monstrous

Accidents do happen.

As paramedics and nurses rushed the bleeding Sarah Carter on a gurney down the hallway, her boyfriend Quinn Myers stayed close behind them. He chased after them as they hurried towards the operating room, people keeping away from their path. He wanted to talk to them about her condition, but he decided not to disturb them, knowing that they couldn’t waste any time in such a situation. He wasn’t a crier, but at that moment, he felt like he was about to burst into tears. He looked at her worriedly, lying under the blood-soaked blanket, eyes closed. She was breathing very slowly, but she was breathing. She was still alive. But for how long?

“Hold on, Sarah…” he kept whispering.

Voices shouted all around her, giving orders, making him even more worried.  When they turned to a corner, the operating room only a few meters ahead, one of the paramedics patted Quinn, and asked him to stay in the hall. He complained, he wanted to be with Sarah, but the paramedic insisted. His heart pounding with fear, Quinn stopped following them, and watched them push through the double doors.

He had no idea how long he stood there, staring at those doors, waiting for his girlfriend to come out. After what seemed like forever, he took a seat on one of the chairs.  The black guy in a suit beside him spoke.

“What happened, buddy?” he asked.

Quinn answered, and began telling him everything that had happened. That night, they had gone out to the lovers’ lane atop a cliff overlooking the city. It was one of the best places in Scarsdale to spend the night in. They had gone there many times already, as everybody else in school did, and they would usually talk and eat pizza first, then screw afterwards. But this time, it was different. He hadn’t kissed her long when she pulled back and asked him to take her home. Next thing he knew, they were fighting. She was about to get out of the car when he agreed to take her home right away. 

Angered, he drove too fast. There weren’t a lot of cars on the highway, so he was able to freely drive his car at top speed. It didn’t matter to him if he’d get arrested. That didn’t bother him one bit. The least she could do was tell him why she was acting that way that night.

She did tell him, and it made him press his foot further on the gas pedal. She wanted to cool off for a while, and she gave him various reasons why.  He started to yell, making her cry as she explained her side, and he almost forgot that he was behind the wheel. He only remembered it clearly when he saw something on the road.

The next series of events happened so fast. He yanked the steering wheel to the left to avoid what he thought was a dead dog. The car swerved, and he was about to pull it back to the right lane, when another car came out from nowhere, heading towards them with blinding headlights.  He heard her scream under the other car’s loud horn, and kicked the brakes. But it was too late. Tires squealing, his car lurched, turning sideways as the other car crashed on the passenger side. Before he could even worry about his girlfriend, the impact sent his car flipping over—metal crunched and glass shattered everywhere—and hit a tree near the road. For a while, he blacked out, and then he woke up in the backseat of another car, next to Sarah. He wasn’t badly hurt, just some minor bruises on the arms and face. But Sarah…

“Is she alright?” asked a voice, interrupting Quinn.

He looked up. A six-foot-six tall chunk of muscle loomed over him. Bob Stern. The new guy in school, and one of the star players of their school’s basketball team, the Scarsdale Shooters. He wasn’t as good-looking as Quinn, but he was still a living babe-magnet. Girls would scream his name whenever he would slam the ball into the ring. Everyone was impressed by his quickness, how he never seemed to get tired, and how high he could jump. He had been the one in the other car, and it was also him who took them to that hospital.

“I don’t know,” Quinn replied. “They’ve got her in the ER. I hope she wasn’t hurt that bad.”

Bob sat beside him. “You?”

“Nah, I’m okay. Just a bit shaken.”

“You’re car was totally wrecked. You’re quite lucky you didn’t get hurt much. It looked like no one could have survived in there.” Then he suddenly stretched out an open hand. “By the way, I’m Bob Stern.”

“I know you,” Quinn said. “You play center for our school’s basketball team.” He shook the hand. Bob had a mighty grip. “Quinn Myers. Sorry about your car.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I think it was also my fault. I was going too fast, you would’ve had time to return to your lane.”

“There was something on the road. I… I think it was a dog. I didn’t want to kill it so—”

“It was dead. Some guy must’ve hit it before you came.” Bob sighed. “So you’re Quinn Myers? The guy who draws the comic strips in the school paper? Then that Sarah is Sarah Carter? The Sarah Carter?” 

Quinn nodded on all four questions.

“She’s your girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, forcing a slight smile. Bob was just like all the other guys in Scarsdale High; they keep asking him if Sarah really was his girlfriend like it was something so impossible. And he would always feel like a million dollars whenever he would say “yes”. He knew they envied him a lot. Sarah was one of the most beautiful girls on campus. It was her who pulled him out of his loser status. Being her boyfriend was more than a dream come true for guys like him, and so he did everything to keep their relationship intact. That was why he got so furious when she told him they needed to break up.

Then, a doctor in a green gown approached them. “Are you the ones who brought the girl here?”

Quinn stood up. “Yes, doc.” He glanced at Bob. “W-we did. Is Sarah—”

“Listen,” the doctor said. Quinn noticed his eyes didn’t seem like he was about to say good news. “She’s in critical condition. She’ll live but she was badly hurt. She lost a huge amount of blood, and we need a donor immediately.”

“Me,” said Quinn, taking a step forward. “You can take my blood.”

The doctor was short, about five-feet-tall or so, and talking to the two six-footers made him look like a child talking to his uncles. “We can’t give her your blood unless you have the same blood type as hers. Her blood type is B.”

“Damn!” He clenched his fist, and pounded on his thigh. “Mine’s A,” he answered disappointedly. “Is there anything—”

Bob cut in. “Doc, my blood type’s O.”

Quinn was surprised to hear him, and it got him feeling uneasy. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Now do what you’ve got to do so we can save her life.”

The doctor gestured. “Come with me.”

He led him into the operating room, leaving Quinn. Again, he stood there motionless, anxiety building up his spine.  He couldn’t wait to see Sarah. And he couldn’t shake that weird feeling inside him either. It was hard to believe that a cold, self-centered athlete like Bob Stern would want to save someone’s life, and donate his own blood just like that. Bob Stern, the way Quinn knew him and the rest of the basketball team, was never a do-gooder. There’s got to be a reason why he’d do such a deed, Quinn thought. He was probably doing it so he could be talked about in school as a hero. Or maybe it was that “macho” thing. Or it could be completely something else.

Then, as he sat back on the chair, the black guy behind him whispered in his ear. “He’s not what you think he is.”

Two weeks went by quickly.

It took only about a week before Quinn’s wounds were fully healed. He stayed at home most of the time, either watching the news about dead dogs or doing his favorite hobby: drawing. He really loved to draw. He was pretty good at it. It was the only talent he believed God had given him. He had a drawing table in his room, which always had paper and pencils ready in case he would get bored doing nothing. 

He had always won first place in drawing contests when he was in junior high. Now, he was in charge of the art for their school’s weekly publication, The Mouth. His comic strip, “The Losers”, was about two guys, Leech and Bummer, who ranked among the least appreciated students in school. It was funny and everybody in Scarsdale High liked it. He had based it on his friendship with Kramer Snodgrass, a former loser like him, who now shared with him the Sarah Carter fame.

