The Last Monster

by Ginger Garrett

  “It’s not what you do, it’s who you are. This is extraordinary.”

  In the distance, a scream split the sky. I turned toward the window, once again frightened. The doctor didn’t flinch; she must not have heard it.

  “I’ll help you in any way I can,” Dr. Capistrano said, suddenly smiling. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

  But I was alone. For reasons I couldn’t quite explain yet, I knew that.

  The door swung open. “I am so sorry,” my mom said. “I was reading a magazine and looked at my watch and was shocked by how the time had flown. I know you said twenty minutes, tops, since you had to work us in between your other appointments. You should really hire a receptionist.”

  Dr. Capistrano stood and maneuvered herself to block my mom’s view of the broken glass on the carpet, then turned to smile at Mom. “It’s hard to keep good help.” She took my mom by the arm and steered her back toward the door. “You have a wonderful daughter. Her mental health is excellent, but I do believe she would benefit from a few sessions.”

  “To talk about her recovery from cancer?” Mom asked.

  Dr. Capistrano cocked her head to one side and looked back at me. We hadn’t talked about my other problems at all. We’d both forgotten about them entirely once the monster had shown up.

  “Yes, of course,” the doctor said, then focused on me. “Sofia, I want you to consider me a friend. Call me anytime, day or night.”

  Mom treated me to dinner at the cheap Italian place we both loved. It had an aquarium in the middle of the room. There were huge fish in brilliant hues of green and blue, but my favorite had always been a yellow fish with bulging eyes and big white lips, because he looked startled every time he finished another lap around the tank.

  On the way to our table, I checked all the windows and exits. I glanced toward the front door before sliding into the booth. I picked the side with a great view of the aquarium and studied the fish while Mom went to the buffet. She returned with two fully loaded plates.

  “Look, Sofia, about the doctor, let me explain,” she began.

  A monster floated in the aquarium. He looked like a swollen, colorless frog, with huge gills that opened and closed while he swam, all six eyes watching me. He must have recognized me as the Guardian, because he merrily waved with his fin.

  I frowned, trying to remember his classification. An Afanc, maybe—a British water monster. Before I could decide, he opened his mouth and ate my yellow fish. My jaw fell open in outrage. The Afanc continued to swim in lazy circles around the tank, selecting his next fish to eat.

  Mom shook her head and talked faster. “No, no, let me explain. I’m worried about the changes in your behavior, that’s all. I thought a neutral third party could help you open up about what’s been bothering you.”

  “I have a date,” I blurted. Ugh. What made my mouth disconnect from my brain like that? But it worked.

  She set down her fork and changed the subject. “What? Where? Who?”

  The Afanc hovered next to the sucker fish on the wall and opened its gaping maw. The sucker fish clung to the glass and didn’t budge.

  “The school dance on Saturday. A new guy named Billy asked me.” The Afanc’s lips made a sucking motion and the sucker fish flew in, along with most of the gravel along the bottom of the tank and a few more fish. The hostess stood in front of the aquarium checking her phone, oblivious.

  I buried my face in the plate of spaghetti.

  Mom sat back, a big smile fighting to bust out across her face. Her mouth twitched and she tried to stop it. “Is that what you didn’t want to tell me? You have your first boyfriend?” She grinned. “That’s wonderful.”

  This was so awkward it hurt. “No, not my first boyfriend.”

  She grinned even wider. “Do tell.”

  I hung my head. “The new guy asked and I said yes and I guess it’s kind of a big deal. Everyone’s going.”

  “Alexis?” Mom asked. I reached for a bread roll and tore it into four pieces, ignoring the question.

  Mom sighed. “Well, we can talk about her later. I guess we need to go shopping for something to wear. I get paid on Friday. Maybe we can find something before then and ask the store to put it on hold.”

  “You won’t have to pay for a dress,” I said. “Candy’s aunt owns a boutique at the mall. She’s going to give me a dress in exchange for letting the paper take a few pictures. Candy really wants to help me with my new look. It’s all she can talk about.”

