THE SECRET MONSTER

As a Teenager

I didn't see it again for six years. I had almost forgotten about that night, chalking it up to a nightmare. My relationship with my mother had frayed in that time. Once I turned eighteen, I moved out. I stayed out late, hanging with a group of guys I knew from the neighborhood. When we couldn't get into a loosely policed bar, and if we got bored at the apartment, we'd be out until the early hours of the morning every night, drinking forties and wandering the streets like they were our personal roads. They were the only people in the world I trusted.

Especially Peacock. He was nicknamed that because of a fashion mistake he made in the early days of high school, a jean jacket with a large rainbow stitched on the back he had found at a thrift store, but instead of letting it define him he embraced the insult and made it part of his identity. Now he wore torn, bright clothing and had his hair in a multi-colored mohawk. Most people kept their distance when they saw him, but I knew better. He was a good dude, loyal to a fault, and the only one in the group that didn't constantly make fun of me for being short, or having a big forehead, or whatever else.

This night, we were sitting on benches in front of a closed Burger King. It was maybe 2am. Although the restaurant was dark, the lights in the parking lot were bright. Which is why, at the edge of the light's reach, I didn't initially register the thing in the darkness. I saw movement and became vigilant, worried there was a desperate homeless person that might try to rob us, or some drunk stumbling home from the bar looking for a fight.

But when there was no other movement, I calmed and rejoined whatever the conversation was at the time. Probably something about girls, or booze, or the unfairness of our families. Soon after, the group splintered apart. One-by-one the guys peeled off, finally ready to face their broken lives alone for a little while, until it was just me and Peacock.

"How are you and Amber doing?" he asked.

"Alright," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I shrugged, finding the line of questioning to be a little weird.

"Good, man. Good..." he trailed off.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"No reason. Just seems like something's on your mind," I said. We were nearing the point in our trek where we'd normally split off, so I slowed down a bit, hoping that if we had a bit more time together he'd open up.

Peacock offered a quick smile. Here and gone in a flash, probably meant to convince me that he was fine but instead doing the opposite. "I'll catch you tomorrow, yeah?" he said.

"I'll be around."

Peacock sped up, following his well-worn path home. When I reached the corner I watched him for a while. He never turned around. Just kept his hands in his pockets and his head down, like he was avoiding someone's gaze. Maybe it was mine.

For me, it was only 10 more minutes to walk home. At this point in the night I'd be lucky to get three hours of sleep before I had to get up for school. I probably should have left hours earlier. I started my own trek but felt uneasy. Like someone was following me. At that time, because of the neighborhood and our late nights, I always carried a switchblade with me. I wrapped my fingers around it and instantly felt less vulnerable. Every few steps I'd glance behind me, relieved when all I saw were the streetlights.

The smell of compost. A static voice from the shadows. "He's fucking Amber."

I stopped and whirled around, pulling my blade. "Who said that?" I asked, although I already knew. The memories of that night when I was 12 came flooding back. In the driveway of the nearest house, away from the streetlights, I saw it. Standing still, like before, content to watch me react to its taunts.