[story] natural selection
author: jaz templet (yachiru)
email: yachiru [at] gmail.com
They find him in the kitchen, surrounded by the bones. The floor is filthy and blood coats the table and chairs in a fine film. He is gnawing on his wife's thigh bone. His son's head is splattered across the right kitchen window. The flesh had long since disappeared from it. Their flashlight beams light up his eyes and they flicker red. He knows they can see the monster. The light shows it all. They say something. "Stop" or "Oh My God". He cannot hear. He is past human emotion. Past human thought. He is the monster and the monster is still hungry.
He lunges and feels the bullets enter his flesh. His blood sprays out in an arc and he hunches over, coughing up his blood and hers. He doesn't quite understand that he's dying.
Do monsters die?
His eyes close and he wonders if he'll come back in the sequel.
Two months earlier
In the flesh of his palm was a scar. He sometimes laughed and told people he had stigmata. He didn't remember getting the scar. He had woken up one morning to find it in the center of his left palm. His mother told him he must have been bitten by a dog or something. Something with fangs. He could feel it pulsing at odd intervals in his life. He felt that pulse grow stronger as he aged.
He felt marked.
But he looked perfectly normal. His face was straight, his brown hair cut at an appropriate length. He wasn't too tall, wasn't too muscular. He went to the right church and held a respectable job. He was married to a perfectly ordinary woman and had a perfectly ordinary child. They were working on the second child as he assumed two children would round out their perfect nuclear family.
He felt not right; something was missing. He woke in the middle of the night sweating and swearing. His wife, Shannon, would blink her cow eyes at him and then go back to sleep. He resented her for that. She should care, shouldn't she? She slept through the nightmares and the restless walks through the house. She slept through the hours he spent glaring at her flaccid body.
His name was Gary. Like the snail on that kid's show, Spongy McGriddle? His son, Kelly, loved that show. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He thought the yellow dude was a fruit but Kelly was only seven. He'd soon grow out of loving the soft and spongy things. Gary was giving him a toy gun for his birthday to speed that along. He was normal kid. The kind of kid you can take to any park and walk around with pride, even smugness. Gary liked that he had no imperfections and his eyes were bright and curious. You could tell he was well cared for.
Shannon wasn't the boy's real mother. She was his second wife actually. His first wife had died of ovarian cancer. It had been a slow death. You wouldn't believe how slowly cancer kills a body. Even crueler is how slowly it kills the soul. He'd held her hand as she died and resented her every day after that.
He'd bought this cute little puppy a little after she died. He figured it would cheer Kelly up. Shannon was working at the pet store at the time and he kept coming back for advice. She had this little crooked smile that he couldn't resist. And a great rack.
He'd had to send the puppy to the pound since it pissed on everything but he'd kept Shannon.
He passed the mirror in the living room and had to blink twice. His face looked odd. More angled. Sharper somehow.
Was his skin . . . greener?
Were those bumps horns?
He'd told Shannon a little about the mirror thing and she'd told him to see a shrink. Only faggots and women saw those quacks. He was just having a moment. Yeah. A weird moment. It would pass.
He shook his head and went into the kitchen, famished. He felt like he could eat a large farm animal of some sort. Shannon stood by the stove looking perky. She stirred a pot of something brown and bubbling.
"You hungry? The rice is pretty done Gar, but the chops still need to cook. Take a seat and I'll let you know when they're done."
He nodded curtly at her and sat on the rocking chair in his living room. He rocked, the motion soothing his aching stomach.
He could feel his fingernails lengthening. They were tearing into the wood, shredding it. He grimaced in pain and tried to breathe through it.
Was he going insane? He knew he was turning into something. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural. The horns would grow. The fangs would grow. The hunger would become unbearable. He'd need to feed. On animals. On people.
The wood screeched and screamed as it splintered.
"Hun, the chops are ready!"
"Coming!"
His eyes were tearing. His teeth. Oh god were his teeth tearing through his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut. Slowly, he raised his hands up to his face. They looked normal. He breathed. On the armrests of the wooden chair were ten perfect half moon impressions.
