Monsters: A Short Story

Monsters: Part 1

Zoe swung lightly on the swing and listened to the cry of the rusted hinges as it echoed out across the dark expanses of the park. It was a place that she had once thought to be a refuge from the turmoil and cruelty of her family, but now knew that it had been corrupted and tainted by the life that she so desperately wished to be separated from. The air was cold tonight, abnormally so for this time of year. It was a bad omen, this Zoe knew, feeling the icy chill settle across her bare arms and face.

She had sent word to Mercer to meet her in the park, the boy whom she had met a month ago in this very location and quickly become infatuated with. He had been the one source of light in her life that she thought would save her from the future that became dimmer and dimmer with every passing day, but it was a very short-lived spark, as now she knew the truth of who Mercer was; of what he was. It was only a few days ago when she had found him in the woods that surrounded the town of Austell, his mouth latched to the throat of a deer that he held tightly in his iron grip, draining the blood from its veins.

She still felt the residual fear pulse lightly in her own veins, thinking of the face that had looked up at her when Mercer had become aware of her presence. The beastly face, with sharp fangs that hung down in a blood-drenched V, and the fiercely red eyes that flared at her with terrible purpose. Eyes that had before been the color of deep hazelnut brown, which Zoe now knew to be artificial in origin, as he had clearly been using contacts to hide the true horror beneath.

She thought of how feral he had looked and shivered, feeling like a single droplet of ice was slowly sliding down the center of her back, making gooseflesh stand at their zeniths as if anticipating something horrible and deadly. Then the echo of the growl that had emanated from his chest, guttural and animalistic, filled her thoughts, the sound that had sent her fleeing from the woods and not turning back. She had heard the voice of Mercer calling her name a few moments after she started running but she wouldn't have dared turn back, for fear of seeing him pursuing her.

Now, she sat alone, in the darkness of the park, waiting for the boy, hoping that he wouldn't show up, for she knew what she now had to do. What her father had tasked her to do. She had never seen her father look so confused or so worried before that night when she had told him what had happened. She had thought that he would beat her like he normally did when she stepped a foot out of line in any way. But he had believed her, told her that everything was going to be alright. It was the first time that her father had seemed at all caring toward her in the twelve years he and her mother had adopted Zoe for.

He had told her what to do. Told her that she had to be the one to face the creature that hid behind the features of Mercer and destroy it. Even now though, as she waited for him to show, she wasn't sure if she was powerful enough. She still thought it might be impossible for her to do. Her fingers traced the icy metal of the revolver strapped to her hip and winced, feeling the self-hatred that shot up her arm and settle malevolently in her chest. She wasn't a killer, no matter how much she wanted her father to be proud of her. She had hated the man for so long and yet now, he had twisted that against her, made her hate herself even more, for now she had the feeling of wanting to please him, no matter the cost. She wanted the love she had been denied by him for so many years.

She felt disgusted at herself for even coming to the park, knowing that she was now locked into the events that could spell the end of the boy who she knew she cared so deeply for. Zoe tried to expel the weight that had settled on her conscience through a heavy whisper of breath, but the weight remained, pushing against her chest with the burden of murder. Her father had said it wasn't murder, for killing a monster was gods commandment of her. But it was murder, no matter what Mercer was.

She pictured Mercer in her mind's eye, first imagining his clothes in front of her, with his rough flannel jacket and his worn denim trousers, ending in thick leather boots that were always caked in mud and dirt received from his escapades in the woods surrounding Zoe's hometown. Then she began imagining his features, starting with his tawny blonde hair that sat atop his head scruffily and draped down just shy of his eyes.

She felt a single thump of fear course from her chest as the image of his eyes materialized, at first, imagining them as the horrible red of his feral form, with their shine of an insidious hunger and animalistic ferocity; but then they blended into the eyes she had known before his terrible revelation. The eyes that were a deep chocolate brown that only hinted at the raging fire behind them.

After that came his button nose and the paleness of his face, angelic and without a single blemish, his cheekbones and jaw seeming as chiselled and contoured as if they were sculpted out of marble or stone. Then came the last feature, the feature that always made her chest contract and her heart leap. It was his sly smile that lifted from the left side of his mouth, with a single crescent dimple at the base of his cheek. She couldn't place the word monster onto this picture, no matter how much she wanted to in hopes that it would make what was to come easier. Instead, it made her want to be the one the bullet was destined for. If it was god's will to put down monsters, then she should be the first, for killing something so beautiful. A single tear washed up at the edge of her eye lid and spilt over, running down her face until dripping lightly off her chin.

If her father was here, he would be whispering in her ear, his acidic words tainting her mind into thinking this was the right thing to do, corrupting her thoughts into wanting to do something so deplorable and immoral. To end Mercer's existence was a thought that repulsed her and made her sick to her core. It left her feeling empty, knowing just how easy it had been for her father to take advantage of all the years of torment and torture he had caused her, anchoring it so that he had full control over her like a puppet on a string. The trauma had turned her into a vessel in which the affection she held for Mercer meant nothing in the face of wanting to please him.

Maybe Mercer would be quicker than she was. Maybe he would be able to strike her down before she took the shot and take her own life instead of his. It would be what she deserved; this she knew. For she was so easily turned into a killer.