Monster 2
by Camaro     More by this Writer
All warnings most likely apply.

“How do you describe the feeling of being torn between running into someone’s arms and sending a blast through their brain? I don’t think the line between love and hate has ever been this thin, this transparent and inconsistent in parts. But I miss him, as completely as you can ever miss anything. Or maybe, more probably, I miss myself. Feelings -good or bad- made me alive and now? I am as numb and cold as ever. Like a dead body I suppose. Ironic isn’t it? The cross that plunged itself out of his chest impaled us both.”

Image by 'Mr. Asia' from the book 'Schmerzen'
Graphic Violence



Chapter 1
Monster 2
Chapter One


My grandfather once told me of a monster.

A monster so hideous and fiendish, it was cursed forever to remain in a cave. Cast before a mirror for eternity, the monster wept at its own reflection, recognizing the abhorrent figure before it as something truly accursed and wicked.

Years went by and the monster remained, transfixed by its own damnable reflection, a constant reminder of why it remained confined and alone. But as the years grew in number, the sound of men came closer and closer to the monster and soon it began to recognize tones of voices as friends. It knew them by its own names and believed that despite what appearance they wielded, they were truly beautiful.

Alone, monstrous and empty, it remained, scratching its talons against the shield of rock that embraced it. The sensation of man approached as the years collected and soon, the monster began to understand what the term “companionship” meant. What friendship was. And it in its black, wretched heart, it yearned for it if only for a moment.

Stretching its powerful limbs against the confinement of rock, the monster freed itself, beholding for the first time the world that had so hated it for centuries. But surely as the years had progressed, the love of humans had grown stronger and they would accept him. Yes, yes, as surely as he’d listened to their songs and prayers, the monster would be loved by all, overcoming his grisly appearance.

But it was not to be and as God had cursed the monster with his own reflection, the people that observed him suffered a terrible, engulfing fear. “Wicked!” they had screamed, hurling stones and clubs of fire. “Fiend! You have come to devour our children, for certainly you are no less than Hades himself!”

Broken at heart and irate, the monster destroyed each one, pillaging their village to nothingness and leaving not one alive. Village to village he laid to waste, searching for friendship and finding none. For who could ever love a monster?

Centuries past and the monster became numb, feeling nothing as it killed indiscriminately. Hordes of soldiers and warriors were dispatched by kings and royalty, on a mission to end the monster’s cruel reign. None ever returned.

And then one day, as the monster sat empty and heartless on the side of a lake, gazing down at its own repulsive reflection, a tiny boy approached it; a deaf mute from a nearby village. The monster warned him to retreat, screaming at the young child that he would rip his bones from his body and gnash them into dust. But the boy heard none of it, staring in wonderment at the beast and coming only closer.

Enraged at this intrusion, the evil creature wrapped each of its claws around the young boy, lifting him from the ground and staring into his face. In a moment of awe inspiring bravery, the tiny boy leaned forward and kissed the monster on its grotesque nose, being dropped to the ground immediately.

The monster stared in shock, touching its nose in disbelief. Had the child just done what he thought it did? Was that a gesture of friendship, of companionship that he’d so sought after? A kindness? A compassion that he’d all but believed could never be bestowed upon him? Something foreign stirred within his chest and looked down at the child.

The little boy did not stir an inch, lying still on the ground. Only then did the monster realize that he had dropped the boy too fast and now, as the tiny body lay motionless it understood that it was dead. The monster began to weep, tears of crimson blood creeping from the cracks of its eyes.

And as it wept, it knew suddenly the real reason why God had cursed it with a mirror all those years. To remember what it was, to see why it could never be loved or accepted. And as the emptiness in his heart melted away, it was filled with a love and sorrow for the young boy, and then, the monster laid down in death.

For emptiness can never be destroyed, killed, stabbed or slain. It can only be filled.

...........

The weary old man wobbled around the monastery, his hands laced behind his back, skirts of his garb swinging lightly over his shins. It was too hot in here, he decided, his wrinkly face turning sour. Dreadfully hot. Of course, the black priest wear and high collars did little to save him from the muggy temperature and he stretched the material at his neck with irritation.

Thirty years of wearing this. Thirty long years of service to a church, a lifetime forgotten in the priesthood. And who would mourn him when he died? The church goers who seldomly attended two Sundays in a row? Those who would come late into his sermon, muttering out hushed apologies when he’d look at them? Those who spit half assed apologies in confession, whispering of lies, adultery, abortions, rape only to come the next week with the same sins on their shoulders, ready to be “forgiven” in the name of God?

The name of God. Really. Why did the church use such a phrase when the name of God had been removed from their bible so long ago by the Jews who viewed such a name as too sacred to be spoken, instead, replacing it with words like “Lord” and “Father”. The hypocrisy of a lifetime of this was beginning to dawn on him and as he walked past many of his companions, he would only nod a curt acknowledgement.