But what Quinn really loved to do was make his own sketches. Landscapes, people, anything. He had done a lot of portraits, for friends and relatives, but most of his portraits were of Sarah. He could draw her without even seeing her; he could come up with perfect sketches just by memory. Even before they began going out with each other, he had made several sketches of her during their classes. He must have drawn her thousands of times, each in a different pose, but always with her angelic face prominent. He enjoyed drawing her because she was already a masterpiece on her own. She had blue eyes that were big and bright, pouty lips that were luscious and meant for wild kisses, and long, wavy, brown hair which he had always craved to run his hands through. And then there was her wonderful body that, as he would say it, “puts the vital in vital statistics”. She had posed nude for him several times—it was Sarah who encouraged him to try it—and their sessions had always ended up in sex.

When Quinn came back to school, a three-day rest after the accident, everyone was talking about the Shamus Road car crash. But not as much as they talked about Bob Stern and his “heroism”. When asked why he did it he proudly answered: “It was nothing really. I have lots of blood anyway.” It instantly became a front page headline, The Mouth declared him as “the big guy with the big heart.” Some suggested that they should have added that he also had “a big head.” Quinn believed the same.

Sarah Carter had only stayed in the hospital for eleven days. She was supposed to have stayed there for more than two weeks, but she recovered rapidly, much to the doctors’ amazement. Her broken arm was back in shape, and her wounds had healed immediately. Needless to say, she was in perfect condition, as if there hadn’t been an accident at all. But the doctors still advised her to take a week’s rest at home.

Quinn borrowed his dad’s car so he could visit her at home after school. He had visited her everyday in the hospital, but she was always asleep so he didn’t get to talk to her. Her house was in the Scarsdale suburbs, a bit far from Quinn’s city residence, almost a half-an-hour drive. He had stopped to buy a pepperoni pizza, it was their favorite, and arrived at exactly five o’clock in the afternoon.

Daphne, Sarah’s 15-year old sister, was the one who answered the door. They had become good friends since he started dating Sarah. Her brownish-blond hair was tied back into two pigtails, mainly because Quinn had once told her that she looked cute that way. She smiled at him. He had always liked her smile.

“Hi, Quinn,” she greeted cheerfully, motioning him inside. “Are you here to see me or my sister?”

Quinn chuckled. That was one good thing about her. Seeing her always set him in a good mood. “I wanted to see both of you. So, how are you, Daphne?”

“I’m okay,” she said and sat beside him on the couch. “School’s still as boring as ever. How about you?”

“Fine, I guess,” he said, shrugging. He placed the pizza on the coffee table. “I’m not having any post-traumatic nightmares… So how’s Sarah?”

“How is she? Well, she’s really acting very weird, you know. Hardly ever talks to me. She just stays up in her room, looking out the window, thinking about stuff.”

Their pet golden retriever, Rembrandt, came and barked happily at Quinn. “Can I talk to her?” Rembrandt then approached him, wagging its tail. He scratched the dog’s ear.

“Oh, she went out,” Daphne replied, opening the box. “Pepperoni! Can I have some?”

“Sure.” He watched her grab a slice and take a big bite on it. “Sarah went out? Isn’t she supposed to take a rest?”

She spoke with her mouth full. “Yup, but that tall guy came and asked her out. If mom and dad were here, she probably couldn’t have done that. They’re out buying stuff. They told me to watch over Sarah, give her what she wants. I did and now she’s out there. With a giant.”

Quinn had a good guess who the tall guy was. “It was Bob Stern, wasn’t it?”

“I think so. But I’m not sure.” Her eyes said she was definitely lying. She saw him look at her suspiciously. “Oh, all right, Quinn, it was him. Sarah told me not to tell you. Sorry.” She finished her slice. Then she stood up. Rembrandt followed her to the kitchen. “Wait here, I’ll get us something to drink.”

He nodded at her. “That S.O.B.! He gives her his blood, and he asks her out as payback.” The real motive had surfaced. “How could she do this to me?”

She came back with two glasses of orange juice. She sat down and took another slice of pizza. “Come on, Quinn. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s probably Sarah’s idea, you know, to thank him for the blood. He saved her life, remember?”

“But she should have asked my permission first. What if—”

“Quinn! Relax. Don’t be such a jerk. She loves you, I’m sure of that. She’s not gonna sleep with him. She won’t do anything you wouldn’t like.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at her gobble up the pizza slice. “I know that too. It’s what Bob’ll do that I’m afraid of.”

“Stop it, okay?” Daphne elbowed him on the side. “You’re making me jealous.” He smiled at her statement. He knew that she was deeply infatuated with him, she had admitted it to him more than once. I’ll take Sarah’s place anytime, she usually said, of course not in front of her older sister. “Here, have some pizza.” She passed him a slice, and then took her third one. Rembrandt came and lied down near Quinn’s feet.

Quinn laughed as he watched Daphne eat. It wasn’t the first time she demonstrated her T-rex appetite. “Slow down, will you? You’ll get fat if you keep eating that way.” But that was the mystery. She ate so much, and yet she remained slim. “And then no one will go out with you.” Her worst fear.

“Not even you?”

He stared at her. Happy, stress-relieving features flashed before him. Light blue eyes, a warm smile, baby-ish dimples. It was an understatement to consider her cute. He had drawn her too, he had given her eight pages of portraits on her last birthday. She looked quite a lot like the gorgeous Sarah, but she was much cuter in a child-like way. Any guy would easily fall for her with just one glance. If he had met her before Sarah, he might have gone out with her instead of her sister. “Well, maybe,” he told her and ate his pizza..

“Can we talk?”

It was the first thing Quinn wanted to say when he finally got the chance to see Sarah. It was the following day, he went to her house early. The good-natured Mrs. Carter had opened the door. As usual, she offered him her delicious home-made cookies, but he declined this time around. He just wanted to see Sarah.

She was up in her room. He entered and saw her sitting on a chair near the window, the soft wind blowing through her hair, sunlight shining around her, a majestic scenery behind her. If he had his sketch pad with him, he would have drawn her. But the only thing he had with him was a dozen roses. White roses. Her favorite.

“Sarah?” he called. She appeared to have not heard him at all. Her mind wasn’t entirely with her. What was she thinking about? “Sarah?”

She turned. “Quinn.” He liked the way her lips open up and curve whenever she would say his name.

“Hi,” he greeted. He approached her. Slowly. “How are you?” He sat on the bed facing her. He handed her the flowers.

“Okay.” Her response had a saddened pitch. She took the roses and placed them on her lap. He had expected her to be happy when she received them, but she wasn’t. She didn’t even smile, or thank him.

He studied her. She was sitting sideways, her head bowed a bit, hair over her shoulders. She was still in her nightgown, displaying to him her flawless white skin. Unbelievably flawless. There wasn’t a single trace of her wounds caused by the accident. “I’m sorry about the accident.” It was the fourth time he told it to her, two times in the hospital, once on the phone.

Sarah remained quiet, hands on her lap, but not on the roses. It was a sad, sad moment.

He leaned over. “Where were you the past two days? I came here to visit you, see you, talk to you, but you weren’t here. If not for Daphne, I would have left at once. Where did you go?”

“I…,” she tried to say. She bit her lip, and decided not to continue her sentence.

Quinn sighed, a long, loud sigh. “Kramer saw you at the park yesterday. With Bob.” He paused. “Is that true?”

She hesitated. She looked at him, then bowed her head again. “Yes.”

