My Boyfriend is a Monster

by Coates, J. H.

  “You mentioned it last week.”

  “If you can, it’ll be all day. So double the pay plus ordering money,” he said holding the door open.

  “I think it already feels like Chinese food,” she predicted and started down the hall.

  “Thanks again Jenny.”

  “No problem,” she said already at the elevator and waving good bye.

  Waving back he closed the door and locked it. Walking back into the living room he shut off the rest of the lights. Working in his office all day with the lights flickered well into his overtime caused him to develop a monster of a headache. He called maintenance, twice, but apparently they were too busy, even for Mr. Gable. So the dark was welcome company. It is a lot of work destroying lives all day.

  Sitting defeated on his leather couch in his large condo on the nineteenth floor in the dark he sighed. Irritated by some of the city lights sneaking through the blinds that were not closed completely was irritating, but not enough to warrant getting up. Throwing his keys in the little bowl and deciding he wanted a drink, did. He didn’t think Jenny ever would but he gave the bottles a quick look over just in case. Thinking he could come home to worse things he began replaying the images of her over in his head. Flipping over one of the many glasses on the bar and reaching for the whisky he paused then gravitated to the scotch instead. Pouring a healthy splash into the glass he looked toward the dark kitchen that seemed so far away. Feeling a little lazy he decided against the ice and to just have it neat.

  Crumpling back into the large leather couch he took a swig and had to help it down. The second swig however, was easier, and the third, smoother yet. Taking a deep breath he sighed. This time he only took a sip of the scotch and let the taste tease. “What a day,” he said then executed the rest. Twirling the glass in his fingers he watched the last few drops gather at the base and race around. “Dammit.” He contemplated getting up. “So comfortable,” he said trying to find the winning argument. “If I was Jesus I would only have to touch the glass and it would fill.” Standing back up and chuckling he walked back to the bar and opened the bottle. “Wait,” he said thinking of it a bit more. “That would be wine.” Pouring the scotch into the glass he decided to be even more generous than before then headed back to the same spot. “It’s not Scotch, but who would complain about a never ending supply of free wine?” he asked himself taking another swig. Suddenly deciding he would work from home tomorrow he downed the rest.

  Standing up and repeating the same steps as before he began to feel light headed. Giving his head a little shake he thought he would probably start late tomorrow. It also looked like instead of going out with his daughter (whom he got every other weekend) they would be staying in and watching Disney movies over and over. This would be fine since it looked like he would be in and out lying on the couch all day. But all that didn’t matter now, just the Scotch and the vision of Jenny’s cleavage (and whatever he could imagine beyond that).

  “Jonathon,” a whisper came floating from the apartment.

  His heart leapt into his throat as he shot out of the couch and stumbled to the bar. Placing the glass on the counter in fear of dropping it he turned around hoping to see nothing. That was exactly what he saw and now suddenly he wished he didn’t. “Chrissie?” he called out hopeful. His eyes searched the oversized room that was full of nothing but dark pockets. “Chrissie?” he called again.

  But it was dark and silent, until . . .

  “Am I friend from behind the door of darkness? Am I visitor from behind the door of darkness?” the voice asked now slightly above a whisper.

  Jumping backwards into the bar it began shaking every glass on it. Making their little chimes as he stood petrified clasping the wood, as if it was a floatation device and he was about to be cast to the sea.

  “Should we call you Jonathon . . . or Mr. Gable?” a new voice asked, a feminine voice from down the hall towards the front door.

  “Who the fuck is there?” he tried to yell.

  “I am here,” said the voice from the shadows in front of him.

  “And I am here,” the female voice from the hall said. “We’ve been waiting for you Jonathon Gable.”

  Still glued to the bar he looked around feverishly still not seeing anyone. “Who the fuck - are you?”

  “We have been waiting for you on this night so dark, watching children play . . . watching children talk,” he said still confined to the darkness.

  “You got ten seconds to get out or I’m calling the police.”

  Appearing at the other end of the bar her long straight hair hid everything but her eyes. Her mascara that bolded around them made the Crow look heartless and unremorseful.