He chewed the meat in tiny bites. She watched him. He thought she was always watching him with those eyes. He could feel her stare in his sleep. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of her. Of his son sitting there eating cereal. He refused to eat anything else and Gary didn't have the patience to train the boy right. Especially now.
He didn't want to hurt anyone.
He heard a gasp and opened his eyes. He'd been tearing into the chop with his fingers. Eating like an animal. Flesh and bone littered the table. Little pieces were even stuck on the wall. Shannon's eyes were wide and she covered Kelly's face with her hands.
He ran. He cried. He strapped himself into his blue pickup truck and sped out of the driveway. He couldn't stay there anymore.
It wasn't safe.
There was an old cabin in the woods that his mother had given him when she died. It didn't have electricity or running water but he remembered drinking the cold water out of the well as a boy. Lifting the pure clear water to his mouth. It would be a good place to live.
He hunted animals and ate them raw. It only took the edge off of his hunger. He hunted larger and larger animals. When they found him he was chewing into the side of a bear, his face covered with blood and other things. Two of the men bent over and they hurled into the grass.
They pointed guns at him. He didn't remember much but he remembered those. They would blast and burn. They would kill. He went where they led him and they led him into a cage. The walls were soft. He rubbed his cheek against them and slept.
They woke him and led him to a room made of steel. They sat him in a chair, facing an old woman in a gray tweed jacket. Her hair was peppered with red and white and drawn up in a tight bun. A man stood on either side of him and he felt woozy. He couldn't focus his eyes.
She told him he was delusional. They'd give him some medication. They'd try to find out why he was the way he was. She kept talking about Shannon. Shannon was concerned. Shannon loved him. He had to get well for Shannon. He looked around blearily, wondering where she was. He could sure go for a pork chop right about now.
They talked. All the months he was there they talked. And talked. And talked.
He wasn't a monster. It was all in his head. A chemical imbalance. He didn't believe them but pretended he did. He had to get out. He couldn't breathe in there. Shannon came to visit often. She brought Kelly sometimes. He thought Kelly was confused. He always seemed puzzled when she brought him as if he'd forgotten who Gary was and why he had to see him.
At first he had tried to escape through the laundry hatch. That didn't work. They watched him always. He eventually decided there was only one way out. He smiled and acted as they wanted him to. They eventually let him go, convinced of his sanity.
It was warm the day they discharged him. The trees were bursting with buds and the air smelled sweet. Shannon picked him up in that pink dress he thought she looked so good in. It had yellow roses. Her smile was fake. She smelled of vanilla and sugar water. And fear.
Kelly looked older, more somber. He wondered what she'd told him. She drove him home and fixed pancakes as their first meal at home as a family. He sat chewing it slowly, forcing the sweet down his throat. Kelly chomped like a trooper, with a young boy's bottomless stomach. Her hand shook as she lifted the glass of lemonade to her mouth. She swallowed. Smiled.
That crooked grin.
"We love you Gary. We're glad you're home."
"I love you Gary. You know that, don't you?" She looked so frail there on the hospital bed. Her skin paper white, her eyes bruised.
"I love you more."
"Take care of Kelly. He's a good boy. I think he'll help his daddy when I'm gone," she whispered at him as his head touched the pillow next to her. He hid his eyes there so she couldn't see his tears.
"Love you. Love you. Loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou." He kept saying it like a chant. If he didn't stop, she wouldn't die. Her hand touched his head and combed through his hair.
"It'll be okay Gary. It'll be okay." Her hand stilled in his hair and he choked, the words trapped in his mouth.
She was dead. He felt as though his soul had gone with hers.