Again, Quinn sighed. “So are you just gonna keep answering me in single words, or are you gonna explain everything using sentences?”

She gulped. She was crumpling the end of her nightgown. “I’m sorry.”

He waited. He needed to hear more.

“I told you, Quinn,” she uttered, “We have to move on with our own lives. Y-you… You need some time alone.”

“What? Why would I need to be alone?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah replied, shaking her head. “I just… ” Tears started to fall from her once radiant eyes. Then she said something that had the impact of an atomic bomb. “I don’t think I love you anymore.”

Quinn felt a powerful sensation take over his body. Something inside him exploded, his heart maybe, and he suddenly became weak. Everything around him froze, and seemed to turn black and white, just like his drawings. He was shrinking, he could feel his skin tighten up, the space around him went further outward. Sarah, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, they moved far away from him, leaving nothing but emptiness around him. He had never felt so alone for one single moment in his entire life. That was how he felt. And he wanted to die.

Reality backtracked and he was in Sarah’s room again. It took him a minute to fully grasp it. She was still crying.

I don’t think I love you anymore.

“You know, you’re right. I need to be alone.”  He got on his feet. “In fact, I think I should go home right now and lock myself in my room, so I can be alone and kill myself! Of course, you, you wouldn’t care one bit if I did ‘cause you got yourself a new pet that goes by the name of Bob Stern!” He headed for the door. “It’s over, Sarah. Let’s just forget about everything.”

“Quinn…”

He stormed out of the room.

Quinn didn’t feel like going to school that Thursday. Heck, he didn’t feel like going to school for the rest of the week. Never in the past seventeen years of his entire life had he felt so much depression. It was as if his very soul had just been taken out of his body. And it hurt. A lot.

He did lock himself up in his room the whole afternoon of yesterday. But he didn’t kill himself. No, that would be too much. He had to show her he was strong, prove to her that he could survive. He tried not to think of her, even before he slept that night. But he couldn’t simply forget her. He tossed and tumbled on the bed till past midnight with nothing but her angelic face in his mind. He woke up, and she was still there.

The whole day he only left his room to pee. He spent most of the time watching cable movies. There wasn't anything else to watch but the news about the increasing number of suicides, and more of those dead dogs with their bellies torn open that were scattered all over town. And then there were those moments when he got the urge to draw. Drawing seemed to relax him, it soothed him all over. He finished new comic strips for The Mouth’s next issue. Later, he found himself doing a sketch of him and Sarah.

Quinn began with outlines; he pictured her crying in his arms. Then he drew in his face, the raven-black hair, the almond-shaped eyes, the high cheekbones, the square jaw. After that he drew Sarah, his chin resting on top of her head, eyes closed, a tear upon her cheek, her hair being blown by the wind. She still looked beautiful. But an inexplicable force drove him to erase her face, and replace it with a different one. The hair was shorter, the eyes were livelier, and the thin lips were arched in a youthful smile. It was Daphne.

Quinn got back the energy to go to school that Monday.

It was lunch break and he was sitting under the tree beside his closest friend, Kramer Snodgrass. It was Kramer who inspired him to do “The Losers”. He was Bummer in all aspects. The cool, devil-may-care type, the kind of guy who always tried to be funny. He always had his jokes and one-liners ready, saying that girls love a man with a sense of humor. Yet it didn’t seem to work for him. Every single girl he asked out had rejected him. Quinn had a good guess that it was because of his bad, punk haircut. But that was before Sarah became Quinn’s girlfriend.

“What?!!” Kramer said when he told him about their break-up. “Damn!”

“You can say that again,” Quinn said.

“Okay… Damn!” He leaned the back of his head on the tree’s trunk. “This can’t happen, Leech!” Kramer had started calling him Leech since “The Losers” became very popular. And he wanted to be called Bummer. “We were already there! People were looking up at us!” He paused. “And I’ve got a date with Valerie White tomorrow!  What’ll happen if she finds out?”

“Everyone will find out, and we’ll be the same old nobodies again.”

Kramer laughed. “The losers,” he remarked. Then he laughed once more, showing his crooked teeth. “Hey, why don’t we start all over again? Your comic strip’s still a blast, I think you should…”

“No way, Kramer,” said Quinn.

“No way? Come on, Leech!” He looked around them. “There’s still lots of babes out there. How about that Anna Thompson chick, the blonde cheerleader with the awesome ass? Or that dancer with the big boobs, Shirley Betancourt?”

“Kramer,” Quinn interrupted, “you don’t get it do you? Those… babes, they’re not for guys like us. They’re either for the football team, or the basketball team. Okay, so I got a bit lucky with Sarah, but look what happened. She finds a better guy and throws me out.” He sighed. “Goddamn Bob Stern.”

“Let’s see you say that to his face…,” Kramer stated, and nodded to his left. “Speak of the devil.”

Quinn saw Bob Stern walking towards them, wearing his jersey with the number 27 on it. “Hey,” he said when he got near. He sat in front of them, putting his sports bag on his lap.

“Hey, yourself,” Kramer whispered.

“Quinn,” Bob called. “I heard about what happened to you and Sarah, and uh… I just had to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Quinn said, thinking that right then and there, he would have punched Bob on the nose if he could. But he couldn’t, and definitely wouldn’t, for he wasn’t crazy enough to hit a guy with arms the size of pythons, and a chest like the front of a truck.

“No, really. I feel sorry. I know you’re thinking I had something to do with it, but honestly, I don’t. I…”

Quinn did the only thing he could do: pick up his bag, stand up, and act pissed. “Whatever it is, Bob, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Bob stood to say something. Kramer sprang to his feet. “You heard him, pal. He doesn’t want to hear anything from you. Just buzz off, okay?” Although he sounded serious, he was actually quite nervous that Bob would grab him by his neck and choke him to death.

Bob took his bag and left without saying another word. Kramer sighed loudly. “That guy’s really big. I felt like I was that blond chick and he was King Kong.”

“You were lucky he didn’t slug you,” Quinn told him. “Thanks, anyway.”

They were just about to leave when Daphne came running towards them.

“Hi, Daphne,” Kramer greeted but she ignored him.

“Quinn,” she said, gasping. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Is it about your sister?” Quinn inquired.

Daphne nodded. “Yes. It’s so weird, Quinn, you won’t believe me.”

“I’ll believe you. What is it?”

“Last night, I was awakened by Rembrandt’s barking. He was out in the backyard, so I went down to find out why. He was barking wildly, growling, and I was just about to go out the back door when I heard him yelp. After that, he stopped barking. I thought someone had hit him, so I hurried out the door. And I swear to God, Quinn, I saw Sarah kneeling over Rembrandt’s body, eating his insides!”

“Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?”

Daphne had asked Quinn to go to their house that evening. It was eight o’clock and the two of them were in the living room waiting for her parents. They had gone out for a party, and she was afraid to be left alone with her crazy sister. Sarah was in her room. She had locked herself up.

They were speaking through whispers.

“No, it wasn’t a dream,” Daphne answered. “If it was a dream, then where’s Rembrandt?”

Quinn shrugged. “Maybe he went out. I just can’t believe Sarah would do something like that. I mean, eat a dog? Yuck."

“But I saw it, Quinn.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Don’t you watch the news? Dogs have been found dead all over Scarsdale, tummies ripped open, insides taken out. Quinn! I think it was Sarah!”

