peter. Anger, Hatred, Malice, Jealousy, they are all my brothers and sisters. They lurk about these woods as well. Sometimes we manifest ourselves in the physical realm, sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we stay hidden, bottled up for years before released into the rest of the world.”

The creature was still changing, transforming before my eyes. I noticed that its eyes were human-like now…blue like mine, in fact. Its skin was no longer pale. Instead, it now had a slight warm, pinkish hue to it. Also, the creature no longer towered over me. We were now standing eye to eye. And then there was the most tell-tale characteristic of all…it had a distinct jagged cut running across its right cheek. It was then I realized the familiarity I was trying to identify. It was true. This thing I was staring at…it was me. I was looking into the eyes of the monster that I created inside myself.

Revenge stuck with me for the rest of my school years and has been with me well into adulthood. Yes, there are times when I call upon him and damage is done. So be it. I need him, or so I thought until I began to realize that the more I used him the more he looked like me. I was becoming him, or rather, he was becoming me. Whatever. We are becoming inseperable. I am slowly being overtaken by the beast I created. I know that eventually he will have to be destroyed lest he grow too strong for me to control.

Forgiveness is the only bullet that can stop him and right now I'm out of ammo.