"Gary? You're zoning out hon. You need some sleep." Shannon smiled nervously and wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
He lunged at her, knocking the boy away as he did. She screamed as his pointy teeth carved into her neck. The blood tasted sweet. He heard more screaming but he kept eating. So good. It satisfied the gnawing hunger like nothing he'd ever had before. He'd never be able to get enough.
the end
email: yachiru [at] gmail.com
They find him in the kitchen, surrounded by the bones. The floor is filthy and blood coats the table and chairs in a fine film. He is gnawing on his wife's thigh bone. His son's head is splattered across the right kitchen window. The flesh had long since disappeared from it. Their flashlight beams light up his eyes and they flicker red. He knows they can see the monster. The light shows it all. They say something. "Stop" or "Oh My God". He cannot hear. He is past human emotion. Past human thought. He is the monster and the monster is still hungry.
He lunges and feels the bullets enter his flesh. His blood sprays out in an arc and he hunches over, coughing up his blood and hers. He doesn't quite understand that he's dying.
Do monsters die?
His eyes close and he wonders if he'll come back in the sequel.
Two months earlier
In the flesh of his palm was a scar. He sometimes laughed and told people he had stigmata. He didn't remember getting the scar. He had woken up one morning to find it in the center of his left palm. His mother told him he must have been bitten by a dog or something. Something with fangs. He could feel it pulsing at odd intervals in his life. He felt that pulse grow stronger as he aged.
He felt marked.
But he looked perfectly normal. His face was straight, his brown hair cut at an appropriate length. He wasn't too tall, wasn't too muscular. He went to the right church and held a respectable job. He was married to a perfectly ordinary woman and had a perfectly ordinary child. They were working on the second child as he assumed two children would round out their perfect nuclear family.
He felt not right; something was missing. He woke in the middle of the night sweating and swearing. His wife, Shannon, would blink her cow eyes at him and then go back to sleep. He resented her for that. She should care, shouldn't she? She slept through the nightmares and the restless walks through the house. She slept through the hours he spent glaring at her flaccid body.
His name was Gary. Like the snail on that kid's show, Spongy McGriddle? His son, Kelly, loved that show. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He thought the yellow dude was a fruit but Kelly was only seven. He'd soon grow out of loving the soft and spongy things. Gary was giving him a toy gun for his birthday to speed that along. He was normal kid. The kind of kid you can take to any park and walk around with pride, even smugness. Gary liked that he had no imperfections and his eyes were bright and curious. You could tell he was well cared for.
Shannon wasn't the boy's real mother. She was his second wife actually. His first wife had died of ovarian cancer. It had been a slow death. You wouldn't believe how slowly cancer kills a body. Even crueler is how slowly it kills the soul. He'd held her hand as she died and resented her every day after that.
He'd bought this cute little puppy a little after she died. He figured it would cheer Kelly up. Shannon was working at the pet store at the time and he kept coming back for advice. She had this little crooked smile that he couldn't resist. And a great rack.
He'd had to send the puppy to the pound since it pissed on everything but he'd kept Shannon.
He passed the mirror in the living room and had to blink twice. His face looked odd. More angled. Sharper somehow.
Was his skin . . . greener?
Were those bumps horns?
He'd told Shannon a little about the mirror thing and she'd told him to see a shrink. Only faggots and women saw those quacks. He was just having a moment. Yeah. A weird moment. It would pass.
He shook his head and went into the kitchen, famished. He felt like he could eat a large farm animal of some sort. Shannon stood by the stove looking perky. She stirred a pot of something brown and bubbling.
"You hungry? The rice is pretty done Gar, but the chops still need to cook. Take a seat and I'll let you know when they're done."
He nodded curtly at her and sat on the rocking chair in his living room. He rocked, the motion soothing his aching stomach.
He could feel his fingernails lengthening. They were tearing into the wood, shredding it. He grimaced in pain and tried to breathe through it.
Was he going insane? He knew he was turning into something. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural. The horns would grow. The fangs would grow. The hunger would become unbearable. He'd need to feed. On animals. On people.
The wood screeched and screamed as it splintered.
"Hun, the chops are ready!"
"Coming!"
His eyes were tearing. His teeth. Oh god were his teeth tearing through his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut. Slowly, he raised his hands up to his face. They looked normal. He breathed. On the armrests of the wooden chair were ten perfect half moon impressions.