He studied her. Daphne was terribly worried. But wasn’t she only being quite paranoid? It could’ve been just a dream. She saw the news on TV, and so she just dreamed about it. But where was Rembrandt?

Then, a strange sound pierced the silence. Daphne moved closer to Quinn and held his hand. It was the eeriest sound both of them had ever heard, a loud whistle that was sort of mechanical in nature which resembled the sound effects for laser beams used in movies. Whatever it was, it was making their spines tingle. Worse, it was coming from up stairs.

Kreeeeee...

“Quinn,” Daphne called, her voice shaky. “I think it’s Sarah. She’s…”

He shushed her. He was listening to the sound. It became louder, and it seemed like there were two of them, two laser beams, whistling simultaneously. One of them, however, sounded quite human…

Kreeeeiiieee... Kreeeeeee...

A knock on the door startled them. The whistles stopped.

Quinn stood, but hesitated to open the door. He glanced at Daphne who was cringed on one side of the couch. A series of knocks came again. Slowly, he opened the door.

“Oh, hi, Quinn!” It was Mrs. Carter. Behind her stood her husband, carrying groceries.

Quinn let out his breath. “Good evening, ma’am, sir.” He held the door for them to get in and helped Mr. Carter with the load.

“Why don’t you sleep over?” Daphne asked.

“You know I can’t do that,” Quinn replied. “It’s almost nine. My mom’s all alone in our house. I have to get home.”

She gulped. “But I’m afraid.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll be okay. She wouldn’t hurt you. You’re her sister. Besides, she didn’t see you when you saw her eat Rembrandt, didn’t she?”

“So, you believe me?”

“I guess so.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I really have to go, Daphne. Call me if something happens. Good night.” He opened the door and stepped out.

Daphne kept it open. “What if something happens, and I die? Then I won’t be able to call you.”

He smiled at her. “You won’t die. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

She smiled back. “G’night! Sweet dreams!”

Quinn waved then walked down the porch. He heard Daphne shut the door behind him. He put his hands in his pockets and went towards his car that was parked by the sidewalk. He was a few feet away from it when he heard the whistle again. But it wasn’t coming from inside the house. It was coming from above him.

Then, before he could take another step, something landed on top of his car, a large, odd creature, with its back to him. Quinn froze. It was a monster. The pale moonlight gave him a clear view of its entirety, and yet he still didn’t know how to describe it. It looked like a black giant-sized praying mantis. It was about eight to ten feet tall. It whistled, turned to its left, and then it jumped high up in the air and disappeared into the night sky.

Quinn didn’t know what to do then. His heart was beating so fast, and he couldn’t stop swallowing. Confused, he went straight home.

He got into his room, and quickly picked up his pencil. Then he began drawing the monster that he had seen. He pictured it in his head, noting each detail the way he remembered it. It had a triangular face, with thin slits for eyes and a huge, protruding jaw filled with needle-like teeth. The back of its head was pointed and bent like a toucan’s beak. Its elongated neck was attached to an egg-shaped body. In front of the oval body were two small, twiggy arms that ended in long, sharp talons, and behind it were big, bulky hind legs that somewhat resembled a frog’s. On its back was a pair of coiled offshoots that Quinn guessed were antennas. On its rear was a short, curved tail.

Quinn then began shading his drawing. The creature was black all over. Its skin was similar to that of an alligator’s, but looked harder and scalier. It took him just around half an hour to complete the sketch, and when he was done, he stared at it for some time. What monster was it, and where did it come from?

His questions were answered the next day.

Quinn was glad he woke up and did not have any nightmares about the monster. He met up with Daphne and Kramer in the school library to show them the drawing.  He told them what had happened last night and how lucky he was that the creature hadn’t seen him and eaten him.

“Or maybe it did see you,” Kramer suggested, “but it didn’t eat you ‘cause it doesn’t eat losers!”

“Yeah, right,” said Quinn. They were sitting around a square table beside the window. “Then we’re both safe.”

Daphne was sitting next to him. “And I’m not,” she added, gazing at the sketch. “If this is Sarah, then I am not going home today.”

“I don’t think it’s her,” he stated. “It could be someone else.”

“It’s got to be her, Quinn! She ate Rembrandt! She ate all of those poor dogs.”

Kramer snatched the paper from her. “Oh, is this it? Is this who’s been feasting on them dogs? Chihuahuas, retrievers, puppies. It even got my neighbor’s two poodles.” He snapped at the drawing. “We gotta kill this monster, Leech! I don’t care if it’s your ex-G or anybody else.”

“And just how do you suppose we can kill this thing?” Quinn asked.

“By blowing its head off,” someone answered. The three of them turned to see a stout, bearded man standing behind Quinn. He was carrying a leather briefcase in one hand. “Decapitating it will also do the job. What really matters is that you destroy the Zectimore’s head.”

“The what?” Kramer asked.

The man took the seat near him. “Let me introduce myself first. My name is Elton Griswald, a pseudo-archaeologist.  I have come here, to Scarsdale, on a… what, a mission? A mission to rid your town of the monstrosity known as the Zectimore.”

None of them had ever seen Elton Griswald before. He seemed like in his early forties. His dark blonde hair had gray streaks in some parts, and was starting to thin. His voice sounded harsh, cracking, and his lips twitched whenever he spoke.  But he still looked friendly.

“Zectimore,” Daphne whispered.

Quinn and his friends introduced themselves.

Mr. Griswald took the drawing. “This is the Zectimore. Of, course, this isn’t exactly how it looks like, but its close.” He put it back on the table. “Who drew this?”

“I did,” Quinn responded.

“Where did you see it?”

“On top of my car. Near her house.” He pointed at Daphne.

“You’ve seen it too?” Mr. Griswald asked her.

“I think so. I think this Zectimore’s my sister.”

Mr. Griswald was about to say something when Quinn suddenly spoke. “Mr. Griswald, can you please tell us what a Zectimore is, where it came from, and what it is doing here in Scarsdale?”

The archaeologist placed his briefcase on the table. He took a deep breath first, wondering where to begin. “I have been, shall I say, hunting for Zectimores for over ten years now. I have been fortunate enough to kill many of them, and I strongly believe that the one in this town is the last. Since the news about the dead dogs broke out here, I’ve gone around town, asking people. I came to this school, and I was more than lucky to visit this library and see a group of youngsters, you, with a picture of the Zectimore.

“There is a legend that tells about Earth in a time of darkness thousands and thousands of years ago. During this period, the only living creatures present were various kinds of beasts and monsters. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, every monster mentioned in history. Of course then, they don’t look the way we depict them nowadays. With these vicious creatures roaming around, conflicts were inevitable. It’s what we would call “survival of the fittest”. Two of the races which were immensely at war with each other were the Zectimores and the K’ruds.”

At this point, Mr. Griswald paused to open his briefcase. He pulled out a folder, and took two sheets of paper which he showed to Quinn. One had a drawing of the Zectimore—pretty much like how Quinn had drawn—while the other had a rough sketch of a four-legged, ball-shaped creature that had a scorpion’s tail, and a large mouth filled with sharp teeth where several tendrils came out of. It was labeled “K’rud”.

