Byrus
Strange days ahead
- Pronoun
- he/him
So this.... is just some silly short story I was working on recently for my writing class. I got this idea in my head and felt like I had to scribble it out, so I ended up typing this little thing in four days. Feel free to criticise and such, I'm not really that pleased with the pacing in this, and I think it'd be good to get an outside opinion.
The title is completely uninspired, suggest something else if you want! Also, I think the format got a bit messed up. I tried to fix it, but it's still kind of messy.
There's some gore involved, just to warn you, though it's not over the top or anything. It also includes some abuse, though not in explicit detail.
____________________________
A part of Tom knew there was something deeply wrong about this whole setup; it was nothing like his previous foster parent adoptions at all. There was usually a lot of fussing and show-fare, along with boring, incomprehensible adult talk and paper work. Everything here had gone with a strange, unquestioning smoothness; even Casey didn't try and keep up an irritating string of pointless small-talk along the ride over.
She marched him up to the house without a word, her eyes trained straight ahead. She hadn’t answered any of the questions he’d asked her all morning, and her unusual silence left him panicked and unnerved. The house itself looked clean and modern, but it did little to comfort him, and he had to fight to stop himself from making a break for it.
“Be sure to behave,” Casey said tonelessly. She reached out to ring the bell, but the door opened before she could touch it.
The man who answered the door was short and slim, with neatly combed black hair. His clothes were less refined looking, he wore faded jeans and a brightly coloured shirt with a logo proclaiming “HERE COMES THE SUN” in red capitals. His soft features gave him a very youthful appearance, and Tom found his gaze uncomfortably intense.
“You arrived right on the dot,” he said in a strange, lilting tone. He seemed to be in a state of barely contained excitement, and his foot tapped rapidly on the floor as he looked at them and grinned.
“Hello, Cian,” Casey said faintly. She looked up at him with a strained smile and ushered Tom forward. The boy moved without protest, but his shoulders were tense and his eyes were wide.
“I’m really glad you gave me this opportunity,” Cian said to Casey. He spoke at a rapid pace, not seeming at all bothered by her nervous disposition. He continued to ramble away to her, while she just smiled and nodded.
Tom turned away from the two adults and took a moment to take in his surroundings. The place had a sterile cleanliness about it, and there seemed to be an endless row of doors situated along multiple long corridors. It almost felt like some kind of hospital that someone had tried to renovate into a personal home. A paint can and some brushes were carefully arranged next to a staircase, with the beginnings of some kind of bright drawing scrawled on the sky coloured wall.
Tom squinted over at the drawing, trying to pick out the details, when he noticed that Cian and Casey’s voices had regressed to low whisperings. Casey was looking at him with a mystified expression, while Cian held her hands in a loose embrace. As a bewildered Tom watched, Cian gave Casey’s shoulder a reassuring pat, and she slowly began to walk towards the door. She moved like a woman in a dream, and Cian watched her progress with that odd smile on his face, giving her a slow wave as she made her exit.
As the door slammed shut behind her, Tom felt a stifling sense of confusion and fear engulf him. He stood in silence for a moment, not wanting to look at the stranger before him, and willed himself not to cry. Despite his best efforts, his eyes began to water.
“I don’t wanna be here,” Tom said softly.
“That’s a shame. I thought we could play a game.”
Tom jumped slightly at Cian’s response and hastily wiped at his eyes. He hadn’t thought the man had heard his tiny voice. Cian’s cheery expression hadn’t changed, and he was focusing on some kind of small, silver cube that he held in his hand.
“I made this myself. You can do some pretty cool tricks with it,” Cian said, holding it out for Tom to take.
Tom cautiously reached out for the cube. It was cool to the touch, with a soft, spongy texture, almost like foam. A faint noise emitted from it, sounding like a stream of hushed voices all talking at once. Curious, he raised the cube to his ear to listen, and managed to pick up faint snatches of words, but they all seemed to be in some foreign language.
Tom frowned and looked up at him. “What is it?”
