The Last Monster

by Ginger Garrett

  “Please do,” I sighed under my breath.

  Candy gave me a confused, searching look. I was clearly a mystery to her, but she walked off with Natalie to go ruin someone else’s day.

  Grabbing my tray to return it, I turned to leave through the media center doors to avoid seeing anyone else, especially Billy if he really was going to come back with another lunch. As I swung the door open, the bushes rustled beside me. I stood still, listening, but the movement was too soft and gentle to be a monster. Bending down, I peered into the gap between the shrubs. A skinny brown rabbit was chewing on a pile of carrots, its nose twitching back and forth. Poor guy looked starved from the long winter months. On impulse, I reached for the spot where my left leg had once been.

  Mother Nature was nobody’s friend.

  After dinner that night, I tried to make up for my moodiness by tidying up the kitchen while Mom prepped for an online software class. Everyone in her office had to take it, but Mom was probably the only one excited about it. She grabbed her pajamas from the dryer while I took out the trash. Outside, dusk was settling, the night’s darkness creeping in as birds with long black wings glided overhead. Several trees in the neighborhood were still bare, their spidery branches frozen in their final pose from last fall. The tight green buds on the branches were still only promises.

  I looked up and down the neighborhood, at the line of lifeless trees, the brown grass, the flower beds with collapsed, rotting leaves. The world still looked dead. Who knew what would come back and what was lost forever?

  I dumped the trash in the can and dropped the lid. The can shook in response, a huge dent appearing in the right side. Something was in there. Something big.

  Dumb, fat possums got trapped in garbage bins all the time. Raccoons got trapped too, but they always figured out how to escape. Possums were hopeless. Even though my hands shook at just the thought of a possible bite from one of those nasty oversized rats, I popped off the lid and jumped back.

  Nothing happened. Nothing moved. Maybe the possum was playing dead.

  I turned to walk back into the house, when I saw two huge yellow eyes glaring at me, like twin moons side by side. With my peripheral vision, I saw tufts of brown fur, tinged at the end with white. Beneath the eyes was a snout that ended with thick black nostrils, which flared as the beast sniffed the air.

  I carefully took one step back.

  An enormous wolf stood before me on four huge paws with knuckles the size of golf balls and long black claws as long as my pinkie.

  I knew I was seeing an extraordinary creature, one that had gone undetected for hundreds of years, maybe more. My heart beat faster.

  I was alone. If I died, there would be no witnesses, except perhaps the birds that stirred in the dark trees.

  Pins and needles shot up and down my arms. Maybe this was what I would feel after my first kiss, overwhelmed and unsteady. When you’re terrified, odd thoughts float up from your subconscious. Why did I associate terror with my first kiss? I made a mental note to consider that at a more convenient time.

  I calmed my nerves by taking a few deep breaths, but the deeper I breathed, the more I started to hyperventilate. I had to focus on the wolf, not myself. I extended one hand to reach out and touch it to make certain it was real. My hand began to shake and the wolf’s gold eyes targeted it as if I were shaking a toy at a dog. Dropping my hand back to my side, I tried to take inventory, the way Xeno might have when he recorded his own sightings.

  The fur on its body was a dirty brown with light tan streaks like swirls of dirt, and it smelled like old socks and blood. The skin of its thick, wide black nose was pebbly. My gaze dipped down to its mouth. Flecks of a dirty paper towel and old candy bar wrapper clung to its lips. Saliva mixed with what looked like blood, hanging in juicy thick ropes. Bits of meat, perhaps a fast-food hamburger, stuck out between its teeth. Its breath was hot in my face and stank.

  Without warning, the beast lurched to the right and snapped furiously at his side. I jumped too, even though I didn’t know what had spooked him. His eyes went wide and he began panting. Then he whipped toward the left, snapping at his other side, and stumbled when he landed. Something inside his stomach was punching outward, making his side expand. He growled in frustration and snapped again, but the thing inside him moved to the other side and punched. The wolf continued to whip his body back and forth. Something was at war inside his stomach.