“Anyway, although battles were mostly between two races only, there were times when there were great wars among all the monsters. There were three great wars, and on the third one, a powerful god named Orijou, sent these monsters trapped in a limbo. Orijou then “re-designed” Earth, and created new beings, humans, hoping that this time the outcome would be positive. But unfortunately, we humans have engaged on two world wars already, and we might suffer the same fate the monsters had if we do not prevent a third world war from happening.”

“Whoa,” Kramer said.

“As for the monsters inside the limbo, throughout the course of history, some of them have managed to get out and return to Earth. To make it worse, they had become capable of disguising themselves as humans. They prey on us, in order to totally wipe out the human race, because they were the first inhabitants of this Earth. They’re merely reclaiming what once was theirs. But in a new world made for us and not them, they acquire certain weaknesses that help us to defeat them.

“The Zectimores, or the night-hoppers, are the most recent race of monsters to escape from the limbo. They can take human form during the day, and change into their true form at night. Zectimores are strong and agile, they could easily eat humans. But when a Zectimore is in human form, it loses its powers and so it can only eat living things weaker than itself, which in our case are dogs.” He paused to breathe. “Any questions so far?”

Quinn snapped. “Can a human being become a Zectimore?”

Mr. Griswald nodded. “Yes, of course, as much as any human can become a vampire. If the blood of a Zectimore is transfused to a human body then that person…”

“Damn!” Quinn said, pounding on the table. It was all clear to him now. He recalled what the black guy in the hospital had said. “Bob Stern’s a Zectimore! He offered his blood for Sarah to turn her into a Zectimore, too.””

“Yikes!” Kramer said.

“Who’s Bob Stern?” Mr. Griswald queried.

Daphne was the one who answered. “He’s my sister’s new boyfriend. When Quinn and Sarah had an accident two weeks ago, she needed blood and it was Bob Stern who gave his blood to her.”

“Did you say two weeks ago?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Goodness me. We’re in much more trouble than I thought! If I am correct, right at this moment, your sister, Sarah is preparing herself to transform into a Zectimore. Once she does, she’ll go to Bob Stern in order for them to mate. And she could give birth to a hundred offsprings just minutes after their intercourse!”

Kramer gulped. “But what if you’re not correct? What if they’ve already screwed and she’d already given birth?”

“Then we are doomed,” Mr. Griswald said gravely.

I don’t think I love you anymore.

The day seemed to have ended so fast. That evening, they were in Quinn’s car, on their way to the motel where Elton Griswald was staying. Before parting ways in the library, they had agreed to meet that night and carry out their plan. The plan was simple: to kill Sarah Carter before she got to Bob Stern, then kill him.

“That Griswald guy sure is creepy,” Kramer was saying. He was in the backseat. “Notice how his lip twitched every, what, five seconds?”

Quinn glanced at Daphne who was looking out the window. “On a scale of one to ten, he scores about nine. But he’s the only one who can help us, so get used to that twitch.”

“So how does he plan to kill these Zecti-morons?”

“We’ll find out sooner,” Quinn answered. He looked at Daphne again. “Hey, are you alright?”

She turned to face him. “Yeah.” Then she smiled her enchanting smile for him. “It’s just, you know, my sister’s a monster and we have to kill her and… it’s just so weird. I can’t figure out why this had to happen to me, to all of us.”

He reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “It’s gonna be okay, Daphne. We’ll all get through this.” As he said those words, he knew he meant them. He really cared for her. And as he stared at her lovely face, he couldn’t help not to wonder if he was falling in love with her.

Kramer stuck his head between them. “Eyes on the road, Quinn.”

When they arrived at the Grandioso motel, Elton Griswald was standing near the main entrance. He was hugging a large bag that seemed to contain a long, heavy object. Quinn parked the car in front of him, and he hurriedly jumped into the backseat.

“What’s that, Mr. G?” Kramer asked him as Quinn made a U-turn.

Mr. Griswald unzipped the bag and pulled out a double-barreled shotgun. “My trusted weapon, Fiona.”

“Fiona?” Quinn thought. Then he asked, “How many Zectimores has ‘Fiona’ killed?”

“Nineteen,” came the proud reply. “One in Russia, seven in Europe, three in Asia, three in South America, and five here in North America. Hopefully she’ll get two more tonight.”

Kramer was glaring at the shotgun admiringly. “Can I hold it?” he asked. Mr. Griswald handed it to him, and he held it like a king with his scepter. “I haven’t touched a gun in my life. I didn’t know it feels so good.” He turned to Mr. Griswald. “Is it loaded?”

“Not yet,” Mr. Griswald said and took the gun. He showed him a box of shotgun shells.

Kramer grabbed one and studied it closely. “So why did you name it ‘Fiona’?”

“She’s named after my wife. She got killed by a Zectimore, the very first one to emerge.” Hearing that, Kramer immediately apologized. The archaeologist sadly nodded at him. “That is why I have vowed to slay every night-hopping monster on this planet.”

“We’re here,” Daphne remarked as Quinn slowed the car down to a stop a block away from the Carters’  house.

Mr. Griswald began loading “Fiona”.

Mr. and Mrs. Carter were surprised to see that they had guests that evening. None of the four knew how to explain the matter to both of them, but Quinn suggested that Mr. Griswald should do all the talking.

“Daphne,” Mrs. Carter said when she opened the door. “Where have you been?” Then she noticed the three men behind her. “Oh, and you seem to have brought some friends with you.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the shotgun.

“Mom,” Daphne said, “This is Kramer, a school friend and this is Mr. Griswald, who has something important to tell you.”

Mr. Carter held the door for them. He too was staring suspiciously at the weapon. “Why don’t you all come in first?” When they were all inside, he asked them to sit, but Mr. Griswald spoke for everyone and declined.

“We don’t have time to sit around and discuss everything,” he told them. He glanced at Quinn.

“We need to see Sarah,” Quinn stated.

“We’re here to kill her,” Kramer whispered. Quinn elbowed him on the stomach.

“I don’t think you can,” Mrs. Carter answered. “You see, she has locked herself up in her room, again, and she took the key with her inside. She’s been having problems and…”

“We tried talking to her but she just wouldn’t open the door,” Mr. Carter added.

“Then we’ll have to break it open!” Mr. Griswald exclaimed. “Come, Quinn. Take me to her room.”

Quinn ran up the stairs motioning Kramer to follow. The archaeologist chased after them. Daphne had only taken a step when her mother stopped her.

“What is this all about, Daphne?” she asked.

“It’s hard to explain, mom, dad,” she replied and rushed to the stairs. “You have to see it for yourselves.”

BLAM! The shotgun went, causing Daphne and Mrs. Carter to scream suddenly. As the Carters were hurrying down the hall, Mr. Griswald kicked the door to Sarah’s room. The lights were off. Quinn flipped the switch but the light didn’t turn on. He looked up at the ceiling and saw that there wasn’t a bulb in the socket. He nodded to enter. They all scrambled inside, half-anxious and half-scared, where they laid their eyes on a gruesome sight that made their hearts beat five times faster.

It was something they couldn’t find words to describe. An enormous, slimy, gray cocoon. Its outer surface had warts all over. It had itself stuck to one wall, as if it was a large, ugly pimple that had grown on it. And it was throbbing, expanding then contracting. Kreee-ahhh... kree-aaahhh. It was breathing, or whatever was inside it.

“Sarah,” whispered Daphne, breaking the silence.