  Mom frowned. “Candy?” She chewed her lip. “You’ve been hanging around Candy, instead of Alexis?”

  “No, Mom, this has nothing to do with Alexis.”

  Mom looked confused. She had heard my stories about Candy for years. I could tell she wanted to ask more, so I took another big bite of spaghetti, and reached for another roll too. I hadn’t eaten like this since before the diagnosis. She always worried that I didn’t eat much. She looked happy and confused at the same time.

  “I don’t know how I feel about the paper taking pictures of you,” she said finally.

  “No one’s ever asked to take a picture of me before.”

  “That woman I talked to in the grocery store,” Mom began, her voice drifting as she thought about it, “she said something that stuck with me. She said girls who make an effort to look pretty and fit in with their peers have an easier time in life. I don’t think that’s always good, but I think it’s true. If you’re going to the dance, you need a nice dress.”

  “So you think I should take Candy up on her offer?” I asked.

  Mom groaned. It was a tough decision. “So much has changed. Maybe Candy has too. All I know for certain is that I want you to be happy. You may have to try new things to make that happen.”

  Neither of us had anything to say to that. To avoid talking any more, I polished off my spaghetti, plus a salad and two breadsticks.

  Mom paid the check and tucked the receipt into her wallet with all the others. When we stood to leave, I saw the hostess throw one hand over her mouth, having finally noticed the fish tank. It was completely empty: no fish, no plants, no gravel. The Afanc was gone. The hostess glanced around the restaurant wildly, like one of us had done it. I kept my head down and made for the front door. Mom was busy checking her cell phone and didn’t look up.

  On the way home, I had to move the seat belt away from my abdomen. I felt like I’d swallowed a bowling ball. This made Mom laugh. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to concentrate on my digestion.

  I had never been a girl anyone wanted to take pictures of. I didn’t think Candy was going to embarrass me or do anything cruel; she genuinely seemed like she wanted to help me. Her logic was probably twisted but right. People were nicer to me now because they felt sorry for me, but that wouldn’t last forever. The medical term for it was “compassion fatigue.” Soon everyone would be ready to forget my trauma and focus on their own problems, and they’d need a place to put me, a label for me to wear just like everyone else. I would go back to being the outsider…unless I changed.

  I knew we couldn’t afford a nice dress, but Mom wouldn’t have to worry about the money. She’d be excited to see me dressed up to join my classmates for a fun night out. Mom would be relieved and happy and hopeful.

  But what would I be?

  We stopped for gas on the way home. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, glad for one quiet moment alone. The acrid smell of gasoline stung my nose as the clicking noise of the pump kept ticking on. I hated the sound of money flying out of Mom’s wallet. I wished now that she hadn’t bought me dinner, but I was glad I had made the right decision about the dress.

  I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that a monster from an ancient bestiary was largely responsible for my first date. There’s only so much a mom can take.

  Mom was having trouble with the pump. I heard her arguing with it and opened my eyes to watch her pressing the button for a receipt over and over. No receipt came out. She marched off toward the cashier in
side the store. I closed my eyes again.

  Her door opened. I opened my eyes to tell her how unbelievably fast she was when a smell hit me, worse than the gas smell before, if that was even possible. It was the Kappa. It slid into the driver’s seat, eyes swirling fast in every direction like two pinwheels. Tentacles slithered out, then braided together as it reached for me.

  I pushed back in my seat as far as I could go. “I don’t have any cucumbers,” I whispered. “Go away!”

  Its tentacles were cold and wet as it grabbed my arms, pulling me toward its face.

  “Please, no!” I glanced around and saw my mom waiting in line to talk to the cashier about the stupid receipt. “I’ll get you a cucumber, okay? Just let me go.”