Yes, retirement would do him well, he decided, reflecting fondly on the past thirty years he had devoted to this cause. A thousand sermons and a million sins forgiven. It was high time to release himself and live out the remainder of his days in the cool shade of the monastery trees.

It had been a good life, he smiled. A few bad times, a few good. Not a wasted thirty years by any means. Sure, it had started off badly but then, you can’t always make a great first impression.

When he had been forty years old, he had said goodbye to the ways of the world and decided to devote himself to the catholic faith. Two failed marriages, hateful children and an abundance of mistakes were incentive enough to send him onto “God’s path”, essentially. Only, the chastity part wasn’t always so easy and there are things a man must resort to at times. Oh sure, explaining it all would make him look like a bad guy, he shrugged, frowning slightly.

He’d look like the antagonist, the hunter. It wasn’t really that case. Sometimes the boys made him do it. It’s easy to believe that young boys don’t have a choice or that they were taken advantage of due to youth, but try telling that to the old priest. He’d known. He’d seen the look of seduction in the eyes of seven year olds, their sweet, cherubic faces smiling when he’d taken them into his small, dark confessional.

“No one can know,” He’d tell them, slipping cold fingers into warm little trousers. “it’s our secret. Can you keep a secret? Mommy and daddy can never know.”

Sometimes they’d ask him why he did it, even when he knew they liked it. His answer was as innocent as he was to their irresistible manner. Sacrifices had to be made. Chastity was no easy task, no cold-turkey fix. God gave his own son on behalf of the sins of many. So the boys, on the other hand, were a gift from God to sate the desires of a lonely priest. They understood. Sometimes.

Other’s would scream and cry, trying to pretend they didn’t like when he’d bend them over and touch them in the worst way. Children could be so foolish at times, gritting their teeth like that and begging for him to stop.

“I can’t,” he would whisper. “You made me do it.”

In the end, one had been a nuisance, turning HIS side of the story over to the concerned parents who had called him a multitude of names. Rapist. Pedophile. Molester. Pervert. Such bad connotations, such mean spirited titles. Complete ludicrous.

He’d been given a slap on the hand so to speak, counseled by the eldest of the church priests and then, like a dirty secret, shipped off to a little city in Connecticut. Sure, he’d promised to never do it again, and he hadn’t for the most part, albeit there were a few short slip ups here and there. What? A man had his needs. God never said that his creation would be perfect. Everyone’s entitled to a few little mistakes once in a while.

A disturbance shook him from his reminscing, high pitched screams piercing through the walls, far away somewhere in the church. He paused, the blood curdling cry freezing him into place, shaking the walls with its intensity. He'd never heard anything quite like it, the fear lacing the pitch as it tore its way from the hoarse throat of a horrified woman. He remained still, listening for a follow-up, his breath caught in his lungs.

Nothing came but silence.

He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that his old body wouldn't be forced to rush to the aid of someone; grateful that it was more or less just an accentric being startled and making a scene of it. His heart still thudded in his chest, cold sweat mingling with the tired, sagging flesh of his forehead. Too many years doing this. Too many prayers, too many boring masses, too many everythings.

Suddenly, he found himself running as fast as tired old legs could carry him. Screams had erupted, the pitch loud and strong enough to shatter glass as it seemed as though a thousand women were shrieking in terror. The world shook as he flew through corridors, his eyes vibrating as he forced his legs faster towards the sound. Faster. Faster.

The old, worn heart thudded against his ribcage, threatening to overload his body with the thin blood it pumped through paper-thin veins. His breathing came in gasps as he clammered over marble, the souls of his shoes clacking over the smooth surface. The screaming was now coupled with loud crashing noises and brutalized choking sounds that neared the closer his body moved him.

One more room to go.

The scent of fire and smoke flew through his passages, nearly sending him into a fit of nausea as he stumbled through smothering waves of it. He could barely see through the smoke, his hands waving superficially through the scorched air in front of him. His robes seemed to scald his skin on the area it touched, his hands frantically pulling the thick material from his body before the massive heat could ignite it.

Suddenly the air cleared and his flimsy shoe came out from under him, sending him forward to the ground as he skid into the next room. He sucked in the incinerating air, the heat unable to register as his blood became liquid ice, pumping beneath translucent skin. He began to quiver in horror, his eyelids to the pinnacle of open, until the smoke stung his wet pupils.