“Watch.”
Tom gasped as the cube began to shudder in his hand, its shape blurring and shimmering as it rapidly began to change. It twisted and stretched like taffy, reforming into a thin, lizard like creature with a long tail and a funnel shaped snout.
The lizard looked up at him with eyes like silvery coins, its shiny tongue flicking out to taste the air. As Tom looked at it in fascination, it abruptly darted out of his hand, scampering across the floor at lightning speed.
“There it goes!” Cian exclaimed gleefully. “Maybe you should go after it. I bet it’ll lead to a great surprise.”
Tom burst into laughter, hardly able to believe what he’d just seen. “How did you make that?” he asked eagerly. “That’s amazing!”
“I’m not that great at explaining the process,” Cian said with a sigh. “But if you catch the lizard itself, I'm sure it could explain things much better than I ever could…”
His troubles quickly forgotten, Tom excitedly dashed after it, doing his best to follow its haphazard path. The lizard zoomed around the twisting hallways, leading him on a frantic chase. In the back of his mind, Tom could feel that sense of unease creeping up on him as he continued his pursuit. There seemed to be no end of corridors in this house, and it certainly hadn't looked this big on the outside.
Shaking the confused thoughts away, Tom put on an extra burst of speed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The lizard suddenly skidded to a stop near an open doorway, then bolted straight through, disappearing from sight. Tom slowed to a halt, struggling to catch his breath, and peered around the open door.
He saw a staircase leading down into a darkened room. His excitement gave way to fear as he looked down the steps, but a glimpse of a silvery tail in the gloom reignited his courage. He left the door open wide and took a tentative step forward.
He quickly fumbled against the wall for the switch, and found it with ease. Fluorescent lamps flickered to life overhead, filling the room with a comforting glow. His jaw dropped as he saw that the basement was covered with toys, and they looked to be in pristine condition. There seemed to be toys of every kind he could think of, from elegantly painted rocking horses to plush teddy bears and plastic dinosaurs. There was no dampness or mould on the walls like the basement in his old home; instead they were completely covered with drawings of bright, intricate designs.
He was surprised to find himself more fascinated by the drawings than he was by the toys. The amount of work put into it all was overwhelming, and he found his eyes inexorably drawn to them no matter where he looked. He carefully made his way down the stairs, completely transfixed by the strangeness of it all.
Grinning creatures adorned the walls in twisted patterns, all weaved together in an explosive array of colour. They were of all shapes and sizes imaginable; he saw things with draconic faces and spiny tails, gargoyle monsters with enormous leathery wings, and delicate, doe like animals with scaly hides. He found himself particularly captivated by a huge drawing of a moth like beast that adorned the upper half of the wall. Its mammoth wings spread out along the whole length of the ceiling, looming over the cascade of creatures milling about below it. Its wings were of various shades of bright green, all melded together in a swirling pattern that reminded him of oil on water.
He looked at the moth in awe, and walked backwards to get a better view. As he did so, he almost stumbled over a large toolbox, only just managing to regain his balance in time. He glanced over at it, noticing an array of stray tools around the box, including a hammer and some nails.
He stopped in his tracks and found himself staring at the hammer with a puzzled look on his face. He couldn't imagine why, but it seemed strangely familiar. He recognised the brand name printed on its handle, and it seemed to spur some hidden memory in him that had lain long forgotten. He throat gave a dry click as he swallowed, and he suddenly realised he was sweating.
His view of the hammer had grown blurry, and a dull ringing resounded in his head. As he watched, he thought he saw the head of the hammer slowly turn red, as though it had been dipped in ink. The red steadily crept around the hammer until it dripped off into a small pool around it.
It's blood, he thought, and groaned in fear. His hands flew up to his eyes and he bent over in a crouch, a small whimpering sound escaping his lips. The seconds ticked by as he stood there, muttering a string of garbled words and rocking on his feet.
