Chapter 6: Monster

The angry shove or the sudden attack does not come. You stand still as a marble statue, allowing your prey to hold onto you. And maybe you have never been hugged before and don't even understand what I'm doing. But finally all this silence and unnerving stillness is too much for me, and I step back. Letting go and looking up at you. The huge flame-colored eyes studying me. Considering. In your hand the doll hangs limply while you clutch her, pondering what to do or say next. Finally, those red lips part to show the broken glass teeth.

"If this is some sort of game or trick, little girl…"

"It's not. You know it isn't. You can read that in me, right? Smell me."

And you do. Bending down to snuffle my hair and read the delicate pheromones and chemical reactions that will tell you whether I am lying, whether this is a ruse to keep you distracted while the others assemble and attack. Sensing no deception, you rise to your full height again and tuck the doll into your belt. Your voice is melodious, a low growl beneath every word.

"I could have killed you, in particular, so very many times Beverly. In the garage, I came for you first. I chose you to attack not because you were the weakest member of your infernal little club, but because I wished only to take one of you and you were my selection. When I held you by the throat in my dining hall I could have snapped your neck like a twig. I have the strength, child."

In agitation, your black claws ease through the fabric of your gloves, and my eyes flick down to watch them warily. You're not the only one who's expecting an attack. And maybe neither one of us has a better reason to be on high alert. You are the stronger one here. That's clear. But we hurt you badly five years ago. I don't step away. I don't run. I just listen to your words, taking in the information.

"I thought you couldn't. Because….because I wasn't afraid of you."

A huff-snarl of scorn rises from you, as though my statement was beneath contempt.

"I consume both flesh and fear. You may not have provided one, but you certainly could have provided the other. I tasted your blood while you were unconscious earlier. It was as sweet as I imagined. Nothing is standing in the way of my killing you now, Beverly. Nothing at all except the fact that I do not wish to."

I blink. Of all the things I was expecting you to say, that wasn't among them.

"You're not…..not hungry?"

"I am always hungry."

"Then why? Why aren't you killing me?! I didn't come here to have a chat with you! I don't want to talk to you at all, dammit! I came to get this over with! What are you, a Bond villain?! Are you going to tell me your plans for world domination now?!" I snap, irrational and insane anger tinged with fear and horror and sorrow all at once ripping through my system. I'm exhausted. A lifetime of pain has culminated in this moment, and now you're not even letting it go the way I wanted. You had no trouble scaring the shit out of us all before! You ripped a child's arm off, for God's sake! I strike out at you, making contact with your chest. My small fist thumping harmlessly off satin covered stone.

"WHY?! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

But it's no use. Your long fingers close over my wrist, easily bending it back until I let out a sharp cry.

"You will not strike me, you insolent little girl. Do not mistake the patience of a predator for mercy. Be still, and listen."

"NO!"

I am jerked off my feet and slammed bodily down on the dusty, broken sofa. So abrupt is the impact that it knocks the wind out of me. Instinctively, I raise my hands to ward off a blow. But it never falls. When I open my eyes you're standing over me, pupils constricted to pinpoints in a sea of pure red. They do change color. Your eyes change color with your moods. Some detached part of me notes this, and files it away.

"Are you finished?"

I can't speak yet, still stunned. All I can do is dumbly nod. Not human. You are not human and yet you can speak and think and reason and demand and compel obedience. And you have something you want me to hear. You talk differently. Your voice is deeper. You're not acting like a psychotic carnival reject. I rub my wrist where you'd grabbed me, surprised to find it unbroken.

"I will take your silence as a yes." Your words come out as a hiss between clenched teeth. A little shake, and I swing like a doll in your grip. "I do not know why I have no wish to kill you. You certainly deserve it. But in sixteen billion of what you call years I have learned to listen to my instincts. They seldom misdirect me. If I do not want to rip your flesh from your bones at this moment, perhaps I will later when I am hungry."
Sarcasm. Positively dripping with it, and when you lean down I find myself face to face with you… a whole hell of a lot closer than I'm comfortable with. Jesus Christ, those red lines….I know what they're for now. I wish I didn't know.

Not a clown's greasepaint, but an animal's markings. It's where your head splits open like a horrible flower to reveal the throbbing lights that fuel your malice and hunger and animate those eyes that narrow when they look at me. I should be sobbing and begging for my life. But as before, I feel only a dull, numb sense of inevitability. Either you'll kill me or you won't. I'm not going to writhe in terror waiting to find out which.

"If you're…not going to eat me?" You nod ever so slightly, and I swallow hard and continue. "If not that, then what? What are you going to do with me? Just let me walk out of here and go back to my stupid little broken life? You did this shit to me, you know. To all of us. You broke us and left these quivering fucked up people who jump at shadows and can't even walk down the grocery aisle because there are clowns on cereal boxes. And forget a certain fast food chain. You sucked the joy out of our lives and –"

"Ohhhhhhh spare me the dramatics." Straightening up again, arms folded across your chest. Looking down at me with open contempt. "Shall I show you what you and your little Loser's Club did to me? It takes a great deal to injure one of my kind. Yet you managed it. Shall I show you the faint and faded marks on my back from the chain you beat me with? The healed bites from dull little human teeth? Oh, but your cheeks redden at the very mention of seeing such things. And your hands tremble. How pathetic, that you cannot stomach your own handiwork. It will please you to know that you delayed the Long Rest by a full three months while I healed. Arrogant, irritating little food."

You unfold your arms, hands on your hips now, and some of the rage leaves your face as you stare at me. How odd, that I can even read the expression.

"I should kill you."

"But you won't."