  From the Shadows the Raven gave warning. “Dead before the second 1 is pressed . . . and the little one dies before you draw last breath.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said letting go of the bar and distancing himself. “Don’t hurt her.”

  “Don’t hurt her,” the Crow mimics then directs her attention to the Raven. “It already begs, how pathetic.” She smiles with a look that suggests deranged.

  Looking towards the cabinet past the bar Jonathon slowly begins to move towards it. “Who are you?”

  “He is the Raven, I am the Crow,” she introduces from behind him.

  Inching slowly towards the cabinet he asks (nervously), “The Raven and the Crow, isn’t that the same thing?”

  “Quite a misconception sir,” he snorts then continues. “I and my partner, like the Raven and the Crow are quite different I assure you.”

  “Why are you in my home?”

  “We were waiting for you,” she said inching her way down the bar, following him.

  Receiving adrenalin he decided he better go on the offensive. “What do you want?” Jonathon demanded.

  Changing his tone only caused the Crow to appear behind him exposing her long fangs and emerald glowing eyes. She hissed and bit at him silently. But Jonathon wasn’t paying attention to the one called the Crow he was inching away from the one called the Raven who was stepping out of the shadows and into view.

  “Fair enough sir,” the Raven said opening his arms and twirling his hands. “We have come to kill you.”

  Feeling it grow in his throat he tried to swallow while turning to the gun hidden behind lock and key. Shoot this lunatic then shoot the bitch, he thought but did not realize he had become fixated. Betting on the gun and not realizing he was giving himself away the Crow steps back quietly watching with a playful curiousness. “May I ask why?” he said hoping to distract them. “I mean if it’s money, I have money.”

  “Money,” she said seemingly amused.

  Nodding in agreement the Raven frowns. “Why has death come a knocking, and intended fatalities start talking, whispers of bargains break and new deals take . . . does death keep knocking?” he riddled crossing his arms and slipping his hands into his coat. Reemerging from the black wool now gripping two sickles he slowly raises them above his head.

  Caught off guard by the two steel question marks glimmering above, Jonathan backs up nervously stuttering, “N - now wait - wait a minute.”

  “He shows much interest in the cabinet,” she said then smiles smugly. “Or what is inside.”

  Wondering how she could have known Jonathon turns around becoming horrified finally noticing her large teeth and burning green eyes. “What the fuck?”

  “Yes my dear,” he affirms turning to Jonathan. “Mr. Gable, a gun will not help, of that you can trust.”

  Revealing the gamble he is considering his face begins to twitch. The racing adrenalin is telling him to go for it. Go for it now.

  Seeing it as plain as day the Crow scoffs, “Tsk – tsk Mr. Gable, you don’t want to wake the child . . . do you?”

  Tilting his head the Raven smiles and begins a new riddle. “Playing so happily earlier, playing so happily hours ago, Only to be woken from slumber, to have sickle plunder - and blood run away . . . with short life, in tow.” Then his s
mile fades. “This, I assume is something you do not want.”

  Suddenly he could only think about his daughter and her young beautiful face. “Please don’t hurt her,” he said submissively.

  Turning to the Raven she whispers instruction. “Quickly my love, before youngling awakes.”

  Walking towards him with his sickles at his side he begins. “Jonathan Gable, while others suffer sick and die too soon, you have spent years in greed while profits bloom, a dreary night men came a tapping, no remorse in these men who bargain, for price of your death was struck,” he recited stepping closer. “Once dead the bell of justice cries.” Seeing the sickles hanging in the air Jonathon stops breathing in anticipation and horror. Now committing to the act his voice becomes intense with certainty. “You have ruined your soul for passing, but you have ruined your last life for money, I am a messenger but my word is final, for I am executioner of the true silence and true lore, your sentence is death Jonathon Gable. . .”

  Racing behind and grabbing him by his hair she violently pulls his head back exposing his neck completely. His eyes fight to see the blades while she lowers her head. Turning into him she lets the saliva drip from her fangs while her hot breath fills his ear. “Quoth the Raven, never -”

  Suddenly a light knock at the front door interrupts her.

