Title: Redemption

[swirlsofpurple]

 

“How are you?” I say, placing my basket on the counter.

“Have you heard about the Ryman’s?” Ted asks, pausing as he scans the butter.

“No.”

“The kids are missing, presumed kidnapped.”

“What?!” I stand frozen, whiplash at a sentence too out-of-place in a friendly local supermarket. So wrong, so unbelievable. Those poor children, as if they didn’t have enough to worry about. It seems not a week goes by without one neighbour or another having to call the authorities over concern for them.  And I wonder if maybe their father drank one bottle too many and landed a blow they weren’t going to get back up from.

“Yeah. I think they ran away. Who knows, they’re probably better off.”

I just nod silently, my thoughts too tumultuous to verbalise. And carry my shopping out of the shop in a daze.

 
*

There’s a lot of talk of the possibilities around the neighbourhood, what with the family history and all.

But when there’s a sighting and the call comes for volunteers for the search, plenty still sign up. The chance that it’s some pervert is too much of a worry to ignore.

And that’s how I come to walking through the forest with a rifle I have no experience with aside from games at the fair. We’re spread out due to the vastness of the place and I haven’t seen anyone else in a while when I hear a branch snap.

I duck, finding cover behind a tree. I turn. And see it. I blink. I must be hallucinating. It can’t be real. I squeeze my eyes shut. Shake my head. Open my eyes again. It’s still there: a monster. Thick six inch claws, horns that twist and curve, head to toe in fur and an inexplicable number of teeth. But most of all its eyes, seemingly endless otherworldly pits- fill me with fear.

It hasn’t seen me yet. I want to back away. I want to run. But then I see the children trailing behind it. And I keep my feet planted firmly. I raise the rifle; I can feel every speck of it against my trembling hands. I force myself still. I point it, taking too many seconds to obsess about recoil. What if I miss? The kids are too close. I wait. I can’t do this. It’s too risky.

But they’re all moving and if I don’t take the shot who knows what happens next. I aim: my hands sweating. Finger pressed with intent against the trigger. I fire.

The monster falls to the ground. I deflate with joy, with relief.

And then the kids are running to it, crying over it.

I see the thing transforming before my eyes, from a beast to a man.

I stare. I can’t make any sense of it. A niggling sense of foreboding sets into my bones.

And as I hear the garbled words amidst the children’s cries, the truth becomes clear. This thing hadn’t been hurting them: it had been protecting them.

What have I done? 

 
*

Shit. Shit. Shit. I sink to the ground, barely noticing the wet crunch of leaves beneath me. I’ve killed someone. He was only trying to help them and I killed him. I move to rest my head in my arms, and that’s when I notice something strange. My neatly painted nails are growing? Extending? It looks like bad CGI. What he fuck? I watch, horrified, as I realise they’re turning into claws. Hair then begins sprouting from my arms and there’s a pain in my temple. I reach up and feel hard stony bumps. The beginnings of horns.

I hear footsteps and I know I can’t be seen like this. I run. It’s more of a wobbly stumble, but I get away, I find some undergrowth to hide in.

 
*

I don’t know what to do. I can’t go home. I’m a monster now. I have blood on my hands.

But I do know this is my fault. I killed the creature and took on its curse.

I need to fix things. I need to finish what it started.

 
*

I stand in front of the Ryman’s door, watching as the drunken lout stumbles home.

He sees me and I take great satisfaction in the way he pales.

I tell him, “Leave. Don’t come back here.”

He blusters with outrage. I hold up a clawed hand as he attempts to shove past me.

He leaves. I expect him to return with a mob carrying pitchforks but he doesn’t. Perhaps no one believes him.

 
*

I research the man I killed. He was a man, I learn. He had been in an accident; the family in the car he hit were instantly killed. From the way he had been driving and his priors, it's believed he'd been high. He disappeared afterwards and had never been seen since. I wonder if that’s what turned him into the monster. 

 
*

For the next months, I stand guard in the shadows by their house- scaring Mr Ryman away on the few occasions he tries to return. It is a cold, empty existence. But this is my life now. This is my penance.

 
*

I watch the girl and the little boy ride their bicycles down the street as the older boy sits on the porch reading comic books.

One day they set up a lemonade stand and I buy a cup.

One day I’m invited into the house.

I’m wary at first, but it’s pleasant enough. They invite me back regularly after that.

 
*

One day another being of my likeness comes to see me. At first I think they are new, that they have questions I have no answers for. Instead they tell me they've been this way for many decades.

“What do you know of this curse?” I ask.

“It’s not a curse: it’s a mantel- for those seeking redemption.”

Comments

[bleodswean]

I am sooooooooooooooo thrilled to see you here! And this wee story is HUGE in implication and message! Great work with the setting up - your dialogue was perfect. I love the ending, just love it!

[swirlsofpurple]

Thank you muchly for the lovely comment, so glad the implication and message came through :)