  The Kappa’s jaws opened wide, saliva stretching like gummy rivers between its lips. Its mouth opened wider and wider, revealing a darkness with the stench of dead fish. Fog burst from its nostrils, and little tendrils of slime ran down its face. Its eyes slowly came to rest on me and I recognized something in them, my face only inches away from that awful mouth.

  I tried to see why it had come back. Another fishhook? An accident? A craving for human flesh?

  The Kappa whimpered, but I was the one helplessly trapped. Then I realized what it was. It was fear.

  The Kappa was afraid.

  “What is it?” I asked. I needed Xeno here. These beasts couldn’t talk, at least not to me.

  The Kappa whimpered again; then it released me and used its tentacles to cover its eyes. It wasn’t here to eat me. It was here to be saved, but from what? I took a deep breath for courage and gagged. Kappas really stank. Steadying my nerves, I took another look at it. The body looked normal, at least for a Kappa. Nothing was wrong there. The face was still horrendous, which seemed like a good sign. So what was wrong?

  It opened its mouth wider.

  I peered inside. The smell was worse than spoiled shrimp left in the car trunk. My stomach closed like a hard fist, threatening to send my dinner spewing out.

  Inside its mouth were hundreds of tiny Kappa babies. They squealed in terror when they saw my gigantic face looming in front of them, sounding like a hundred tiny balloons deflating at once. The Kappa snapped its jaws shut, nearly giving me that perky nose job I had always wanted.

  This thing was a mother? Suddenly mine didn’t seem so bad.

  A low growl tore across the sky. People at other pumps looked up, as if they had just heard thunder. I knew it was something much worse.

  I heard the car door close and turned back around. The Kappa was gone.

  My heart was thumping twice as fast when Mom got back in the car. She wrinkled her nose and looked at me. “Whew! Garlic bread does not agree with you,” she muttered, putting her finger on the button to roll down her window.

  “No!” I said. “Don’t.” I didn’t know what was happening or what was outside the car. “It’s cold outside.”

  “Sorry,” Mom said. “Turn on the heater if you want. You won’t freeze to death.”

  “It isn’t the weather that I’m afraid of,” I muttered under my breath, but the night air was already whooshing into the car as we left the gas station. The stench of the Kappa faded away, and something new was being carried on the wind, vaguely familiar, a stale musky scent, one I remembered from visits to the pet store.

  It smelled like a snake.

  “Wow, you’re getting good on the stairs,” Mom said, trailing behind me. I hadn’t realized I was moving so fast or that she would notice the difference. Being the Guardian was paying off in unexpected ways: as I pushed my body to work and move faster, it responded with grace.

  “I work my core every day,” I said, omitting the part about monsters being responsible for that too. Pausing at my bedroom, one hand on my doorknob, I smiled awkwardly. “Um, well, good night, then.”

  “You understand why I did it, don’t you?” Mom asked, taking a step toward me. I didn’t want her to come in my room for a late-night heart-to-heart. Something was wrong, and I had no idea what it was. Something awful was out there, something that scared even the Kappa.

  Mom tried again. “You understand why I wanted you to talk to Dr. Capistrano?”

  “I’m not mad at you,” I said. “But I am really tired.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it and smiled. “Good night, then. Sleep well.”

  The book was glowing dark green when I got inside the room and shut the door.

  “I get to ask the questions tonight,” I said. “And I need answers. About the woman who’s been following me, Olympias, and a doctor who sees monsters too. And the Kappa, because it has babies in its mouth and it’s scared and I think there’s something awful lurking out there. Something that’s not in your book. Something you didn’t tell me about.”

  Flipping to the blank page, I saw that it was empty. He was there but he wasn’t speaking. “I’ve done everything you asked, haven’t I?”

  The Kappa is a mouth brooder. Mothers keep their young inside it when a bigger predator is near.

  “A bigger predator? A monster that other monsters are afraid of?”

  Xeno was silent. Did he not know the answer or was he afraid to tell me? Letters etched slowly onto the page as Xeno responded with small, frightened marks.