Beside it was the decaying body of a golden retriever, its belly split open. It was Rembrandt.

Almost simultaneously, they all let out their breath.

“What are you waiting for, Mr. G?” Kramer asked, his voice a bit shaky. “Shoot it!” 

Mr. Griswald stepped forward and aimed “Fiona” at the cocoon.

“Sarah!” Mrs. Carter exclaimed. She was panicking. “Where’s Sarah?”

“You’re looking at her,” Mr. Griswald said, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM! Daphne gave a quick, startled scream and hugged Quinn. Mrs. Carter did the same and embraced her husband. Kramer pressed himself against the wall. Mr. Griswald lowered the smoking shotgun and examined the cocoon. It had stopped breathing. He had shot a hole on its middle where dark, grayish liquid began to ooze out. A foul sulfuric odor then filled the room.

“Is it dead?” Quinn inquired, peering over the archaeologist’s shoulder.

Before anyone could speak, a loud wail suddenly pierced the air.

Kreeeeiiieeeiiii!

Then, two huge, black claws tore out of the cocoon. One swept towards Mr. Griswald, making him drop the shotgun, and flung him to the wall. His head struck concrete and he fell near the door, unconscious. The two claws ripped the gray cocoon apart and out jumped a menacing, wet Zectimore. Daphne screamed. Mrs. Carter shrieked. Quinn gasped. It was as scary as he remembered the first time he had seen it.

Mr. Carter pulled his wife away, who was clearly ready to faint. Quinn yanked Daphne towards the window, leaving Kramer in front of the Zectimore.

“Kramer! Get out of there!”

But even before Quinn finished his sentence, the insectile monster had lunged at his helpless friend who had frozen in fear. It punctured its claws on Kramer’s chest, pinning him to the wall. Then it snarled, and opened its mouth full of needle-like teeth.

Quinn crouched down and picked up the shotgun. He had never touched or fired a gun before, but he knew he had to do something. He heard Kramer shout for help, his voice faltering. Hands trembling, he aimed the gun at the monster. He saw it devour his friend’s head in one bite. He fired.

BLAM! The blast almost threw him off his feet.

Kreeiiiiieee! came the Zectimore’s mechanical whine. Quinn had hit it on its arm. It turned to him with its evil-looking eyes. Kramer’s decapitated body fell from the wall as it prepared itself to attack. Then, it leaped towards him.

“Nooo!” Quinn shouted, in unison with Mr. and Mrs. Carter standing out the door. He ducked, putting his arms around Daphne, and they staggered to the floor.

Kreeeeiiiiii! The whistling went over their heads. Then they heard glass shattering. The Zectimore had jumped out the window.

Quinn let go of the shotgun and hugged Daphne. She was crying. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

She nodded, wiping her tears away.

Mr. Carter assisted his weakened wife into the room again. He glanced a disgusted look at Kramer’s corpse and then turned his head away. He bent down on his knees to check on Mr. Griswald. He pressed his fingers under his jaw.

“Is he alive?” Quinn asked, helping Daphne stand up.

“He’s alive,” Mr. Carter replied.

Mrs. Carter burst into tears when she saw her daughter. “Daphne!” She approached her. They hugged each other. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt?”

“Mom, I’m okay,” Daphne said.

Quinn took “Fiona” and went towards Kramer’s body. He cried inside. He didn’t know that it would really hurt to lose a friend. They had joked about dying many times, and remembering them didn’t make Quinn laugh. He breathed deeply and approached Mr. Carter. He stooped down beside him. He held Mr. Griswald by the shoulder and shook him.

“Mr. Griswald!” he said. “Wake up!”

The archaeologist’s eyes slowly opened. He sat up and leaned his back on the wall. The first thing he did was place his hand on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” queried Quinn.

He nodded once. “My head hurts, but I think I’m fine.” His voice was weary. “Did you get her? Have you killed the Zectimore?”

Quinn shook his head sadly. “No. I didn’t. She got away.” He passed the shotgun to Mr. Griswald.

“Then we must not just sit around here,” he said, and tried to stand up. Mr. Carter aided him. “She’s on her way to Bob Stern. We must stop them before they reproduce!” He motioned Mr. Carter to suggest that he could walk by himself. “Where does this Bob Stern live?”

Quinn gave a worried shrug.

“Bachman Drive,” Daphne spoke up. “Near the woods. I know the fastest way to get there.”

“We’ll take you with us,” said Mr. Griswald. “Let us go.”

“I think I should come with you, too,” Mr. Carter prompted.

Mrs. Carter rushed to him and gripped his sleeve. “No,” she said, teary-eyed, “you can’t leave me here, Norman!” 

“She’s right,” Mr. Griswald told Daphne’s father. “It would be best for you to stay with her.” He started to step out of the door. He paused. “And contact the police.”

“But,” Mr. Carter said. “What do we tell them about this?”

Mr. Griswald looked at Quinn. “The truth.”

“Pray that we are not too late.”

It was all Mr. Griswald could say as Quinn drove through the streets of Scarsdale at top speed. Quinn was thinking the same. Their supposedly “simple” plan had not worked, and so here they were with plan B. Daphne was giving him directions on how to get to Bachman Drive in the least possible time. She was making him drive into various alleyways, and he felt like they weren’t anywhere near Scarsdale anymore.

“So he took you to his house?” Quinn asked Daphne.

“Huh?” she said, her blue eyes fixed on the road.

“Bob,” said Quinn. “He took you to his house, didn’t he?”

Daphne pointed to the intersection ahead. “Turn left.” She glanced at him, biting her lip. “Yes. The other day. He came to the house and…” She gulped. “But it was Mom’s fault. I really didn’t want to come ‘cause I know you’d get mad at me, but Sarah insisted, and Mom…”

He stared at her and noticed a different side of Daphne Carter. The determination on her cute face was something he had never seen before. She looked beautiful. “I’m not mad,” Quinn told her.

“You’re not?”

“Yes!” he assured. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Across that bridge,” she commanded. “What?”

Quinn smiled. “That if we get through this,” he paused to stare at her, “you’ll go out with me.”

Daphne flashed a surprised look at him. Then she, too, smiled. The smile made him forget his fear for the meantime. “I promise,” she said sweetly.

The sign on the corner said “Bachman Drive”. Quinn eased on the gas pedal as he maneuvered his car onto a dark, quiet road where there were few houses and lots of trees. There weren’t any lights in any of the houses. The whole area seemed like a place specially reserved for scary things to happen and monsters to live in.

If fear had an address, thought Quinn, then this is it.

“There,” Daphne remarked, pointing to a small bungalow shaded by trees several yards away from them. “That’s where Bob lives.”

“Stop here,” Mr. Griswald ordered.

Quinn put on the brakes and the car slowly halted. Then he turned off the engine. “What do we do?” he asked.

“Frankly, I am not sure,” Mr. Griswald responded, grasping “Fiona” tightly. “Let us just do what we have to do.” He shifted his seat and opened the car’s right rear door. “And that is to slay these monsters.” He hopped out, and shut the door carefully.

“Stay here,” Quinn told Daphne, and opened his door. She grabbed him by the arm.

“You can’t leave me here, Quinn,” she said. “I’m going with you. What if they’re just somewhere out there waiting for you to leave me all alone so they can eat me?”

“Quinn!” the archaeologist called from outside. “We must hurry!”