Eventually, he moved his trembling hands away from his eyes and forced himself to look. This time, he saw no blood on the hammer, just clean, shiny metal. A wave of relief washed over him, and he slumped up against a pile of plush animals, losing himself in their comforting softness.
Stupid idiot, of course there’s nothing there, he scolded himself, and moved towards the hammer in a show of defiance. This time, he noticed a trapdoor situated next to it, the handle of it just barely visible. His curiosity was piqued again, and his mind conjured up images of hidden tunnels leading to secret places. And he was sure he could see a silvery gleam somewhere near there.
He reached out towards the trapdoor and lifted it up with both hands. He had expected it to be heavy, but it was light and opened with ease. A dim, red glow spilled out from the entrance, and he eagerly peered down it.
The opening revealed a hidden cavern that resembled the innards of some titanic beast, with walls that pulsated like a heart. They were red and raw looking, like flayed skin, with a complex network of prominent veins running through them. Rib like protrusions sprouted from the walls at seemingly random intervals, the white of the gleaming bone standing out in stark contrast to the redness around it. And through these strange bones, he could clearly see rows of disembodied eyes staring up at him pleadingly.
His mind immediately screamed at him to slam the door down and run, but his limbs refused to cooperate. He remained on his haunches, staring at the sight with a scream caught in his throat. Something human shaped was moving down there, crawling towards him on its hands and knees. As it rapidly shuffled towards the light, Tom saw a humanoid thing that looked as though it had been crudely moulded out of clay. Its skin was as raw looking as the walls, and it was badly lumpy and deformed. Its body was completely covered with eyes of varying shapes and sizes.
Tom’s nerve broke and he scrambled backwards, out of the thing’s reach. His sudden movement seemed to spur the creature into moving faster, and it frantically threw itself forward, moving quickly but clumsily. It gave an eerie cry that almost sounded like a choked sob, and Tom froze in place, staring at it in perplexed amazement.
The thing was horrifying, but he couldn't help notice how pathetic it was too. The eyes in the centre of its face seemed to be the only ones that were actually focused on him, the rest of them gazed off in random directions, rolling lazily in their sunken sockets. Its centre eyes stared at him dolefully from beneath heavy lids. Weary groans emerged from the scabby opening on its face that seemed to serve as its mouth.
It reached out to him with a quivering arm, and its mangled looking fingers twitched like dying spiders. The movement seemed to take a great effort, and its arm thumped down heavily soon afterward. It made a thick, gurgling noise that sounded like someone trying to speak through mud, then resumed its tremulous attempt at approaching him.
He still wanted to run, but he found himself drawn to the thing by some sort of sick fascination and pity. His stomach turned as he watched it crawl towards him, trying his best to remain brave. It made another muffled sounding cry and reached out at him again, the eyes on its fingers swivelling madly.
“You found the secret surprise! I knew you would.”
Tom jumped at the sound of the voice and whipped his head around. Cian was making his way down the basement stairs, a broad smile still plastered on his face. Tom quickly scrambled towards him, ignoring the creature’s mournful cries of protest.
“What is it?!” he shrieked. “What is that… thing?” And why does it look so sad? He found himself wanting to add, but it seemed like such a ridiculous question to ask.
Cian simply walked past him, seemingly unperturbed by the boy’s distressed state. His gaze settled on the creature, which instantly drew back, wrapping its arms around itself defensively. Cian’s smile had become a cold smirk, and he approached the creature at a deliberately slow pace, relishing its fear.
“I call it a turpe,” Cian said. His tone was bright and conversational. “It means filthy. Foul. Repugnant.” He punctuated each word with a vicious kick to the creature’s midsection, sending it sprawling helplessly across the basement floor. It made a choked, gagging sound and curled up into a ball, its multitude of eyes blinking rapidly.
Tom flinched with each strike and rapidly backed away from the two of them, looking at Cian in terror.
“Don’t!” he finally managed to choke out. He was helpless to stop the tears this time, and his whole body was wracked by a wave of uncontrollable sobs that left him slumped on the floor. “Please… stop hurting it.”