  They all stand as silent as they do still. It was so quite they could hear the voice from behind the door as clear as if she was standing in the room with them. “Mr. Gable? Sorry but I forgot my tablet.”

  Given a little slack from the interruption his eyes searched the room. Seeing the tablet on the end of the bar closest to the hallway made him wonder how either could have missed it. Feeling a brisk movement behind him he turned to a sound as if there was a large gust of air rushing through the apartment.

  Letting Jonathon go the Crow was at the door and opening it before he could even turn his head. Grabbing Jenny just as quickly by the hair she yanked her into the apartment slamming the door shut.

  “Owe - what the fuck,” Jenny protested with shock.

  Dragging the teenager into the living room and forcing her to stand straight Jenny is baffled by what she sees. A man with what looks like blades standing over Mr. Gable who is on his knees and in tears. “Mr. Gable what the hell?” she asked trying to piece it all together while struggling with the hand trying to hold her still.

  The Crow winds her hand in Jenny’s hair tightening her grip. She smiles as Jenny lets out a painful yelp as she is forced to stand straighter and still.

  “I’m sorry Jenny,” Jonathan offered lowering his head and beginning to sob.

  Jenny started to cry while the Crow looked at her amused and a little bewildered. “She already cries.”

  The Raven pondered on it. “She is young. Situation does look grim,” he offered.

  “But she does not know outcome . . . unless she sees past the now?” Turning Jenny toward her she began searching for something in her eyes. “Do you?” she asked slowly leaning inward.

  Jenny still clueless just cries out. “What?”

  “No, I do not believe she does,” the Crow said. Disappointed she turns her back around to face the Raven and Jonathan.

  “Just let her go,” he pleads weakly.

  The Crow smiles as her eyes burn bright. “No, she dies too.”

  Hearing Jenny beg Jonathon waves his hands in the air to motion a stop to what he could only conclude was pure madness. “Please, please,” he begs.

  Then from nowhere a young voice calls out, “Daddy.”

  Turning away from them all he could feel his heart breaking as he saw his little girl.

  The Raven turns to the Crow as she shrugs and states the obvious. “The youngling stands awake my love.”

  “What’s going on Daddy?” Chrissie asked trying to process.

  Wiping the tears away he holds out his arms managing the best smile he could muster. “Come on honey, come to daddy.” The little girl still tired held out her arms and started walking toward him.

  The Crow still holding onto the teenager looked at the Raven curiously.

  The Raven’s face saddened. “How unfortunate,” he said raising his left arm. Walking past the child and bringing down the curled blade he quickly swipes it across with a deep slicing sound. Shortly followed by an obvious thump of a little girl’s head hitting the floor.

  Losing all feeling in his body Jonathon falls to his hands.

  Jenny was now silent.

  Rolling along the floor the expression of confusion and tired never changes. It was so quick and clean that the blood still contained itself as the headless body kept walking towards its father, arms still open. One step as if still whole, two step as if unaware, three step and the blood seeps over the neck like the cup is full, four does not finish . . . as it crumbles to the floor, lifeless.

  Anticipating Jenny is about to scream the Crow opens her one hand behind her head and pushes towards the one now on her chin. Quickly she pushes in opposite directions. The celery like crunch fills the room then Jenny drops to the ground.

  It is all too much, burying his face in his hands he shakes his head hoping it will wake him from this nightmare. Holding his hand out to his daughter he mouths the word, “Sorry.”

  Bending down beside him the Raven grabs him roughly by the hair and forces him to look up. “I am a messenger but my word is final, for I am executioner of the true silence and true lore, your sentence is death Jonathon Gable. . .”

  “Quoth the Raven,” she said unseen. Bending down to his ear she whispers the last word he will ever hear. “Nevermore.”

  Coming down from the right the sickle makes a hard pass under his chin. A familiar slicing sound fills the room as a line appears across his neck. His eyes blink as an expression of distance falls over his face. Seeping out of the new opening the blood quickly blankets his chest. Letting him go Jonathon slumps over and with a flesh like tear his head falls to the floor and begins to roll.