Quinn sighed. “Let’s go,” he told Daphne.

They got out of the car and joined Mr. Griswald. They walked quickly towards Bob Stern’s house. The nearer they got, the more tensed and scared they felt. When they were just a few feet away, Mr. Griswald held up a hand to signal them to stop.

“Listen,” he whispered.

It was faint, but they could hear it. The Zectimores were whistling, two laser beams being fired at the same time. One was louder than the other.

Kreee... kreeiiii... kreeeiiiiieeeeiii...

Mr. Griswald crept behind some bushes. Quinn and Daphne followed, holding each other’s hand. There, they had a good view of a window, where they watched something they couldn’t explain.

The two Zectimores were having sex, the bigger one over the other. Their claws were clasped onto each other, their lumpy hind legs entwined. They were hitting each other’s pointed head, as if in a swordfight. Their slit-like eyes were opened up like flared-up nostrils. There was weird dark purple slime all over the floor.

Mr. Griswald leveled his shotgun to his shoulder. Then he aimed, in the manner of a skilled marksman.

Daphne covered her ears, and Quinn braced her.

Then came the loud, Zectimore’s wail.

Kreeeeeeiiiiiiieeee!

Quinn looked. The black monsters had parted, and were jumping wildly inside the house.

Mr. Griswald fired. BLAM!

They all looked into the window. Both Zectimores had vanished. They only saw a large hole on the wall.

Suddenly Quinn saw shadows moving through the trees. “There!” he pointed.

Mr. Griswald had also seen it. He took off, sprinting through the trees, clutching his shotgun. Quinn went after him, Daphne stayed close behind. If not for the moonlight, they wouldn’t have known where they were going. They could hear the monsters whistling, and the thumping sound they made as they hopped on the ground. Suddenly, the noises ceased.

The archaeologist stopped running. Quinn and Daphne did the same, some distance behind him. Apart from their heavy breathing, they couldn’t hear anything else.

Eyes scanning all over, Mr. Griswald turned around to face them. “Where did they go?” he whispered.

Kreeeeiiiiii...

Quinn suddenly saw a Zectimore land in front of Mr. Griswald. It raised one of its talons up and brought it down towards the archaeologist’s chest. But he had anticipated it and had fired the shotgun at once.

BLAM! The claw was torn off the mantis-like monster’s arm, purplish-red blood spurting out. It screamed in pain.

Mr. Griswald was ready to take his next shot, but then the second Zectimore dropped on his back, knocking him off his feet. The shotgun flew to the ground.

Quinn picked up a fallen branch, and gathering all his courage, darted towards the larger monster. It seemed to be shouting at the other one, waving its remaining arm in the air. It hit the back of its claw on the small one’s head. The small one whistled back, then jumped away.

Almost at the same moment, Quinn had leaped onto the big Zectimore’s back, and stabbed the branch on its back. Blood gushing, it screamed, shaking itself, trying to reach him with its claw. Quinn pulled out the branch, and stabbed it again.

Daphne had done the same, piercing a longer piece of wood on the Zectimore’s legs. The monster saw her, and bashed her on the side with its wounded arm, throwing her to a clump of bushes.

“Daphne!” Quinn hollered.

Mr. Griswald was still on the ground, searching for his shotgun. He was rummaging through grass, leaves, and twigs, when he caught a glimpse of the barrels glimmering under a shrub. He hurriedly crawled to get it. He almost had it when he felt the Zectimore’s claw pierce through his lower leg. “Arrrgh!” he agonized, looking at the big claw pinned into his leg. The three-feet long talon pulled him back, away from “Fiona”. He cried out in pain. He saw Quinn on the back of the Zectimore. “Quinn…!”

Quinn turned to see Mr. Griswald, the Zectimore’s claw stabbed on his leg, preventing him from moving. He also saw the shotgun beneath the shrub which the archaeologist had been trying to reach.

Suddenly, the Zectimore swung its pointed head towards Quinn. Its tip cut him on the back. “Aaah!” he groaned, and fell.

The Zectimore lifted Mr. Griswald upside-down off the ground. Mr. Griswald struggled and screamed in utter pain. The insectile beast snarled and opened up its jaws to swallow him head first. “Noooo!” yelled Mr. Griswald.

Then… BLAM! Purple-red blood sprayed out from the hole that suddenly went bursting on Zectimore’s chest. Flailing, it whistled, and prepared to jump, dropping Mr. Griswald. BLAM! It had jumped, but not too high. It stumbled forward on the ground. The shot had hit it on the neck.

It was Daphne who had fired the shotgun. She was standing not far from where the archaeologist was lying.

Quinn stood up and approached her. The two of them looked at the black monster. It was still breathing. Then, right before their eyes, it began to change. The pointed head shrank, the claw turned into a hand, the curved tail disappeared. It transformed into its naked human form: Bob Stern.

Quinn took the gun from Daphne and walked to the badly injured Bob. He had big, bloody wounds on his neck, his arm, and on his chest. He also had several stab wounds on his back and one on his right leg. However, he was still alive.

“Well, hello, Quinn,” he said, his voice weak. Blood dripped from his lips. “How are you?”

Quinn pressed the shotgun on his cheek. “Not as well as you would be if you don’t tell me where Sarah is.”

Bob laughed, and coughed at the same time. “She’s somewhere around here, hiding. I’m going to be a father, you know. Can’t wait to see my babies.” He laughed, and coughed again.

“Unfortunately, Bob,” Quinn said, “you won’t.” He squeezed the trigger. BLAM!

Quinn turned to Daphne who was trying to get Mr. Griswald on his feet. He darted towards them.

“Help me, Quinn,” Daphne requested, pulling the archaeologist up.

“No, I can’t,” Mr. Griswald grunted, holding his wounded leg. “I can’t walk. You… you have to find her without me.”

Quinn crouched beside him. “We don’t know where she is.”

“She’s out there… somewhere,” Mr. Griswald gasped, “but not too far. Zectimore couples stay close to each other.” He groaned out loud. His wound wouldn’t stop bleeding. 

“We gotta call an ambulance,” Daphne worriedly stated and stood up. “My mobile’s in the car.” She took off to the direction of the house.

“Daphne!” Quinn yelled, but he couldn’t decide whether to follow he or stay with Mr. Griswald.

The archaeologist gripped Quinn’s sleeve. “Leave me here. I’d be dead even before the ambulance arrives.” He coughed. “Don’t let the Zectimore get her.”

Then, a scream came from afar. It was Daphne. A Zectimore’s whistle came next. Quinn didn’t waste any time. He sprang to his feet and sprinted through the trees, the shotgun in his hand. He had only run a short distance when he saw Daphne on the ground, the Zectimore standing over her. It was ready to plunge a raised claw on Daphne’s chest.

“Sarah!” Quinn shouted, leveling the gun. The Zectimore looked at him, lowering its claw. He had almost pulled the trigger when the monster called out his name.

“Quinn,” it said in a mechanical, whistle-like manner. It began waking to him.

His hands trembled, he was losing aim. With his squinted eye on the sight, he watched the Zectimore transform right in front of him. In mere seconds, he was staring directly at Sarah, unclothed. She really looked beautiful. Her angelic face bore nothing that would say she was a monster. Her voluptuous body was as alluring as ever. Her bright blue eyes were mesmerizing.

