Ahhhhh, Monster!

“Just… what do you think you’re doing?! You know if you leave-”

“I won’t be allowed back in. Yup. I know that. I don’t care.” Izumi shrugged. “I’m out of here, Ryu. And you can’t change my mind.”

“You’ll die out there!” Ryu gestured wildly out of the Fortress. “Zombies, ghouls, vampires, werewolves?! Not to mention all the humans out there that are just as bad. Izumi, get down from there.”

“They’re going to cut me out of the family, Ryu. Once they take this key,” Izumi held up the chain on her neck and shook the key about, “They’ll never give it back. You know that. I’m not going to be a part of this system anymore. Not ever again. If you’re that concerned about my safety, then fine, come with me. But I’ll be just freaking FINE on my own! I’m not a child anymore. I’m leaving. I’m not coming back, even if they would let me in I won’t be back. Goodbye, Ryu. I love you, and I love our brothers… but this is something I’m doing for me.”

Izumi crouched, ignoring Ryu’s pleas for her to get down. And then, throwing caution to the wind, Izumi leaped.

~*~

Ahhhhh, Monster! is releasing June 25, pre-order it here! If you can't purchase it, reblogging/sharing is really appreciated!

The Seven Angels

Blanca Leon. Tracy Russell. Jean McLaughlin.

Seven girls went missing three years ago on the December 12.

Gabriela Brown. Alice McGrail. June Larsen. Claudia Inman.

The only thing these girls had in common were that they were all thirteen and that they all lived in the same town. Race, interests, grades, social status, nothing else matched up. Blanca and Tracy were close friends, as well as Gabriela and June, but the others didn’t know each other.

Claudia was my little sister.

Nicky

It happened ten years ago. I was only eight years old. I woke up that morning to the smell of frying eggs and bacon.

Stumbling down the hallway, I was greeted by the sight of a dark haired woman at the stove, humming some friendly tune as she filled a cup to the near brim with orange juice. She turned to me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. In a sense she was pretty, but she had a vicious scar running down the left side of her face.

“Andy! You’re up!” She beamed as she picked up the plate stacked with a delicious smelling breakfast. “I had to run to the store, but I hope you like breakfast!”

Too shocked to say anything else, I replied, “I don’t have breakfast. Where’s my mom?”

Problem Child

TW: Child Abuse

As a social worker, you’re bound to come across some really messed up stuff. I’ve been at this job for nearly twelve years and I’ve seen everything. Joel was raised in a kennel with a dog, he were so small I thought he was two years younger than he really was. Andrea went into a doctor’s appointment only for the doc to find out the kid had contracted chlamydia. Sophia who had been tied to a bed and beaten to ‘get the devils’ out of her. Fynn had been choked for enough time by his stepdad to have permanent brain damage.

But all of those kids have homes now. They were adopted by loving families. I send them cards on their birthdays. Joel is obsessed with Disney and went to Florida with his mom during summer vacation. Andrea now speaks regularly at sexual abuse seminars and helps other victims come forward about what they went through. Sophia wants to be an astronaut, Fynn is beating the odds and making us all proud with all he’s accomplishing.

I can’t say the same for Bonnie.

Biter

I’m never going to complain about working at a daycare, it really is my dream job. I love working with kids and seeing how they grow up, when they learn to talk and walk, when they learn to string together sentences… It’s the best.

However, there are some kids that drive me up the wall.

“Ow! Parker, you don’t bite people!”

Crimson Wings

My husband Shaun and I love… well, loved, camping. We would go all year around, snow and rain was no object. We didn’t have kids and our trips didn’t have to be long, we’d pack up on Friday and be back on Sunday night when we couldn’t get any time off.

Last July we’d managed to scrounge up enough PTO for a whole week trip. We were heading down to Tennessee and it was going to be one of our best trips yet.

Our campsite was right smack dab in between two others. The family on our right were the Schultz family. They were the new to the whole camping thing, I had to end up going there to help the guy out with his fire. Greg was grateful though and he could grill with the best of them. His wife Anna was mostly fussed with taking care of their four year old daughter Genesis, but their son Ace was a treasure. He kept coming over to our campsite to tell us stories about giant bears that they’d seen while driving here. Shaun took to him and would swap even more ridiculous tales with the creative six year old.