  Yes.

  “What kind of monster? How can there be a new monster? I thought your book listed all of them. How could a brand-new monster suddenly appear?”

  Your birthday wish—do you remember it?

  I did. On my thirteenth birthday, the nurses had put a candle in a hospital cafeteria cupcake and brought it to me. Mom was asleep in the chair by my bed. I leaned forward, and just before I pursed my lips to blow, I made a wish. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, because being alive was, after all, the best possible way to start another year, but birthday candles are made for big, selfish wishes.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever have another birthday, or another chance to make a wish,” I whispered. “There are a lot of things I want to experience, and if I get to grow up, I will. But there’s one thing that more time isn’t going to give me. I’ve never been pretty. I’ve never been the girl who could star in the story. I’ve always just faded into the background of a crowd. So if I could have one wish, it’s to look in the mirror and smile. To see myself as strong and powerful and…exquisite.” That word surprised me as it tumbled out, but it was perfect. It made my imaginary self seem beautiful and rare. That’s what I wanted to be, really, not just some model in a magazine.

  Opening my eyes, I blew out the candle and made the wish.

  The flame flickered as if deciding, and just before it went out, the lights dimmed in my room, like my wish had interrupted some unseen electrical current.

  The next morning I looked in the mirror, sighed in defeat, and decided to shave the rest of my hair off.

  That moment shook the supernatural realm. In the age of science and doubt, how could any child wish with such power? Every cell in your body vibrated and pulsed with the desire for what existed only in your imagination. You are so different from every Guardian of the past. You are a Guardian that neither Olympias nor I knew could be born in an age of unbelief.

  I picked up the book and shook it. I had to grab his attention. “I don’t understand what you’re saying! Who created the new monster?”

  You did.

  My body revolted; my mouth dried up and my stomach tensed as his words sank deeper into my brain like some poisonous arrow. It couldn’t be true; this couldn’t be my fault.

  His dark shadow has haunted many girls. They feel him near when they look in the mirror, when they walk alone down the school hallways. He is the voice which whispers that they will never belong, that they are unloved. His presence is often mistaken for the human emotion of shame, but it is something much worse: it is a monster begging to be born into the world, waiting for the one person who still remembers how to call fear into existence.

  If you have read about Olympias, you know she practiced a terr
ible and cruel magic. Like me, Olympias felt the power of your imagination when you made your wish, and knew you would make a strong ally. You would convince people to see the world through her eyes. Your fears, which were many and dark, gave the monster its form, and when you chose to become the Guardian, Olympias granted him life. He was created not to kill you, but to convince you.

  “Convince me of what?” I asked.

  That you cannot be at peace with yourself, that you will never see beauty when you look in the mirror, that you will see only what you lack. You will see a void. He whispers that you must hide the wound because the world is not a safe place. Those who do not belong suffer.

  My tongue felt like sandpaper in my mouth, and it was hard to speak. “Olympias used my fears against me.”

  The words erased slowly and a new message appeared, as if Xeno was carefully thinking as he wrote.

  She calls him Entropion.

  “En-tro-pee-on?” I repeated. “What kind of name is that?”

  Xeno didn’t reply. I guessed he wanted me to figure that part out on my own.

  I thought about what Olympias had said in the park about differences leading to war. If everyone was alike, there would be no more suffering. Nobody likes different. The only way to stay safe in this world is to look like everyone else, to act like them and want the same things.

  It reminded me of how weird it was to go with my mom to vote. She had to stand inside this box with privacy screens all around so no one knew who she voted for. And we were a country founded on the idea of freedom. So how come adults had to hide who they voted for?

  But what Olympias didn’t understand was that no one wanted to be like me, so I had no power or influence. It wasn’t like I could convince anyone that being more like me was a good thing.

  What good would I be as an ally?

  “She said she was going to take things away from me, though.” I paused. “Xeno? I’m scared.”