He buried his face in his hands, wishing he could just disappear from this nightmare. His entire body quivered as he cried bitterly, rocking to and fro. After what seemed like an age, a hand gently fell on his shoulder, and he reluctantly looked up to face Cian through a haze of tears.
“It’s okay,” Cian said, “I know this is a bit of a confusing situation for you, but it’s really not so bad.” He patted the boy’s shoulder slowly and mechanically. “And I know part of you probably feels sorry for it, but you really shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Tom croaked. “It’s scary looking, but…you… you hurt it. It’s sad and alone.” He sniffled and wiped at his streaming face, then suddenly jerked back in shock. There was something wrong with Cian’s eyes. He had no pupils or iris anymore; they were just roiling shades of sickly green. Tom quickly found himself entranced by the way the colours drifted slowly together, and he couldn’t seem to look away.
“I don’t think you’re human either,” Tom said, but his voice sounded distant and far away.
“I’m not human, but I am a person,” Cian responded. “The creature behind you was a person at one point, and also a human, but it’s not now.”
Tom couldn’t seem to follow Cian’s train of thought. The man’s firm differentiation between the words “human” and “person” was confusing to him, but he didn’t think any question he asked would yield a clear answer.
“I follow a strict code,” Cian said, speaking slowly and carefully. “When you commit an inhuman act, you forfeit your right to be treated as a person.” He gestured flippantly in the creature’s direction. “I like to do little things to make the world a better place. I take the bad people down here and change them into useless things so they can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
Cian tilted his head and leaned down close to Tom’s face.
“Can you think of someone who committed an inhuman act?” he asked softly.
Tom stared at him with wide, glassy eyes and shook his head.
“I’ll give you a hint,” Cian said, and moved towards the trapdoor.
Tom knew what he was going over to get, and he felt that sick sense of dread wash over him again. Sure enough, Cian picked up the hammer, holding it firmly by the handle. He studied it for a moment then waved it in the creature’s general direction.
“Dad,” Tom said suddenly. His eyes had become glazed and vacant. “Dad used… that. But he didn’t use it for what he was supposed to…”
In his mind’s eye, he suddenly saw his mother’s terrified face. She was in the middle of the kitchen, screaming and crying. He saw his father, his face twisted into an ugly expression of pure fury. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and spit flew from his mouth as he bellowed at the cowering woman. He jabbed a finger at her accusingly, and raised the hammer in his other hand.
He could remember standing near the doorway. He had watched the hammer fall and become bloody. He could remember the exact moment when his mother’s screams had ceased, and he had never felt so small and insignificant as he did then.
“He’s the reason you haven’t got a mother anymore, isn’t he?” Cian’s voice jolted him out of the memory. “He’s the reason you’ve been shuffled around so many foster homes.”
He approached the creature and looked down at it.
“He got away from the cops and was on the run… but I got him!” Cian’s face split into a triumphant grin. “I added him to the collection.”
“You turned him into a monster,” Tom murmured. He stood completely still, his gaze now focused on the trembling, pathetic thing that used to be his father.
“Hmm, no, that’s not quite right,” Cian said thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure he was already a monster beforehand.”
He began to kick it again, driving it back with swift, brutal strikes. The monster staggered, clutching its gut and groaning in pain. A final kick sent it tumbling back into the hole it had crawled out of. As it smacked into the tunnel of flesh, it seemed to go into a frenzy, struggling desperately to get back out. Cian easily held the creature at bay with one hand, looking amused by its efforts. He nodded over at Tom, who slowly shuffled towards him like a zombie.
The boy’s gaze seemed to be very distant now, and his face was extremely pale. Cian held the hammer out towards Tom, looking at him expectantly. As if in a daze, Tom took the hammer from him, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip. He faced the repulsive, flailing thing and slowly raised the hammer.
It hit the father monster with a satisfying whack and caused it to lose its grip on the edge of the trapdoor. Its lipless mouth flexed spasmodically as it tumbled back into the hellish glow of the hidden cavern. The door snapped shut behind it with a loud thump that echoed throughout the room.
