Disclaimer: The city of Townsville and all that is associated with it belongs not to me, but to Craig McCracken. Duh.
Author's Note: This is a WARNING that this story starts slowly and builds up in intensity. Please don't flame me, as this is my first PPG fiction.
Genre: General
Rating: K+ for small mentions of minor violence
THE MONSTER WITHIN
Chapter One – And So It Begins
With a sharp intake of breath and a startled outburst, a young woman abruptly sat up, clutching her plush octopus against her chest tightly. She was sweating, and it gave her facial features an eerie sheen amplified by the moonlight seeping into the room, emphasizing the expression of heart-stopping fear on her face.
"Cassie?" came a gentle voice.
Her eyes widened at the sound of her mother's voice; she hadn't heard the door creak open. She remained silent.
"Honey, are you all right?" There was more concern in the voice now.
Cassie cleared her throat in an attempt to dislodge the fear solidifying itself on her vocal cords. "Mom." Her voice sounded pitiful and pathetic, and she hated it. It made her feel weak. "It was the same dream, only this time he actually… and she… and…."
She couldn't bring herself to utter the unthinkable.
"What's going on?" the man of the house whispered in the hallway as he made his way over to his wife and daughter, rubbing the fatigue out of his tired eyes. "Sophie, is Cass all ri—" He stopped breathing when he laid eyes on his daughter.
It was the worst he had seen her since the nightmares first began. Her blonde hair clung to her sweaty, blotchy face, and tears threatened to spill from her puffy red eyes. But what frightened him the most was the face she was frantically recreating in her sketchbook.
It was a face he hadn't seen in over a decade.
Jack was enraged. His knuckles were a chalky white, nearly the same hue as his signature lab coat, and he was practically flooring the gas of his sedan. Naturally, he didn't notice any of these things; his thoughts were consumed with the safety of his beloved family.
He had seriously considered keeping his other two daughters, Callie and Carly, from school, but they had all but groveled to go. Eventually, he gave in with immense reluctance.
Sophie, on the other hand, thought it was a rather amusing spectacle; how many parents can say that their children actually want to go to school every single day, regardless of any ulterior motives they may have? At least she knew her daughters had their priorities straight, focusing on theatre and basketball instead of drugs, alcohol, and sex like the majority of their peers. It warmed her heart.
Jack glanced at Cassie through the rearview, and his chest tightened in sorrow. There sat the joy and laughter of his life, eyes watering and lips quivering in fear. He felt helpless whenever she'd had nightmares, but this was the worst of them so far. Never before had they been so… explicit. He cursed under his breath.
Sophie heard her husband vent his distress and turned her attention from the sights of the inner city to gaze at him. His handsome features were twisted to form the expression of a menacing scowl.
It was then that she realized that, for the first time—and hopefully the last—she was afraid of her own husband. Gone was the man she had learned to call her Big Teddy Bear, and in his place was a fearsome man ready to viciously tear apart the target of his rage, limb from limb.
Whatever the cause, Sophie knew one thing for sure: she did not like this side of her husband at all.
Something was amiss—that much was certain. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to determine exactly what that was.
It started about a month ago with the escape of a dangerous, unnamed high-profile prisoner. The police department has since remained mum about the whole incident, leaving the general public with nothing but speculations.
The grapevine of rumors was not a matter of public discussion; rather, it was spread by hushed word of mouth, whispered from ear to ear in the desolate shadows of downtown Townsville.
Morris Jones pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his office chair with an exasperated sigh. He'd spent the past few hours engrossed in the journal entries of his former, supervillain self. There had to be some sort of clue as to the identity of the escaped convict.
A buzz interrupted Morris's distracted train of thought. "Mr. Jones, there's a Jonathan here to see you," came the unsure voice of his secretary. She phrased the statement as though it was partially a question, the last couple of words a bit higher pitched than the rest.
"And the surname of this man is?"
"He goes by the name of Jonathan Waldron according to his identification sir."
Morris blanched. Waldron? That was the professor with whom his longest-running truce was held. For him to be in such close proximity meant a dire emergency was taking place.
With a nervous gulp of uncertainty, Morris told his secretary not to fret, and to allow Waldron entry into his office. He felt like the seconds of a ticking time bomb were pulsating inside the confines of his skull, making his brain throb painfully.
When the doorknob rattled and shook at the professor's urgent ministrations, Morris forced himself to exhale the air he hadn't realized he was holding in. Lord have mercy. His sanity cried out its last coherent thought before all hell broke loose.
No sooner than he had barged through the doorway, Jack began his verbal assault. "I thought we had an agreement, Jones," he said through his teeth, jaw clenched down so hard that veins were straining through the skin of his forehead.
"I am not quite understanding you, Waldron," replied Morris curtly.
The professor huffed in frustration and made a swift grab for the piece of paper in his daughter's trembling hands, failing to notice the way she flinched away from him in fear. A shocked Sophie reached for the young girl and embraced her protectively, palms poised to cover her ears if need be.
"Tell me why my daughter is having night terrors and why your son features in nearly all of them," he sneered in disgust. "And tell me why the hell she wakes up shrieking for Quinn to get his filthy hands off of her sister. I swear to God, Jones, if this is some kind of sick joke, I will kill you with my bare hands."
At this point, Jack was latched onto Morris's collar and was using it to pull him up and out of the chair so they were standing face-to-face, staring each other down with full-blown ferocity.
"My boys still have absolutely no recollection of their pasts, as do your girls—I guarantee that. What do you think I am, some kind of quack?" Morris spat, his words seething with indignation. "Now, if you would please let go of me, I will administer to your little one some of the short-term memory serum."
Jack faltered, searching the eyes of his former nemesis for any signs of betrayal. Finding none, he released his death grip on the man's collar and ran his hands through his dark hair, his thoughts conflicting.
As Morris hurriedly prepared the solution, something occurred to him. Maybe Jack's daughter was plagued not with nightmares or night terrors, but with a "creature" of the night, so to speak. In other words, there was a possibility of connecting this phenomenon with the prison escapee.
"Pardon me, Keane—or is it Waldron now? —But please indulge me: for how long has this been happening?" he asked as he clanged the spoon against the inside of the glass to rid it of excess fluids.
"It's been about a month."
Morris gratefully acknowledged Sophie's response with a slight nod, and then shifted his attention to the blonde-hair teenager in her embrace. "Cassandra," he began, "when you are having these… dreams… is there an ongoing narration of sorts, similar to viewing an old documentary? Or is it just like a modern movie playing through your head?"
"There's a voice," the young girl whispered, ashamed of the way her response could be misconstrued against her sanity. She narrowed her eyes as she recalled the details of her fitful slumbers. "But it's not a voice I know, and I can't seem to place the gender. It's like a woman and man are speaking in unison."
Morris, a look of alarm on his face, quickly handed the glass to her and shifted his attention to the two adults. "Jack. Sophie," he said solemnly. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."
He paused dramatically as he waited for the young girl to succumb to the effects of his memory-wiping serum. Only when it became clear that she had lost consciousness did he continue.
"The Devil himself is back. And he is wasting absolutely no time exacting his revenge."