SON OF THE MONSTER

I, Jerimiah Smith, have always believed that evil is merely a temptation to control others to do unspeakable acts. The town of Mellania was peaceful where overgrown plants hung from building to building and streetlamps flickered from blue to red on lucky nights.

“Did any of you folks hear about the monster roaming around town?” the bartender asked, polishing a glass. I was too focused on my plights, taking occasional glances at a little boy cowering behind his father at the mention of a monster. A sight for sore eyes but not for me.

Stella had a fondness for children. Little bundles of light she would call them. I would’ve shared the same thought as her if not for my selfish act of coitus. Now our cottage remains as cold as winter, even on the hottest of summer days.

I should’ve ignored the rumor, should’ve gone on with my night in peace. But no, my erstwhile confidant Henry Ellerman had to entertain the story. A tale that would forever haunt my days.

“What beast?” Henry asked, taking a swig of his drink.

“The Warden,” the bartender replied. “Skin as dark as the night, claws as sharp as knives. He lives in the shack atop Prime Hill. Comes out at night, kills your livestock, and takes your children to feast upon. He stole my prized sheep last night and left only its horns behind.” He lifted one of the horns and gasps rippled through the bar. The blood on the horn was remarkably fresh.

“What do you think, Jerimiah?” Henry asked, his gaze fixed on me.

“I don’t believe in this Warden,” I said. “Maybe a wolf came and snatched his sheep.”

“The Warden must be behind this. What else would do such an evil thing?” Henry argued.

I remained silent. Who could do something that horrific to another person? I listened to the rumors pondering the existence of this so-called monster. A foolish act I must admit.

***

It only took a week for the Warden to strike again. Farmer Holly’s barn was scratched cleanly with cuts, feathers strung across the floor as if pillows were torn apart, and her chicken, Jojo, was found dead, its golden beak lying on the floor.

I sat in the town hall beside Henry watching people murmur condolences to Holly. The rumor mill went ablaze as everyone had to put in their own two cents on the matter. Some tried to point the blame on her husband, a disheveled wreck of a man.

Holly’s husband wasn’t that clear of mind but when he entered the hall and ran to his quivering wife, the rumor was quickly shot down.

“I pray that beast never comes for Elizabeth and Charlie,” Henry said. “Who would harm Holly’s farm if not that beast?”

“If it was the Warden then how do you suggest we stop it?” I asked.

Henry’s eyes lit up. “Fire and gunpowder. The next time the Warden strikes, we’ll ride to Prime Hill and burn that demon’s home to the ground. I’ll shoot him with a silver bullet,” Henry said, waving his arms for dramatization.

It was a good plan, I thought. If only I knew the repercussions of what was truly going to happen.

***

I awoke to screams and the panicked stomping of people in the streets. I rolled out of bed and quickly rushed to my front door before opening it. I stood perplexed as people ran with their nightgowns and torches ablaze and sparking before Henry approached me on horseback.

“Jerimiah, the Warden struck again! It broke into my home and took Charlie’s crib! We’re heading to that damned shack now! Follow me!” Henry said. He kicked his horse as he took off while I rushed to get on my steed.

After mounting my horse, I followed close behind my friend, passing by the marching mob of enraged men and women. Their torches flicked dimly in the night but the fire in their hearts burned brighter. We reached Prime Hill, stopping in front of the wooden shack.

The shack had a single window, with light barely being seen from the glass pane of the aperture. The building looked handmade. The boards of the home were sturdy and dark, and the door was hand-trimmed, smooth to the touch.

Henry drew his pistol before looking back at me. “Go around the back and grab the crib, I’ll smite the monster from here,” he said. His face looked gleeful.

I nodded, hopping off my horse and crouching to the back. I passed a small garden bearing fruits and vegetables of varying sizes before approaching the back door. My hands slowly reached for the handle before twisting it and pushing it ajar. I heard footsteps as the Warden turned to me with a candle, a confused look on its human face.

A bang screamed through the night sky before the Warden fell to the ground, shot between the eyes. The candle clattered to the ground as flames began to slowly spread. I rushed in, noticing the handmade wooden furniture of the home. A female portrait hung up on the wall. It seemed too beautiful, too well-crafted, too nice… for a monster.

I looked down at the Warden’s body. It had no claws, no sharp teeth, no ghastly appendages or scars. It was just a man, a tall man with skin darker than most, overgrown fingernails, and eyes as yellow as the sun.

I heard a cry to my right and turned to the side, noticing a wooden crib, handmade with a heart carved into it. I peered into it to see a child, as big as a shoe box, in the crib. It stared at me with eyes as blue as the sea. I scooped it into my arms and ran out of the burning shack.

While the townsmen cheered and Henry’s laughter seared its way into my mind, I sat outside on that grass floor, cradling the son of a man, not a monster.

Jordan Bell is a born and raised Floridian. He mostly writes based on his maladaptive daydreams and what if scenarios that come to mind from the media he consumes. When he’s not attending class, he’s writing while blaring music, playing horror or action games, and chilling with his dog Maya. Follow him on Instagram @sonicjdb_06.