Carnage had erupted in the main hall, the glorious room of God alight with fire and horror. As though hell had torn into the world, it had unleashed its fury upon the mass of church goers and nuns. Children were crucified upon walls, their terror-striken squeals sounding throughout the enormous room as they ripped at their own skin, thick nails lodged into tiny palms. Women's faces were bashed repeatedly into walls, until their tiny children, nailed above them, could barely recognize the gore and filth that remained.

The priest began to vomit, his fingernails digging into the marble until breaking upwards, blood and curdled milk spilled out beneath him. A nun hoarsely screamed out hebrew prayers as alter boys surrounded her flailing body, yanking down her panties and brutally raping her over a chapel bench. Blood squirted over their penises as they delved into her virginity, eyes black in their faces.

Vomit slathered over his gawking mouth, the priest could merely stare into the faces of boys he'd once trained, he'd once fathered and even loved. Boys that now nihilistically shoved rosary beads through the vaginal opening of a nun, ripping through her perineum and seesawing the porcelain marbles out her anus. She screamed and kicked, eyes glistening with horror as they tugged her by the beads over the smooth floor, her body flipping onto her stomach as she clawed the slippery surface before being yanked into a confessional.

Her petrified screams and wails were muffled and the entire wooden box tipped and shook as they murdered her within it.

Alterboys scrambled up walls with inhuman powers, their black eyes scanning their victims as they clawed upwards, falling from the ceiling over innocent people. A fellow leader, the congregational priest lay on his back, a bible clutched tightly and quietly over his chest as they tore his flaccid penis from between his thighs, stuffing it into the partially opened mouth of a statue: the crucified Christ.

Blood squirted everywhere, mist at it was bashed out of a brain or heart. Skin was thrown against walls, leaving bloody trails at it crept downwards. Flesh and hair, unrecognizable as human, landed near him, his body instantaneously scrambling into standing position. Black eyes and robotic movements signalled that the possessed boys had spotted him, cruel smiles cracking their stoic faces.

Yes, they'd seen him.

He tore backwards, flying through smoke and debris. He clammered into walls, the sour vomit cooling his chin. He could hear them, creeping after him like fairytale monsters, their fingers clawing the ground at his feet. Their fingers and bare toes clammered at inhuman speeds at his heels, clicking a thousand times a second over the smooth surface.

'Don't look back,' he made himself promise, breathing hard. 'Don't you dare look backwards!'

Yet, human nature turned his head, his feet crumpling beneath him as he landed on his knees. Black eyes smiled into his own, as they moved like spiders along the walls, surrounding him. They crept over the ceiling, laughing down at his collapse. He'd barely even made it to the doorframe, his eyes still beholding the sacriledge and monstrocities commited in the other room. Yet now, they invaded him like animals, their sick eyes bleeding along the rims as they smiled. His chest was held down as more than 15 crowded around his horizontal form, placcid eyes beaming with hunger.

"This is a house of God," he pleaded, tears streaming down his temples as he shook with panic. "A house of God do you hear me?!"

They only grinned with more malice, moving slowly over his body. Their thin, cold fingers trickled like beads of water over his thinly-covered skin, working downwards. He grabbed at the crucifix around his throat, holding the thick wood in his shivering palm as he kissed it, praying feverishly. It pressed over his heart, moving upwards rapidly as his breath came in chaotic gasps.

"My God in heaven," He sputtered. "hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."

Cold fingers slid beneath his under-robe, fingernails gliding along the hairs between his thighs. He closed his eyes against it, clutching until fresh blood creeped from beneath his shattered fingernails, dripping over the splintered wood.

"Deliver me," He gasped in a shivering voice. "Lord, I pray thee!"

His cross was ripped from his fingers until shards embedded themselves into his fleshy palms. Yanked from his grasp, his eyes opened wide a shriek of pain and terror ripping through his vocal cords. His entire body convulsed, his eyes staring in horror at the burning statue of Christ. His crucifix now deeply embedded into his anus and ripping upwards with unnatural strength, he lay down. The most precious, angelic face loomed over him, eyes completely encompased with blood.

"Shh.." he whispered against the priest's cheek, a cherubic smile gracing his shinning cheeks. "Can you keep a secret? Mommy and daddy can never know."

The priest's eyes shook as he gasped his last breaths, being brutally rapped with the cross until his innards poured out of his body, black eyes smiling down around him.

"Deliver me!" He screamed with his final words. His eyes turned blank as he watched the golden statue of Jesus burn to the ground, the entire church incinerated with screams and fire.

"Deliver me!"

...........................................

I bolted upright in bed, my bare chest glazed with sweat as I stared eyes opened-wide around the black bedroom. My breathing nearly hyperventalated me, my lids torn in two different directions as I struggled to grasps where I was, what had happened. The darkness engulfed me like a hug, my skin shivering over my muscles.

"Ohhhh..." I breathed.

"SHIT!!"

Monster 2: Resurrection



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