  “Wait here!” I whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

  I got upstairs just as Mom was walking to her bedroom with her company laptop. She saw me walking as fast as I could to my room and frowned. “Where’s the fire?” she asked.

  “Uh…” My brain searched for a quick excuse. “I thought you would be on the computer already.”

  “Do I need to cancel my class?” she said, an ominous tone to her voice. “Are you up to something?”

  “No!” I forced a smile. “Do your class. I’m not going to get into any trouble. Promise.”

  Mom stared at me as if deciding whether to trust me or her gut. I guess I won, because she disappeared into her room and I was only able to see the top of her feet as she stretched out on her bed to watch the video.

  Once in my room, I grabbed Xeno’s book and flipped until I found the page with the monster’s picture on it. It was at the end, and the paper and handwriting were different from the rest of the book, as if someone had made this entry later. How many Guardians had there been? Did they quit, like Claire, or did they get eaten?

  Bending over closely to read, I kept glancing at my window, straining to listen for new sounds, any howl or growl that would alert the neighbors.

  THE BEAST OF GEVAUDAN

  Origins: Gevaudan territory, France

  The Beast terrorized France in the 1700s, eating over one hundred villagers. He first appeared on a spring morning in 1734, attacking a young girl tending to her sheep. He ate the sheep too. The King of France sent the army after it, but the Beast made his way across Europe to England, killing as it went, evading the troops. Finally, it boarded a boat in the fog, hoping to sleep and digest its last meal, which was a rather fat baker. Aboard this ship, the Beast ate two passengers and several crew members. To avoid panic, their deaths were attributed to sickness.

  The Colonists had brought the Beast of Gevaudan to the New World.

  I studied the picture carefully. This was definitely the monster in our driveway. If any of our neighbors saw him, Mom was going to get a strongly worded letter from our Homeowners Association. Unless he ate them all first.

  The Beast has poor digestion because he does not chew thoroughly.

  I was beginning to get a bad feeling. I read the rest of the entry, which contained a map of the Beast’s natural habitat and a few notes about his behavior.

  A low growl erupted outside. I opened my window and peeked down at our driveway. There was no sign of him, but I knew he was there. The dogs in our neighborhood were barking furiously.

  “Shhh!” I whispered. “You’re going to get us both caught!”

  A moth flew toward my bedroom light. The Beast lunged out from the bushes, his white fangs glistening in the moonlight as he snapped up the moth before falling back to the pavement with a crash. Mrs. Cranston across the street turned on her porch light and I panicked.

  Sliding my window open, I motioned to the Beast below to climb inside, fast. He made the jump to the second story easily, like a dog leaping onto a couch.

  Mrs. Cranston opened her front door and squinted into the dusky evening. She had rollers in her hair and was wearing a white robe that made her look like a giant marshmallow.

  The Beast whined and lifted his paw, knocking my bed against the wall with it as he clawed at his mouth frantically.

  Why had I opened my window? Now I had Mrs. Cranston outside and a Beast inside. I didn’t know which one was scarier.

  The Beast couldn’t fully close his mouth and he panted heavily, his saliva dripping onto my carpet.

  �
�What do I do?” I asked, and flipped to the blank page Xeno used. The page remained empty. I tried shaking the book, like it was an Etch A Sketch, but still nothing happened.

  The Beast tried to circle me like I was prey, but he barely fit in my room. He scooted his butt across my wall as he turned and knocked the Doctor Who poster off center.

  The book began to glow at last. I exhaled, my knee going weak with relief.

  The Beast will bite you if you are not careful. You might not survive.

  “Isn’t it your job to keep me safe?” I snapped.

  I do. I give you advice.

  I scowled. “I don’t want advice! I thought being the Guardian would give me superpowers or something.”

  Following good advice is a superpower.

  I rolled my eyes. “So how do I help him?” Maybe I shouldn’t help at all, I thought. The world needed monsters, but this Beast had eaten lots of people.

