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.
Four men came to my house a few nights ago. I saw one of them carrying a crowbar and another had a gun tucked into his pants. I only closed my curtains and lock my bedroom door. I’ve seen this happen many times and I can tell you exactly what came to pass, even if I wasn’t a witness to all of it.
They enter through the front door. They’re always surprised to see it’s unlocked, but they likely assume it’s because I live so far out and am comfortable in the safety of seclusion. They split up in pairs, not worried about what they’ll do if they find the owner of the house. She’s just a girl, one who stares at the ground when she talks and who trips over her words in a rush to get them out. She’s clearly not very bright and she’s clearly not very strong.
One of my monsters is hiding under the couch tonight. When he saw they were coming he slipped under there. One of their ankles stray too close and he’s pulled under with not even a scream. In the morning the man will wake up in a country where he doesn’t speak the language and with no memory of how he got there, only that there’s a bite mark on his leg and that he’ll never feel safe in the dark again.
He is the lucky one. The monster under the bed is merciful.
The monster in the closet is not.
The one with him assumes that the missing man is pulling a prank, he calls his name and starts poking around for him. He asks the other two (who are going through my grandmother’s music boxes) where their friend went. They have no clue. They didn’t see it happen.
The searcher opens a pantry and out a clawed hand flies, wrapping around his throat and dragging him with. He screams, and screams, and screams until his throat is cut. In seconds all the skin is flayed from his body, landing next to his body in a pile of fleshy ribbons. Eyeballs are squished like grapes. Teeth fall from his jaws and to the ground with a sound not unlike dropping a handful of marbles. He isn’t long in the world, but those remaining seconds are filled with some of the most excruciating pain a person could remotely comprehend.
When the other two throw open the door, they find the whole pantry is soaked top to bottom with blood. The remains of their friend are unrecognizable as such, other than the scraps of his clothing and his crowbar.
The two panic. They split up in their haste to escape.
One runs into the backyard. His mistake.
The monster outside the window lives out there, and he doesn’t really interfere with trespassers unless someone bothers him. And when someone slams the back door open while screaming at the top of their lungs, well… that bothers him, as it would most people I think.
I don’t talk about the monster out there, only that once his target was in sight, the unlucky soul didn’t have the benefit of a quick death. He was dragged into the shed and what happens in there I can’t tell you. I just know that the man didn’t expire until three nights later and when that was happened he was begging for death.
The last one, in a blind panic, ran up the stairs to my room. He threw himself against the door once, twice, three times before it gave. I screamed and ran to my corner, my heart thumping in my ears.
The man got up and stared at me. Fear turned to realization that I was the girl in the house, and not only that, I was somehow responsible for the mutilation of his friend. He took out his gun and pointed it at my face, calling me a slew of horrible names.
He stops when he looks at my eyes.
Once blue, now one’s turned green. The pupil is constricted to a pinpoint, the other one looks washed out compared to how bright the other is. He can’t stop staring at my eye.
The gun nearly slips from his hand until I catch it, firmly pressing his hand to the grip. He’s starting to shake, sweat dripping down the side of his face.
I stare at him until he turns that gun on himself, putting it in his mouth before pulling the trigger. Blood paints the ceiling as the body thuds to the ground.
I don’t know what things people see when they look into my green eye, but I doubt it’s anything good.
I go to bed after this, knowing the monster under the bed will clean up after tonight’s debacle. Not the closet monster, he’s always been a real dick about that. The monster outside the window isn’t allowed in the house. He tracks mud everywhere and no one really likes his staring.
It’s good that he cleans though. Because I have to get back to work. I’m working on a book about thieves who think they can rob a girl who lives all alone, only to find out that she’s not alone. And not only that, but that girl is the worst monster of them all.
Because she created the three monsters that live in under the bed, in the closet, and outside the bedroom window.