  Quickly grabbing it she examines it closely, trying to assure herself that life no longer resides. Not liking the blank empty look it displays she tries to make it smile. She continues to push up both corners of the mouth, but when she lets go the face just frowns again.

  “Must you always play with the heads my love?”

  Turning towards him she gives a half smile of frustration. “I prefer it if they smiled.”

  “Maybe we should travel with a mortician,” he said amusing himself. “He can do a little work on them once we have parted ways.”

  “I’m just saying, we are sending them off to their After, to be with their family and friends. A little appreciation would be nice.” The Crow noticed him looking at the child. “If it gives comfort, they are already in company of one another,” she said reaching for Chrissies head.

  “Still,” he said walking away from the bodies and towards the bar. Looking over the selection of spirits he decides to go with the scotch. Its aroma had lingered in the air ever since the recently departed poured a drink. Pouring a glass he instantly appreciated that it smelt aged. Taking a sip he found it pleasantly tasted aged. “I hope there are no other visitors this evening.”

  The Crow looked down the hall towards the bedrooms. “Could you imagine if the little one was having a sleepover?”

  The Raven sat with his new friend and sipped. “You are cruel my love.”

  Taking out a phone from her back pocket she took a picture of Mr. Gable’s head. She quickly tapped a few buttons and it was off as proof that the job was completed.

  The Raven took another quite sip and asked, “You did remind them to delete said picture and destroy said phone?”

  “I did.”

  “Whatever did we do before technology?”

  “I gathered the heads in a burlap sack and we delivered them as proof,” she said taking another picture with the head turned. The Raven smiled and closed his eyes. The Crow continued. “Which meant anywhere from ten miles to three days travel unless we were really l
ucky,” she said and grabbed Jenny’s tablet and turned it on. “The blood always seemed to leak right through the sack at the most inopportune times.”

  The Raven opened his eyes. “Philadelphia,” he said remembering.

  The tablet made its introduction chime and the Crow started to tap and drag. “Yes Philadelphia, we had to execute Mr. Deering and his entire family.”

  “Oh my,” he said as the memory entered his head. “Now that’s going down memory lane.” He took a longer sip and got up.

  Without taking her eyes off the screen the Crow elaborated. “Dragged them all out to the barn and lopped their heads off.”

  “None of them ran,” he said quietly. Grabbing Jonathan’s ankle and dragging it along the floor he headed towards the teenager.

  She stopped typing and looked up at him. “What was that my love?”

  Grabbing the young teenage girl by her clothes and lifting her with ease he turned his head towards the Crow. “The axe started flying and none of them ran. They just stood there. As if when I got to them I would stop and spare them.” He found it just as amusing, and confusing now as it was then. Shaking his head he walked towards the kitchen with a teenager in one hand and dragging headless Jonathan in the other. A trail of blood could be followed all the way to Mr. Gable’s neck from the living room to the kitchen. Lifting the girl above table he dropped her with a thud. Swinging Jonathan towards his free hand he caught his shirt and then dropped him on the table beside a still surprised looking Jenny.

  “That’s right, I think it was more utter fear and shock,” she recalled passively. “Who was that pudgy little German who took the fall?”

  “Mr. Probst,” the Raven recalled. Sinking his sickle into the headless man’s neck he jerked with one quick motion. The blade ran down the body with a steady ease. Clothing and skin parted for fatty flesh to burst up and outwards. “Male or female my love?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment then said, “Male.” She continued to type as her memory brought it forward. “Anton Probst, now that was a trial.”

  “He did work out a bit,” the Raven said examining Jonathan. His meat was going to be a little tough. Going into the kitchen he recalled the incident of decades ago. “Mr. Probst killed eight family members. All on his own, in the barn . . . And then hid their heads. Which were never found,” he said going through the drawers. Finding a large carving knife he returned to the table. “I always wished I could’ve talked to young Mr. Probst,” he said pausing for a moment to think about it. “Master Anton Probst came home in the afternoon and had a nap. Went to do his chores and found the Deering family decapitated in the barn. Robbed the house, sold a revolver and a…” he trailed trying to remember.