  He must be restrained. It will require a special rope.

  “A special rope? What kind?”

  A rope made from the beard of a woman.

  “You’re not helping,” I groaned. And you’re not funny, I wanted to add.

  Are you sure you trust me? Remember, it is the only thing I asked of you.

  “I didn’t realize what that meant,” I said, my voice getting high-pitched. “I’m trying.”

  I don’t want you to try. I want you to trust. This is not about monsters. This is about you. Answer one question and I will help.

  The Beast whined, a pitiful sound like someone who’s had the stomach flu for two days and just wants it to be over.

  “Okay,” I said, “I trust you. I have a million questions of my own and you never give me all the answers, but I trust you.”

  The Beast belched, causing my hair to blow back. I clasped one hand over my mouth as a shield against the smell; it was worse than fish-stick farts.

  To survive, monsters must hide. You do not have to hide, yet you do. Why?

  The Beast retched, and a squirrel flew out of his mouth still wearing a wide-eyed look of shock. The squirrel ran toward my bed, then back toward my closet, then back to my bed. The Beast and I watched as it made one more zigzag, before the Beast ate it again. It made a little barking noise as it went down the Beast’s neck and into his stomach.

  The Beast swallowed animals whole! There were live animals inside his stomach, fighting to get out! I had to get the Beast out of my room. Whatever came up next might be harder to handle than a squirrel.

  I glanced back at the book. “I can’t answer that right now! I have to help the Beast.”

  And I have to help you. You are not meant to live in the shadows. And because you are a rather difficult student, I must try a new method of teaching. I will refuse to say anything else tonight. Your help will not come from me.

  I gasped. I wasn’t stubborn!

  The Beast’s stomach changed shape again when the squirrel hit the bottom. It looked like animals fighting inside a pillowcase. He slammed his side against my wall and the fighting stopped for a moment.

  “Sofia! Keep it down!” Mom hollered from her bedroom. “I’m trying to concentrate!”

  “You’ve got to get out of here,” I whispered to the Beast, panicked.

  The Beast slowly turned away from me. He knew I had failed him. I saw it in the way he moved his legs. Sadness made them heavy. I couldn’t help him.

  “What do I do?” I asked Xeno.

  The page erased itself and remained blank. I waited for as long as I could and realized Xeno meant what he had said: he was not going to help me. I had the world’s most dangerous wolf in my bedroom, the one who had started the legend about the existence of werewolves.

  I couldn’t handle this alone.

  Billy’s dad was a vet. A veterinarian would know what to do. But what if I called and Billy answered? I had left the butterfly garden before he could replace my lunch and ask me about the dance again.

  We only had one phone in the house, not counting Mom’s cell phone. It was the landline downstairs.

  I reached for my book bag and pulled out the business card tucked in the front pocket. I had fished it out of the trash earlier, feeling guilty about tossing it. Billy deserved a good friend even if I thought he had chosen the wrong person.

  The Beast moved to the window, a groan escaping his closed lips as his stomach rumbled again.

  “Wait!” I said to him. “I can help you. Just follow me downstairs and do not make a sound. Not even one. Do you understand? Not a peep!”

  He lifted his lips to reveal huge canine teeth. They were as long as steak knives. I don’t think he liked my tone. I stepped back carefully and crooked my finger, indicating that he should follow me.

  Adrenaline was making me light-headed, and I took each stair as carefully and as quickly as I could without risking a fall, his snout edging along me next to the wall.

  We made it into the kitchen, where the landline was. I left the lights off and grabbed the phone, sitting on the couch before I dialed.

  The Beast stayed in the kitchen, his snout wrinkling as he sniffed loudly. I whirled around, one finger to my mouth in warning. He snapped his teeth at me. I gulped once and dialed fast.

  In the dim light, I could barely read the business card. It listed an office phone and a number for after-hour emergencies. This was an emergency.