This time, Tom found he didn’t feel sorry for the thing at all.
The title is completely uninspired, suggest something else if you want! Also, I think the format got a bit messed up. I tried to fix it, but it's still kind of messy.
There's some gore involved, just to warn you, though it's not over the top or anything. It also includes some abuse, though not in explicit detail.
____________________________
A part of Tom knew there was something deeply wrong about this whole setup; it was nothing like his previous foster parent adoptions at all. There was usually a lot of fussing and show-fare, along with boring, incomprehensible adult talk and paper work. Everything here had gone with a strange, unquestioning smoothness; even Casey didn't try and keep up an irritating string of pointless small-talk along the ride over.
She marched him up to the house without a word, her eyes trained straight ahead. She hadn’t answered any of the questions he’d asked her all morning, and her unusual silence left him panicked and unnerved. The house itself looked clean and modern, but it did little to comfort him, and he had to fight to stop himself from making a break for it.
“Be sure to behave,” Casey said tonelessly. She reached out to ring the bell, but the door opened before she could touch it.
The man who answered the door was short and slim, with neatly combed black hair. His clothes were less refined looking, he wore faded jeans and a brightly coloured shirt with a logo proclaiming “HERE COMES THE SUN” in red capitals. His soft features gave him a very youthful appearance, and Tom found his gaze uncomfortably intense.
“You arrived right on the dot,” he said in a strange, lilting tone. He seemed to be in a state of barely contained excitement, and his foot tapped rapidly on the floor as he looked at them and grinned.
“Hello, Cian,” Casey said faintly. She looked up at him with a strained smile and ushered Tom forward. The boy moved without protest, but his shoulders were tense and his eyes were wide.
“I’m really glad you gave me this opportunity,” Cian said to Casey. He spoke at a rapid pace, not seeming at all bothered by her nervous disposition. He continued to ramble away to her, while she just smiled and nodded.
Tom turned away from the two adults and took a moment to take in his surroundings. The place had a sterile cleanliness about it, and there seemed to be an endless row of doors situated along multiple long corridors. It almost felt like some kind of hospital that someone had tried to renovate into a personal home. A paint can and some brushes were carefully arranged next to a staircase, with the beginnings of some kind of bright drawing scrawled on the sky coloured wall.
Tom squinted over at the drawing, trying to pick out the details, when he noticed that Cian and Casey’s voices had regressed to low whisperings. Casey was looking at him with a mystified expression, while Cian held her hands in a loose embrace. As a bewildered Tom watched, Cian gave Casey’s shoulder a reassuring pat, and she slowly began to walk towards the door. She moved like a woman in a dream, and Cian watched her progress with that odd smile on his face, giving her a slow wave as she made her exit.
As the door slammed shut behind her, Tom felt a stifling sense of confusion and fear engulf him. He stood in silence for a moment, not wanting to look at the stranger before him, and willed himself not to cry. Despite his best efforts, his eyes began to water.
“I don’t wanna be here,” Tom said softly.
“That’s a shame. I thought we could play a game.”
Tom jumped slightly at Cian’s response and hastily wiped at his eyes. He hadn’t thought the man had heard his tiny voice. Cian’s cheery expression hadn’t changed, and he was focusing on some kind of small, silver cube that he held in his hand.
“I made this myself. You can do some pretty cool tricks with it,” Cian said, holding it out for Tom to take.
Tom cautiously reached out for the cube. It was cool to the touch, with a soft, spongy texture, almost like foam. A faint noise emitted from it, sounding like a stream of hushed voices all talking at once. Curious, he raised the cube to his ear to listen, and managed to pick up faint snatches of words, but they all seemed to be in some foreign language.
Tom frowned and looked up at him. “What is it?”
“Watch.”
Tom gasped as the cube began to shudder in his hand, its shape blurring and shimmering as it rapidly began to change. It twisted and stretched like taffy, reforming into a thin, lizard like creature with a long tail and a funnel shaped snout.