He chewed the meat in tiny bites. She watched him. He thought she was always watching him with those eyes. He could feel her stare in his sleep. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of her. Of his son sitting there eating cereal. He refused to eat anything else and Gary didn't have the patience to train the boy right. Especially now.
He didn't want to hurt anyone.
He heard a gasp and opened his eyes. He'd been tearing into the chop with his fingers. Eating like an animal. Flesh and bone littered the table. Little pieces were even stuck on the wall. Shannon's eyes were wide and she covered Kelly's face with her hands.
He ran. He cried. He strapped himself into his blue pickup truck and sped out of the driveway. He couldn't stay there anymore.
It wasn't safe.
There was an old cabin in the woods that his mother had given him when she died. It didn't have electricity or running water but he remembered drinking the cold water out of the well as a boy. Lifting the pure clear water to his mouth. It would be a good place to live.
He hunted animals and ate them raw. It only took the edge off of his hunger. He hunted larger and larger animals. When they found him he was chewing into the side of a bear, his face covered with blood and other things. Two of the men bent over and they hurled into the grass.
They pointed guns at him. He didn't remember much but he remembered those. They would blast and burn. They would kill. He went where they led him and they led him into a cage. The walls were soft. He rubbed his cheek against them and slept.
They woke him and led him to a room made of steel. They sat him in a chair, facing an old woman in a gray tweed jacket. Her hair was peppered with red and white and drawn up in a tight bun. A man stood on either side of him and he felt woozy. He couldn't focus his eyes.
She told him he was delusional. They'd give him some medication. They'd try to find out why he was the way he was. She kept talking about Shannon. Shannon was concerned. Shannon loved him. He had to get well for Shannon. He looked around blearily, wondering where she was. He could sure go for a pork chop right about now.
They talked. All the months he was there they talked. And talked. And talked.
He wasn't a monster. It was all in his head. A chemical imbalance. He didn't believe them but pretended he did. He had to get out. He couldn't breathe in there. Shannon came to visit often. She brought Kelly sometimes. He thought Kelly was confused. He always seemed puzzled when she brought him as if he'd forgotten who Gary was and why he had to see him.
At first he had tried to escape through the laundry hatch. That didn't work. They watched him always. He eventually decided there was only one way out. He smiled and acted as they wanted him to. They eventually let him go, convinced of his sanity.
It was warm the day they discharged him. The trees were bursting with buds and the air smelled sweet. Shannon picked him up in that pink dress he thought she looked so good in. It had yellow roses. Her smile was fake. She smelled of vanilla and sugar water. And fear.
Kelly looked older, more somber. He wondered what she'd told him. She drove him home and fixed pancakes as their first meal at home as a family. He sat chewing it slowly, forcing the sweet down his throat. Kelly chomped like a trooper, with a young boy's bottomless stomach. Her hand shook as she lifted the glass of lemonade to her mouth. She swallowed. Smiled.
That crooked grin.
"We love you Gary. We're glad you're home."
"I love you Gary. You know that, don't you?" She looked so frail there on the hospital bed. Her skin paper white, her eyes bruised.
"I love you more."
"Take care of Kelly. He's a good boy. I think he'll help his daddy when I'm gone," she whispered at him as his head touched the pillow next to her. He hid his eyes there so she couldn't see his tears.
"Love you. Love you. Loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou loveyou." He kept saying it like a chant. If he didn't stop, she wouldn't die. Her hand touched his head and combed through his hair.
"It'll be okay Gary. It'll be okay." Her hand stilled in his hair and he choked, the words trapped in his mouth.
She was dead. He felt as though his soul had gone with hers.
"Gary? You're zoning out hon. You need some sleep." Shannon smiled nervously and wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
He lunged at her, knocking the boy away as he did. She screamed as his pointy teeth carved into her neck. The blood tasted sweet. He heard more screaming but he kept eating. So good. It satisfied the gnawing hunger like nothing he'd ever had before. He'd never be able to get enough.
the end