  Billy picked up right away. I closed my eyes in agony and every other painful, delicious feeling that came from hearing his voice. A cereal box flew out from the pantry, ripped to shreds and empty, as it skidded across the floor. Then I heard another box being ripped open.

  “Billy, it’s Sofia,” I whispered.

  Nothing but silence.

  “Billy?”

  “Why are we whispering?” he whispered.

  An empty box of crackers hit me in the head. I swirled around and glared at the Beast. He had one paw poised over a can of tomatoes, preparing to use his claw to pierce it open. I shook my head.

  “Billy, what should I do if my…dog…has swallowed something he can’t digest?”

  “That’s why we’re whispering?” Billy said loudly, sounding disappointed.

  The Beast punctured the can of tomatoes. He jerked his head back, then leaned in and sniffed the can. Knocking it to the side, he grabbed another.

  “I swear, Billy, this is important,” I pleaded. “I need your help right now.”

  “You should talk to my dad, not me,” he said. “He’s the vet.”

  “So get him,” I said.

  “Say you’ll go to the dance with me.”

  It was my turn to be silent. The Beast was now on his third can. He was opening each one just to smell what was inside. I held one hand over the phone and hissed at him, making that little hissy-snappy sound that the Dog Whisperer uses on bad dogs. It had no effect.

  Billy repeated the demand, slowly. “I’ll get my dad if you’ll be my date to the dance.”

  The Beast turned from the pantry and began using his giant teeth to pull open a cabinet. He grabbed a coffee mug and dropped it to the floor, then sniffed the shards before moving to open the next cabinet.

  “Okay! I’ll be your date. Now get your dad.”

  I heard him drop the phone and yell for his dad.

  “This is Dr. Hamby.” A deep, fatherly voice came on the line.

  “This is Sofia, a…friend of Billy’s from school. Sort of. I mean, definitely from school.” I giggled nervously. “Anyway, my…dog…has really bad indigestion.”

  “Did he get into anything he shouldn’t have?” Dr. Hamby asked.

  “No, just the usual, I think. But too much of it.”

  “Have your mother bring him over. Can I speak to her? She’ll need our address.”

  “No! I can’t. I mean, she can’t. Talk to you. She’s too upset. And the dog can’t come over. Never.”

  A bright light temporarily blinded me. The Beast had opened the refrigerator. I heard him make a happy noise in the back of his throa
t, in between a bark and a whine.

  Oh, no, no, no.

  “Because?” Dr. Hamby asked, sounding patient. He was probably a really good dad. Not that I would know how to judge one.

  “Because…he…hates men. He, like…” I tried to think of the absolute worst thing a dog would do. “He bites crotches. He’s a really horrible crotch biter. So…maybe you could tell me what to do? I can do it here, by myself.”

  “Well…” He sounded unsure.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. He never bites my crotch or anything.” I rolled my eyes. Had I really just said that?

  The Beast poked his snout around in our fridge, using his teeth to open our cheese drawer.

  Dr. Hamby cleared his throat, like maybe he was trying not to laugh at me, then spoke slowly. I could tell he was thinking this through in his head. “Is he acting normal right now?”

  I watched as the Beast swallowed a block of cheddar whole, the wrapper still intact.

  “It’s hard to define normal for him,” I replied. “But he seems okay.”

  “Is he drinking normally?”

  The Beast now had his head tilted back, drinking straight from the milk carton. Mom didn’t even let me do that. I hoped he didn’t leave any hairs.

  “Yep.”

  “No vomiting or diarrhea?” Dr. Hamby asked.

  I hadn’t realized that was a possibility. “Not yet,” I said, my voice getting weaker.

  “Well,” Dr. Hamby said, “I’d watch him for a little while. You might try withholding any more food until tomorrow to give his system a chance to settle down. If he’s not better by then, bring him by. I’m not afraid of a cranky patient.”

  “You should be,” I whispered under my breath. Louder, I said, “Okay. Thanks for your help. Bye.” What I wanted to say was, Thanks for nothing, because I had no useful information and I had just agreed to be his son’s date.