"No, Beverly. I suppose not."

There is a long, long, aching silence. I study your costume, your wild orange hair and white skin and the markings on your face. My brain whirls, thinking a little more about the change in your voice and posture and demeanor. Outside, the shadows lengthen with the coming of evening. It will be night soon. I can't believe how tired I am, how much mu body and soul ache. I was supposed to be dead or dying by now, not sitting here waiting for a monster to make his decision. I want to ask you questions. Find out if you had nightmares about us after that summer that seems a thousand years ago. Do you stay in this form when you're alone? During the hibernation, do you sleep in a nest or a bed? How many teeth do you have? Do you ever have to pee? Do you eat anything besides children? Do you ever relax? Watch sports? Have a beer after a good messy kill? Are you ticklish? Are you even male? Does it even matter? Do you have offspring?

The questions come rapid-fire in my head, but not a single one rises to my lips. I fold my skinny arms across my skinny chest…Daddy always called my breasts mosquito bites…and focus my attention on your shoes. Dusty clown shoes, the red pompoms ridiculous and menacing all at once. Just like you.

"You cannot leave, you realize. Not after coming here and seeing me once more. I won't allow it."

I don't even look up at the words. I just nod.

"I know."

"I do not take prisoners, Beverly Marsh. You are too old to amuse me with your terror. There will be no Floating this time."

"Alright."

One of your feet flexes inside the shoe, and the distinctive ripple of claws moves beneath the fabric of the toe. Good God, you must have talons there too. I shudder, but not unpleasantly. Slowly, my head comes up and I look at you again. In the dim light your features are less prominent. The cracks near your hairline where the beast within threatens to burst forth from the beast without are softened. Your markings appear black, not crimson. Only the burning orange eyes, deepened to red near the center, are fiercely alive and nearly glowing. Your hands flex at your sides, black claws visible through the tips of the white cotton fingers. I wonder how much you can smell of my intentions and my fears and my hatred and my confusion and the precious mental illness that drove me here.

"Get up, child. Ascend those stairs. They will hold your weight, scant as it is. At the top you will find a hallway, with rooms to either side. The master bedroom is at the end of the hall. By the time you reach it, the room will be sufficiently clean and comfortable for a human's needs. Every atom of this house is under my control. Do not try to leave."

"I won't."

"Good." You straighten up a little more, huge and nightmarish in the small dirty room. I can smell you, faint scents of cotton candy and burned popcorn and myrrh and wet stone. "I wish to hunt. It would be safer for you if I fed now. Are you hungry?"

The question surprises me. But I nod a little.

"I am, yes. I haven't eaten since….I don't know."

"I will bring you food. We can't have you fainting from hunger, after all."

"Why not? Why would you even care about my comforts or me being hungry or anything else? I thought you hated me. I thought you hated all of us."

"I could have slaughtered you a dozen times over if that had been my wish." You snap, irritated. The hair-trigger temper is something I will need to be mindful of. I lower my head again. Your tone softens, but only a little. "You intrigue me. I will keep you alive as long as the fascination holds. The moment I tire of you, I will kill you. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"I think it's sadistic."

"Excellent. Then we understand one another. Now on your feet. Do not make me ask a third time."

Numbly, feeling like this is all a dream, I stand up. You tower over me by probably two feet, which is menacing in and of itself, but the added dread of the suddenly bared teeth makes me step back. Too close, Beverly. Too close. I move toward the stairs, keeping an eye on you.

"When will you come back?"

"When my hunger is sated. I will not wake you if you are resting."

"Ok." I bite my lip, my hand on the rotting bannister, reluctant for some reason to walk away just yet. "You can smell emotions, can't you. And read minds."

"I can."

"Have you been…reading mine?"

You tilt your head, sniffing the air delicately. And there is no smirk or smile on those red lips. "Yes. Baffling as your deeper thoughts are. I wonder what illness you suffer from, to even have them."

"No one's ever….?"

"No."

"So you haven't…..?"

"Do not be absurd, human. I am here to eat your kind, not mate with you. Your vulgar attraction is as insane as it is insulting. Although your attempts to bury it are amusing."

My face burns hot, tears spring to my eyes. I feel as though I've been shot in the chest. To have the deepest, most buried, most twisted and worrisome intrusive thoughts laid bare like this is pure agony. I can't look at you. I can't.

"It's not so insane. There's even a name for it. For being….being attracted to….whatever. Teratophilia. I looked it up. And no, there's no medication recommended. Don't fool yourself, I don't ENJOY the dreams, or the thoughts. That's why I wanted you to kill me. But you're too much of a pussy to –"

My words are cut off when, a split second later, your hand is wrapped around my throat. Well this is familiar. With a vicious jerk, you slam my back against the railing. I fight you, slapping ineffectually at the hand that grips me.

"Accuse me of cowardice again. I dare you." You whisper, close enough that I could count your eyelashes if I had the ability to think clearly. I'm still struggling, trying to breathe. I can only choke out an apology.

"S-sorry!"

"S-sorry." You repeat, mockingly, and release me. "Fool of a girl. You cannot handle me even when I am barely touching you. What makes you imagine for a single moment that you could handle anything else. Go to your room. I will return by midnight. Bathe yourself. You stink of that house your father kept you in."

I hardly need prodding. Without a response, I turn and run-crawl up the stairs. Fleeing you. But you don't give chase, not this time. I don't stop running until I reach the end of the hall, and I throw myself against the door to the room you've ordered me to stay in. Throwing my weight against the door, I rush inside and slam it behind me. And then, my back to the door, I slide down to the floor and cover my face with both hands.

What the hell have I gotten myself into.