Mr. Ferguson

I think the whole street breathed a sigh of relief when we saw the EMTs take a body bag out of the Ferguson house. I was only about ten or eleven at the time and it’s been a while so some details of my childhood are lost to time, but I can’t forget Mr. Ferguson.

There was never a Mrs. Ferguson in the picture, as far as I know. He lived in the house on the corner, the one with the bright yellow shutters and the gorgeous garden out back. The garden didn’t make up for the rotten old bastard he was. I wondered once if he was nicer when he was younger, when he didn’t have to walk with a cane and could actually get around without help, but my dad set me straight on that one. Mr. Ferguson had always been a terrible person and the neighbor from hell.

There's a girl who lives alone in the woods

Down a long dirt road, past a mile or so of forest, there’s a girl that lives all by herself in a big house. All of her relatives have passed, leaving her a treasure trove of valuables and money that she keeps on the property. There’s not even a dog to keep her safe from people who would take those things away.

And when the wrong ears hear all those things, their eyes fill with dollar signs and they decide to make the trek.

They always make the same wrong assumption though-

That I’m really alone.

I'm Addicted to Eating Bugs

I suppose it started small, like all addictions do. I was in the first grade, having some corner time because I threw a crayon at Brandon's head. He totally deserved it but that's another story for another day.

Anyway, I was facing the brick wall, imagining horrible fates for this jerk of a classmate when I heard a quiet buzzing. I looked by my feet to see an old cobweb, spider long gone but the dusty threads still managing to capture a fly. It wiggling and squirmed and if I hadn't interfered it probably would have gotten loose and carried on with its life. But before I realized it I had plucked the fly free and placed it in my mouth.

Daddy's Little Girl

The thing is, it doesn’t matter how much you know your daughter is a competent young lady who can take care of herself. You’re always going to be nervous for that very first date.

“And you do know you’re gonna have to be back by nine, right? If you’re late, I’m going to probably call Rick at the police department and have him start searching the ponds for a body.”

“Dad! Dad, chill!”

Teacher's Pet

TW: Statutory Rape

I think every straight guy in my school had a thing for Miss Bell.

I’m the last dude you want to come to when it comes to judging ‘female beauty’, but even I could admit she was pretty. Blonde hair usually drawn back in that messy bun style, a bod that would make Venus jealous, and a round face that was always smiling or laughing.

She was our English II teacher, she’d just transferred in that year from California. During our first class, she told about going to college and how she used to surf on the weekends. My friend Sean elbowed me and whispered about how she’d look in a bikini. My practical ass said that she probably was wearing a wetsuit when she surfed. This got the back of my head punched and Sean whispering ‘Gaaaaaaaaaay’ into my ear. I mean, really not inaccurate, but the punch wasn’t necessary.

The Dangers of Tattoos

Out of the nine guys at Dillan’s bachelor party, I’m the only one left alive. And I don’t know how much more time I have.

Dillan was a friend from my highschool days. We weren’t close, but we hung out when all our other friends were busy. I was happy to hear he was getting hitched to his girl Heather, they were good for each other. When he asked me to join him and a few of the other guys for drinks, I happily accepted. One last crazy night before he said I Do.

We’d all gotten pretty buzzed when Mickey threw out this brilliant idea:

‘We should all get tattoos!’

The Troll Bridge

“Don't be a pussy, Ryan! Just do it!”

I would've rather stuck my head in a blender and turned that shit on puree than do this, but I didn't have a choice. It was either go across the bridge or be called a pussy the rest of my life. Or at least until the end of the summer. When you’re eleven, there’s really not much of a difference.

The only way to end this endless teasing was to cross the troll bridge. Well, we called it the troll bridge. We weren't sure what it was really called back then. It wasn't anything special, just a small stone bridge that went over a creek just outside of town. It wasn't used much anymore, it wasn't big enough for a car to go over and there was talk of tearing it down, but it just never got done.

I was scared of my own shadow back in the day, but there was just something about that bridge that put off any sane person. Maybe it was how solid your steps sounded when you walked across or how you swore you could hear dripping water, even during a hot, dry summer like that year.

Kids would say a troll lived under there. Which really was a ridiculous notion, the ditch underneath carved itself ever deeper every year during the spring floods but it still wasn't deep enough for a giant troll. Still though, stories about a half blind, drooling monster from your worst nightmares ready to grab any passerby was enough for me to keep my distance.