“Quinn,” she said in her sweet-sounding voice.

Quinn didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling at that moment. Fear, anger, regret, and a tinge of love mixed together. If she was trying to seduce him, then she had done a great job. He just couldn’t bear blowing the head off such a beautiful creature. He put down the gun.

“Sarah,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her face.

“No, Quinn,” Daphne yelled, crying. “Shoot her!”

Sarah held his hand, and rubbed it on her cheek. Then she kissed it, sucking his fingers. Then she placed his hand on her left breast, and allowed him to fondle it. She threw her head back, moaning.

“Shoot her, Quinn!”

Suddenly, Sarah gave out a laugh that eventually became a laser beam wail. Her right hand had turned into a large talon, and she swept it towards Quinn’s chest.

He didn’t have time to react. The shotgun slipped off his hand, and all he could do was catch the claw, and prevent it from coming down to him. Sarah had the strength of ten men. With two hands gripping the claw, its tip inches away from his heart, Quinn was forced down to his knees. And, after another whistle, Sarah’s other hand changed into a claw.

Quinn prayed for help. Then… THUD! Sarah grumbled in pain as she faltered to the ground. Daphne had struck the back of her head with a large rock.

In a splitsecond, Sarah rolled backwards and quickly morphed into a menacing Zectimore. Quinn crawled, and grabbed the shotgun. The Zectimore’s wail, and Daphne’s scream simultaneously rang out. Quinn sat up and fired at the monster in mid-air, claws aimed at Daphne.

BLAM!

The mechanical wail was instantly cut off. Blood sprayed out like a water balloon bursting. The Zectimore’s head was buried in a mist of purple-red blood. It fell on a mound of grass, back first. As if in a movie, everything seemed to have happened in slow motion.

Quinn swallowed and let out his breath. Daphne dropped to her knees. The Zectimore was dead.

As he wiped the sweat off his forehead, Daphne suddenly jumped ontop of him and kissed him hard on the lips. A hard, wet, and long kiss. Their thoughts got jumbled, and both of them could think of nothing else but kiss the other as much as they could. They pulled back and gazed at each other.

“Th-that was…,” Quinn stuttered. Wonderful.

“Sorry,” Daphne said, noticing the surprised look at Quinn’s face. “I just , you know… near death experiences, kind of make me…”

“Horny,” he finished her sentence for her. “I know.” He laughed, at himself. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

She shrugged. “Me, too.” She smiled. It made him want to kiss her again. He did. He slid toward her and embraced her tightly, pressing his lips on hers, feeling his tongue within her mouth. They wouldn’t have stopped if not for the police sirens that sounded from afar.

“Look,” Quinn said as they stood up. He pointed at the monster’s corpse sprawled on the grass. It was in the middle phase of its metamorphosis. Then, it magically changed into Sarah’s body, without the head.

“Ohh.” Daphne covered her face with her hands and pushed it onto Quinn’s chest. He hugged her.

Footsteps came, getting closer. From the shadows of the trees, two policemen emerged.

“Aww, shit!” one exclaimed upon seeing the body, and looked like he was about to throw up. He held his mouth shut and gulped it back in.

The other, a black guy, stepped forward. “Daphne Carter?” he asked.

Daphne nodded.

He moved nearer. “Your mother called us, she said you’d be here.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I didn’t quite understand what she was trying to say. Something about your sister being a… monster?”

Again, she nodded, keeping her eyes away from the corpse. “That’s her. That’s Sarah.”

The cop bent down to examine it.

“Wait,” Quinn said, calling the cops’ attention. “Mr. Griswald. The man who helped us He’s…”

“Right here,” went Mr. Griswald’s dreary voice from behind them. He walked with a limp, his wounded leg was like rubber.

“Are you okay?” Quinn asked him. The black cop spoke in his two-way, requesting for an ambulance.

“I am fine, I think.”

“So what happens now, Mr. Griswald?”

The archaeologist sighed. “With all the Zectimores eradicated, I can say we are all safe… for now.”

Quinn and Daphne hugged each other tighter. Knowing that it was finally over made them feel better. “After all that, it looks like it’ll be a happy ending, huh?” Daphne remarked as he kissed her on the forehead. 

“Of course, it will,” Quinn added gladly. “Besides, it can’t get any worse than this, can’t it?”

Someone laughed. “Think again, boy.” It was the black policeman, grinning evilly. The other one advanced beside him.

Quinn watched in utter horror as the two cops underwent an abrupt transformation. Their bodies blew up into a ball with orange, wrinkly skin; a long tail with pincers at the end sprang out from each of their rears; their arms and legs became bulky, three-jointed, limbs; their mouths grew wider where their teeth turned sharp like daggers and their tongues multiplied into slimy, leather-like tendrils. They had turned into monsters. Quinn knew what kind they were.

“K’ruds!” he whispered.

Daphne screamed.

One of the hideous beasts hissed like a hundred maddened cobras. The wriggling tendrils in their mouths slashed through the air like a dozen whips. One lashed out and wrapped itself around Daphne’s waist. It lifted her into the air and prepared to pull it inside its mouth where several rows of sharp fangs waited.

“Daphne!” Quinn yelled, leaping to her rescue. But, something suddenly slithered around his leg, tugging back to the ground. He looked behind him.

Mr. Griswald was standing upright, the wound was gone, his lips wide open where a bunch of what seemed like worms were struggling to get out. It was one of these “worms” that had captured him. Mr. Griswald hissed with a garbled laugh and began to transform himself. He changed himself into a monster just like the cops, only bigger. There was a crown-like thing between his eyes. He too was a K’rud, possibly their leader.

The tendril yanked him towards the K’rud’s large hungry mouth. Quinn cried out in fear. Another tendril, coming from one of the cops, caught him by his arm. Both jerked at him, raising him up in the air, fighting over who would get to eat him. His body was pulled to and fro.

Quinn’s mind raced with thoughts of the recent past. The car crash, the sound of crunching metal as the cars collided rang in his ears. The break-up, Sarah’s statement repeated over and over within his brain. I don’t think I love you anymore. The dead dogs, the image of puppies with their bellies ripped open flashed in front of his eyes. The Zectimore encounter, the sulfuric stench went up his nose. Daphne’s screams, she was shouting out his name, echoed all over the forest. Tears fell down from his eyes as he watched the monster devour her.

Then he himself screamed. One K’rud pulled too hard. He was conscious long enough to see his body get torn in half, his bloody insides falling to the ground below…

Another old story I dug up from the past, this one was just an offshoot of a nonsense theory I thought about to explain where monsters really came from. What I really wanted to write was about aliens, but I saved the idea for some other story in the future. To be honest, it’s my least favorite story, but I still feel that it’s a good one. I think the “love story” element worked ok, mainly because I was having girlfriend problems of my own at that time. I can’t remember clearly if I did but I’m pretty sure I based the characters Sarah and Daphne on two girls in my life back then. Anyways, ever since I finished it, it has carried the foolish title “It Can’t Get Any Worse” and it wasn’t until recently when I did a little tweaking on it that I decided to use “Monstrous” instead.

+Not as bad as I remember it. I pat my old self on the back with some of the ideas here, like the monsters being the first inhabitants of Earth and the ending, which I had completely forgotten. It sure is a really weird feeling to be surprised by the twist ending that I had written myself.