The lizard looked up at him with eyes like silvery coins, its shiny tongue flicking out to taste the air. As Tom looked at it in fascination, it abruptly darted out of his hand, scampering across the floor at lightning speed.
“There it goes!” Cian exclaimed gleefully. “Maybe you should go after it. I bet it’ll lead to a great surprise.”
Tom burst into laughter, hardly able to believe what he’d just seen. “How did you make that?” he asked eagerly. “That’s amazing!”
“I’m not that great at explaining the process,” Cian said with a sigh. “But if you catch the lizard itself, I'm sure it could explain things much better than I ever could…”
His troubles quickly forgotten, Tom excitedly dashed after it, doing his best to follow its haphazard path. The lizard zoomed around the twisting hallways, leading him on a frantic chase. In the back of his mind, Tom could feel that sense of unease creeping up on him as he continued his pursuit. There seemed to be no end of corridors in this house, and it certainly hadn't looked this big on the outside.
Shaking the confused thoughts away, Tom put on an extra burst of speed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The lizard suddenly skidded to a stop near an open doorway, then bolted straight through, disappearing from sight. Tom slowed to a halt, struggling to catch his breath, and peered around the open door.
He saw a staircase leading down into a darkened room. His excitement gave way to fear as he looked down the steps, but a glimpse of a silvery tail in the gloom reignited his courage. He left the door open wide and took a tentative step forward.
He quickly fumbled against the wall for the switch, and found it with ease. Fluorescent lamps flickered to life overhead, filling the room with a comforting glow. His jaw dropped as he saw that the basement was covered with toys, and they looked to be in pristine condition. There seemed to be toys of every kind he could think of, from elegantly painted rocking horses to plush teddy bears and plastic dinosaurs. There was no dampness or mould on the walls like the basement in his old home; instead they were completely covered with drawings of bright, intricate designs.
He was surprised to find himself more fascinated by the drawings than he was by the toys. The amount of work put into it all was overwhelming, and he found his eyes inexorably drawn to them no matter where he looked. He carefully made his way down the stairs, completely transfixed by the strangeness of it all.
Grinning creatures adorned the walls in twisted patterns, all weaved together in an explosive array of colour. They were of all shapes and sizes imaginable; he saw things with draconic faces and spiny tails, gargoyle monsters with enormous leathery wings, and delicate, doe like animals with scaly hides. He found himself particularly captivated by a huge drawing of a moth like beast that adorned the upper half of the wall. Its mammoth wings spread out along the whole length of the ceiling, looming over the cascade of creatures milling about below it. Its wings were of various shades of bright green, all melded together in a swirling pattern that reminded him of oil on water.
He looked at the moth in awe, and walked backwards to get a better view. As he did so, he almost stumbled over a large toolbox, only just managing to regain his balance in time. He glanced over at it, noticing an array of stray tools around the box, including a hammer and some nails.
He stopped in his tracks and found himself staring at the hammer with a puzzled look on his face. He couldn't imagine why, but it seemed strangely familiar. He recognised the brand name printed on its handle, and it seemed to spur some hidden memory in him that had lain long forgotten. He throat gave a dry click as he swallowed, and he suddenly realised he was sweating.
His view of the hammer had grown blurry, and a dull ringing resounded in his head. As he watched, he thought he saw the head of the hammer slowly turn red, as though it had been dipped in ink. The red steadily crept around the hammer until it dripped off into a small pool around it.
It's blood, he thought, and groaned in fear. His hands flew up to his eyes and he bent over in a crouch, a small whimpering sound escaping his lips. The seconds ticked by as he stood there, muttering a string of garbled words and rocking on his feet.
Eventually, he moved his trembling hands away from his eyes and forced himself to look. This time, he saw no blood on the hammer, just clean, shiny metal. A wave of relief washed over him, and he slumped up against a pile of plush animals, losing himself in their comforting softness.
