The Frog and The Beast

The Beast Chapter 8

Over the next few weeks, Uncle Nathaniel and I traveled extensively across Fiore and New Hampshire, consulting dozens of doctors who all delivered the same grim verdict: I was out of options. We even ventured outside the state, seeking help from witch doctors and exorcists, but they all echoed the same sentiment. No one knew what was wrong with me, and no one could offer a solution.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grisham," the last doctor said, his voice heavy with regret. We were in a plastic surgeon's office in Boston, reputed to be the best in the field. It was said he had performed miracles, even restoring a man who had been burned beyond recognition to a semblance of normalcy. He was our last hope.

"We've conducted every test imaginable—X-rays, blood samples—but the results are consistently the same. His hearing, vision, and sense of smell have improved significantly, and despite his unusual outward appearance, his internal health remains perfectly normal. But his skin refuses to respond to any treatment."

"What about a face transplant?" My uncle's voice was a mix of desperation and frustration. "Look at him! He's turned into some kind of mutant, a freak of nature!"

"Mr. Grisham," the doctor replied, his tone laced with disapproval at my uncle's words. "I believe it would be best to continue this conversation in private."

Translation: Hey, watch your language! Your nephew is right here, and he already feels terrible. Are you trying to make it worse?

"I will not stand for this!" Uncle Nathaniel insisted, ignoring the hint. "Glen doesn't want to live life looking like this!"

"I understand your frustration, but I cannot operate on him in good conscience. He is perfectly healthy, and his skin is not responding to any treatment. Performing surgery would be a tremendous risk—possibly even fatal."

Fatal? As in, I could die?

"We'd risk anything!" my uncle declared, dismissing the warning as if it were inconsequential.

"What?!" I shot up from my seat. "The doctor just said that operating on me might be fatal, and you say we'd risk anything?! Even my life?!"

"That's not what I meant! It just came out wrong!"

"Yeah, maybe because that's exactly what you meant!"

I stormed out, my anger boiling over. I knew I shouldn't have been surprised by my uncle's reaction, but a small part of me had hoped there were lines he wouldn't cross—that he cared about me, at least to some degree, since I was the only family he had left.

I needed air. I slipped on an oversized hoodie, wrapped a scarf around the lower part of my face, and pulled gloves over my hands before stepping into the bustling streets of Boston. The sounds of the city swirled around me like a chaotic symphony. I needed to escape, to distance myself from the suffocating weight of my uncle's desperation. The sun shone brightly, but it felt like a cruel joke, illuminating a world I no longer felt part of.

I wandered aimlessly, my thoughts racing. The doctor's words echoed in my mind: "perfectly healthy," "fatal risk." It was maddening. I was trapped in this grotesque form, and no one could help me. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life, invisible to everyone who once cared.

After what felt like hours, I stumbled upon a small park, complete with benches and trees that offered a semblance of peace. I sank onto one of the benches, staring at the ground, trying to make sense of everything. I thought about Jenny, how she had run away from me, terrified of the monster I had become. I thought about my uncle, who seemed more concerned with appearances than my well-being.

"Why is this happening to me?" I muttered in frustration. "What did I do to deserve this?"

Eventually, my uncle managed to track me down and convinced me to come home with him. Throughout the entire trip, we didn't exchange a single word. He walked with me from the limo to the service entrance of our building, then gestured for me to go inside.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked.

"No, I'm late. I've missed enough work for this nonsense." He must have seen the look on my face because he added, "It's a waste of time if it's not accomplishing anything."

"Sure." I walked in, and as he started to close the door, I let it hit my back. "Will you still keep trying to help me?"

I watched his face carefully. My uncle was a news guy, skilled at maintaining a straight face even when he was lying. But even he couldn't suppress the twitch of his lips as he said, "Of course, Glen. I'll never stop trying."

As the door clicked shut behind me, a wave of loneliness washed over me. The sterile smell of the building greeted me like an old friend, but it offered little comfort. I trudged through the dimly lit hallway, my footsteps echoing against the cold tiles. Outside, I could hear the faint buzz of the city, but inside, it felt like I was in a different world—one where I was the only inhabitant.

I made my way to my room, the walls adorned with posters from my past life: concerts I had attended, places I had traveled, memories that felt like they belonged to someone else. I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of my uncle's words pressing down on me. "A waste of time." Those words stung more than I cared to admit.

"Mr. Glen?" I heard Ur call before knocking on the door. "Are you alright?"

"What do you think?!"

"I'm sorry; I guess that was a stupid question."

"Just leave me alone, Ur."

"Yes, sir, but I'm here if you need anything."

She sounded genuinely sorry for me. I recalled how, just before I left for the dance, I had yelled at her about buying that rose. She had said something then that I hadn't understood at the time.

"Your uncle ruined you."

Is this what she meant? That my uncle had raised me to be someone foolish enough to get cursed by a witch? Had he truly ruined me, or was it just the curse that had twisted everything into this nightmare?

With a heavy sigh, I pushed myself off the bed and walked over to the window. I looked out at the cityscape, the skyline a jagged silhouette against the fading light. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the buildings, but all I felt was cold. I wanted to scream, to roar, to howl like the beast I had become—to let the world know how unfair this all was. But instead, I just stood there, silent and still.