But the kids made it a rite of passage. Cross the bridge and come back. Some of the more daring kids would stick their arm over the edge to taunt the troll into grabbing them.

I was the only kid who hadn't done it yet. Darren was the one who practically dragged me there on that boiling summer afternoon. I felt like I was about to be baked alive, the back of my neck already felt stiff and tender with a sunburn. He gave me a shove and I nearly fell on my face.

I swallowed. “I’ll do it, I'll do it!”

Darren nodded and crossed his arms, everyone's eyes on me as I stood at the troll bridge.

Just there and back, I told myself, and maybe they'll finally leave me alone.

My intent was to leg it as fast as I could. Like ripping off a band aid, the trick was to do it quickly. First pass I did just that. I reached the end before I knew it, turning around and throwing my hands in the air. I did get a few cheers but Darren was less than impressed, just staring me down as I began the return journey.

I came to a stop when I heard music.

My mom was making me take violin lessons at the time and it had become habit to listen carefully if I heard it playing on her CD player or if there was a busker at the local farmer's market. But this wasn't a CD or an amateur. This music sounded almost ethereal with how perfect it was. And much to my shock, it was coming from right under my feet.

Forgetting about my friends waiting for me at the other side, I walked to the side and stuck my head over the edge. I heard their startled gasps as I teetered a bit, trying to get a look at the musician making that delightful sound.

On first glance I thought they were a woman, their nearly white blond hair was so long it almost reached to their thighs and they were startlingly beautiful. They weren't wearing a shirt though and they were absolutely a dude. They didn't have shoes and only wore mud spattered jeans. Their violin was pristine, the brown wood shining as the bow hummed across the strings. The man sat near a puddle, eyes closed as he continued to play.

“Ryan, what are you doing!? We get it already, let's go!”

Darren's irritated voice shook me from my daze and I stood back up, sheepishly walking back to my friends. Somehow the few feet of difference made it impossible to hear the violinist. It didn't matter though, everyone was cheering me on and clapping my back. Even Darren looked upon me approvingly, a rare occasion indeed. The sound of an ice cream truck in the distance caught our attention and ten minutes later we were all enjoying a delicious frozen treat and all talk of the bridge was forgotten.

But I didn't forget the violinist. And I couldn't forget how perfect his music was.

The next day was supposed to be my lesson, but Mr. Birk had come down with the flu so I was free to do what I wished with my time.

So I chose to go back to the troll bridge. Alone.

I was lucky I didn't break my neck sliding down the bank, even more so that I didn't accidentally drop my violin case. My mom would've blown her top if I'd broken the damn thing.

My perilous journey had not been in vain, as the moment my feet touched the ground I heard the music. I looked up and there he was. The violinist.

He clearly knew I was there, judging by his smirk, but he paid me no mind as I walked through the empty river bed up to him. I almost reached the puddle next to where he sat when I came to a stop. I don't know why exactly I stopped, I suppose some instinct deep inside told me I should go no further. Or maybe it was common sense not to get too close to the weirdo with the long hair playing a violin under a bridge.

So instead I opened up my violin case and presented it to him. “Hey, um… I play too,” I said, my voice shaking.

The violinist's playing came to an abrupt stop and he looked up at me. My skin crawled as I stared back into his eyes. I'm not quite sure what was wrong with them, it was like the river blue color of the iris had started to bleed into the whites of his eyes, making them unnatural in appearance. “... Show me,” he said, sounding breathless in his excitement.

And so with shaky hands I managed to squawk out ‘Happy Birthday’ to this incredibly talented man. My cheeks were probably bright red when I finished. I felt ashamed that I'd performed for someone so incredibly talented.

The violinist was quiet for a moment before raising his hands to clap. “Bravo, bravo! It's been so long that I've had someone play for me, it's a real treat. Would you like me to show you some things?” He said.

I couldn't nod any more vigorously and he laughed, picking up his own violin and starting to play.

I was there until the sun was going down. My fingers were cramping and my arms ached but I was learning so much. I only realized so much time had gone on by when I looked up and saw the sky was turning orange. “Crap! My mom's gonna kill me, I'm late for dinner!” I hurried to pack away my violin. “Sorry for taking up so much of your time, can I come back next week?” I'd been having so much fun that I never even bothered to ask his name.