Stupid idiot, of course there’s nothing there, he scolded himself, and moved towards the hammer in a show of defiance. This time, he noticed a trapdoor situated next to it, the handle of it just barely visible. His curiosity was piqued again, and his mind conjured up images of hidden tunnels leading to secret places. And he was sure he could see a silvery gleam somewhere near there.
He reached out towards the trapdoor and lifted it up with both hands. He had expected it to be heavy, but it was light and opened with ease. A dim, red glow spilled out from the entrance, and he eagerly peered down it.
The opening revealed a hidden cavern that resembled the innards of some titanic beast, with walls that pulsated like a heart. They were red and raw looking, like flayed skin, with a complex network of prominent veins running through them. Rib like protrusions sprouted from the walls at seemingly random intervals, the white of the gleaming bone standing out in stark contrast to the redness around it. And through these strange bones, he could clearly see rows of disembodied eyes staring up at him pleadingly.
His mind immediately screamed at him to slam the door down and run, but his limbs refused to cooperate. He remained on his haunches, staring at the sight with a scream caught in his throat. Something human shaped was moving down there, crawling towards him on its hands and knees. As it rapidly shuffled towards the light, Tom saw a humanoid thing that looked as though it had been crudely moulded out of clay. Its skin was as raw looking as the walls, and it was badly lumpy and deformed. Its body was completely covered with eyes of varying shapes and sizes.
Tom’s nerve broke and he scrambled backwards, out of the thing’s reach. His sudden movement seemed to spur the creature into moving faster, and it frantically threw itself forward, moving quickly but clumsily. It gave an eerie cry that almost sounded like a choked sob, and Tom froze in place, staring at it in perplexed amazement.
The thing was horrifying, but he couldn't help notice how pathetic it was too. The eyes in the centre of its face seemed to be the only ones that were actually focused on him, the rest of them gazed off in random directions, rolling lazily in their sunken sockets. Its centre eyes stared at him dolefully from beneath heavy lids. Weary groans emerged from the scabby opening on its face that seemed to serve as its mouth.
It reached out to him with a quivering arm, and its mangled looking fingers twitched like dying spiders. The movement seemed to take a great effort, and its arm thumped down heavily soon afterward. It made a thick, gurgling noise that sounded like someone trying to speak through mud, then resumed its tremulous attempt at approaching him.
He still wanted to run, but he found himself drawn to the thing by some sort of sick fascination and pity. His stomach turned as he watched it crawl towards him, trying his best to remain brave. It made another muffled sounding cry and reached out at him again, the eyes on its fingers swivelling madly.
“You found the secret surprise! I knew you would.”
Tom jumped at the sound of the voice and whipped his head around. Cian was making his way down the basement stairs, a broad smile still plastered on his face. Tom quickly scrambled towards him, ignoring the creature’s mournful cries of protest.
“What is it?!” he shrieked. “What is that… thing?” And why does it look so sad? He found himself wanting to add, but it seemed like such a ridiculous question to ask.
Cian simply walked past him, seemingly unperturbed by the boy’s distressed state. His gaze settled on the creature, which instantly drew back, wrapping its arms around itself defensively. Cian’s smile had become a cold smirk, and he approached the creature at a deliberately slow pace, relishing its fear.
“I call it a turpe,” Cian said. His tone was bright and conversational. “It means filthy. Foul. Repugnant.” He punctuated each word with a vicious kick to the creature’s midsection, sending it sprawling helplessly across the basement floor. It made a choked, gagging sound and curled up into a ball, its multitude of eyes blinking rapidly.
Tom flinched with each strike and rapidly backed away from the two of them, looking at Cian in terror.
“Don’t!” he finally managed to choke out. He was helpless to stop the tears this time, and his whole body was wracked by a wave of uncontrollable sobs that left him slumped on the floor. “Please… stop hurting it.”
He buried his face in his hands, wishing he could just disappear from this nightmare. His entire body quivered as he cried bitterly, rocking to and fro. After what seemed like an age, a hand gently fell on his shoulder, and he reluctantly looked up to face Cian through a haze of tears.
“It’s okay,” Cian said, “I know this is a bit of a confusing situation for you, but it’s really not so bad.” He patted the boy’s shoulder slowly and mechanically. “And I know part of you probably feels sorry for it, but you really shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Tom croaked. “It’s scary looking, but…you… you hurt it. It’s sad and alone.” He sniffled and wiped at his streaming face, then suddenly jerked back in shock. There was something wrong with Cian’s eyes. He had no pupils or iris anymore; they were just roiling shades of sickly green. Tom quickly found himself entranced by the way the colours drifted slowly together, and he couldn’t seem to look away.
“I don’t think you’re human either,” Tom said, but his voice sounded distant and far away.
“I’m not human, but I am a person,” Cian responded. “The creature behind you was a person at one point, and also a human, but it’s not now.”
Tom couldn’t seem to follow Cian’s train of thought. The man’s firm differentiation between the words “human” and “person” was confusing to him, but he didn’t think any question he asked would yield a clear answer.
“I follow a strict code,” Cian said, speaking slowly and carefully. “When you commit an inhuman act, you forfeit your right to be treated as a person.” He gestured flippantly in the creature’s direction. “I like to do little things to make the world a better place. I take the bad people down here and change them into useless things so they can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
Cian tilted his head and leaned down close to Tom’s face.
“Can you think of someone who committed an inhuman act?” he asked softly.
Tom stared at him with wide, glassy eyes and shook his head.
“I’ll give you a hint,” Cian said, and moved towards the trapdoor.
Tom knew what he was going over to get, and he felt that sick sense of dread wash over him again. Sure enough, Cian picked up the hammer, holding it firmly by the handle. He studied it for a moment then waved it in the creature’s general direction.
“Dad,” Tom said suddenly. His eyes had become glazed and vacant. “Dad used… that. But he didn’t use it for what he was supposed to…”
In his mind’s eye, he suddenly saw his mother’s terrified face. She was in the middle of the kitchen, screaming and crying. He saw his father, his face twisted into an ugly expression of pure fury. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and spit flew from his mouth as he bellowed at the cowering woman. He jabbed a finger at her accusingly, and raised the hammer in his other hand.
He could remember standing near the doorway. He had watched the hammer fall and become bloody. He could remember the exact moment when his mother’s screams had ceased, and he had never felt so small and insignificant as he did then.
“He’s the reason you haven’t got a mother anymore, isn’t he?” Cian’s voice jolted him out of the memory. “He’s the reason you’ve been shuffled around so many foster homes.”
He approached the creature and looked down at it.
“He got away from the cops and was on the run… but I got him!” Cian’s face split into a triumphant grin. “I added him to the collection.”
“You turned him into a monster,” Tom murmured. He stood completely still, his gaze now focused on the trembling, pathetic thing that used to be his father.
“Hmm, no, that’s not quite right,” Cian said thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure he was already a monster beforehand.”
He began to kick it again, driving it back with swift, brutal strikes. The monster staggered, clutching its gut and groaning in pain. A final kick sent it tumbling back into the hole it had crawled out of. As it smacked into the tunnel of flesh, it seemed to go into a frenzy, struggling desperately to get back out. Cian easily held the creature at bay with one hand, looking amused by its efforts. He nodded over at Tom, who slowly shuffled towards him like a zombie.
The boy’s gaze seemed to be very distant now, and his face was extremely pale. Cian held the hammer out towards Tom, looking at him expectantly. As if in a daze, Tom took the hammer from him, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip. He faced the repulsive, flailing thing and slowly raised the hammer.
It hit the father monster with a satisfying whack and caused it to lose its grip on the edge of the trapdoor. Its lipless mouth flexed spasmodically as it tumbled back into the hellish glow of the hidden cavern. The door snapped shut behind it with a loud thump that echoed throughout the room.
This time, Tom found he didn’t feel sorry for the thing at all.
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