“I'm afraid, my little friend, that next week you should stay as far away from my bridge as you can.”

The man was now beside me, tilting up my chin as he shook his head. His eyes seemed to be an even deeper blue now that it was starting to get dark. “You're just lucky you did everything right, not knowing who you come to. But it's going to rain next week, and it will rain heavily. So keep your distance, because next time your luck will not save you,” He said.

The heat of the day didn't take away from the chill that shot down my spine. I only nodded wordlessly before bolting, clambering out of the river bed and scraping my arms up something good before I ran home. As predicted my mom was about to send out the dogs for me and I was just lucky she didn't send me to bed with no supper.

I'm not sure what else I expected coming from a crazy guy living under a bridge. But his weather prediction ran true. Storms and pouring rain. All week. I imagine that river bed overflowed with raging water.

My mom woke me up early on Friday morning to tell me the news. Darren and another of my friends Jacob had drowned last night.

The theory was that they’d gone down to play and one of them fell in. The other tried to help them out and ended up getting washed away as well. During the funeral all I could think about was the violinist under the bridge. Had he drowned too? They hadn’t found another body, but he could’ve just been washed away.

I didn’t make the same mistake that Darren did. I waited until the water levels went down a bit before heading back to the troll bridge. It wasn’t close to overflowing anymore, instead it was just a small stream that probably wouldn’t go above your ankles. I crossed the bridge and listened carefully. All was silent except for the sound of bubbling water for a few minutes.Then I heard the violin once more.

I ducked my head over the edge and looked down. There he was, still playing, his feet resting in the water. I felt relieved and almost called out to him when I realized he had something stashed behind him. A bright red bicycle.

Darren’s bright red bicycle.

I didn’t stick around. I took off running and never looked back. I never went back to that bridge and I never will.

As I’ve become an adult, I’ve found out two things about our little town. One, that we’ve always had an abnormally high amount of drownings for the area. It’s not uncommon to lose five or six people a year, sometimes more, usually children or women. Unusually it doesn’t even have to be a flooding season for people to die, all there needs to be is a few inches of water for a body to turn up. And two, that bridge had a name before we called it the troll bridge.

It was the Nixie Bridge. Named after a creature that lurked underneath, playing his violin to lure in those who were foolish enough to listen to his song.

You or Him?

I got the worst news of my life on my lunch break six months ago. I was feeling pretty good about myself, I'd received high praise from my boss and I felt like a promotion was coming my way any time. I turned my phone back on to see six missed calls from my wife and a voice message telling me that I needed to come to the hospital right now.

Cara had been home from work that day with a headache. Just a headache, she told me that morning, she would be fine after some rest and I shouldn’t worry about her.

Someone had broken into the house and beaten her within an inch of her life.

Becoming a Man

“This is what you have to to become a man, Christian.” My dad practically shoved me out of his truck. I turned back to see him light up a cigarette for my cousin Dave in the backseat.

Dave looked at me and grinned crookedly. “Make sure to wrap your tool!” He teased before reaching forward and pulling the door shut, having to slam it twice to make sure it actually stayed closed.

Well, this was actually happening. I swallowed before I walked down the street, hearing my dad’s truck backfire twice before it drove off. I was now alone out here. Granted, I could use my phone and call an Uber, maybe even beat my dad home, but I had to do this. I was eighteen. I had to prove to the rest of my family that I was a real man.

My Daughter's Coming Home

When I first saw I was getting a call from an unknown number, I thought it was another sales call. I only answered it on the off chance it was from my friend Irma, I knew she’d gotten a new phone number.

“Hello?”

It was quiet except for someone breathing on the other end. I frowned but tried again. “Hello, is someone there? Or is this another robot telling me I’ve won a cruise?”

I heard a quiet laugh, followed by a sob.

“Hi mom.”

Nearly lost my temper at work yesterday

For a bit of background, I work at an insurance company. I’m not exactly changing the world, but it pays well and it’s usually pretty chill. Except for yesterday, which I just really need to rant about. It was a bunch of little things that stacked up to my… almost explosion.

The water cooler was dripping nonstop. Citrix servers had gone down and that was the main program I use for work. I had a pounding headache from the bright lights in the office and my skin was all dried out from the artificial air. And for fuck’s sake, Barbara would just not leave me alone.