A Monster Escapes

by Lewis Wolfe

  Black was strong and agile, and could kill anything she set her mind to. She took great pleasure in hunting and never failed to provide the family with fresh meat.

  Red was deeply intelligent and intuitive. She had learned early all the secrets of the forest and knew exactly which plants were poisonous and which made the best herbs. Whenever Black got injured in the woods, Red treated her sister with one of her own recipes and the wound would heal in no time.

  And Gold was beautiful. At least, her mother said that men thought so, and what was beauty if not a reflection in the eyes of those that witnessed it?

  She sat down on her bed and closed her eyes, something she often did before departing for her work. It helped her focus. Helped her reflect. She would listen to the beat of her heart and allow the sound to mix with her early evening’s surroundings. In this way she hypnotized herself into a beautiful serenity, becoming one with the singing of the birds and the rustling of the leaves.

  Rest.

  …

  Calm.

  …

  Peace.

  …

  All of this in the darkness thrown by her own eyelids.

  And then, finally, focus.

  …

  …

  …

  The return of her sisters called Gold back from her meditation and she opened her eyes. The darkness had almost arrived.

  Gold walked outside and found her mother inspecting the loot Red and Black had brought back with them. She seemed particularly pleased with the young deer Black still had draped over her strong shoulders.

  Gold smiled as she said, “I will be off, then.”

  Red replied with understated mockery in her tone. “Don’t work too hard now!”

  Black simply raised her bloodstained hand as she said, “Be careful.”

  Her mother said nothing, only nodded approvingly and then turned her attention to Red’s basket, which was filled with mushrooms and plants Gold didn’t recognize.

  Gold started off along a sandy trail that had been formed by her own feet and those of her sisters. If she followed it straight ahead it would lead to their sacred place, where they would sometimes all gather to sing and dance around a carefully built fire.

  This evening, however, she took a sharp right halfway through her journey and cut through the thick bushes that framed the sandy trail. They never wounded her. Where her sisters, Black in particular, would frequently come home with cuts on their bodies and thorns in their sides, Gold was forever untouched by the thick greenery that extended as far as the eye could see.

  Perhaps the forest did not want to scar her exquisite beauty.

  Perhaps the forest did not think that she was strong enough to take its usual punishment.

  The darker it got, the harder it became for Gold to know where she was going. When the remainder of the dying sun drowned behind a dark cloud, she became nearly blind. With her hands as her only guides, she pushed through the heavy vegetation, led by instinct more than by insight. Her inner compass was strong and it reminded her of how often she had already made this journey. She was made for this job. Born for this job. All that she was and all that she had been given served only this one, singular purpose. The forest would never allow her to get lost. It would open up for her the same way the arms of men did and cherish her and show her the way. If necessary, Gold believed, the forest would push her forward when she no longer had the strength to walk.

  Nothing so extreme happened on her journey and she soon heard the sounds of talking men and the steady tread of their horses. Gold knew where she was now and positioned herself so she could get a clear view of the road that lay beyond the final line of bushes. Even though the sky was now pitch black and the moon was yet to appear she could see perfectly, aided by the lights the men carried with them.

  The road led into town. It was always busy during the evening when the owners of the farmlands Gold and her sisters carefully avoided traveled along it. The men would head toward the tavern to learn of recent events, place bets on cockfights and, of course, drink the evil drink that made them wild and crazy.

  The evil drink was dangerous, Gold’s mother had told her, and would turn even men of the noblest stature into wild and uncontrollable beasts. Gold sometimes wondered why men would choose to drink it at all. Perhaps, she thought, it was sometimes easier to live as a beast. To exist in a frenzied state where all was possible and nobody was responsible. She imagined that the evil drink whispered to men the same way her sacred place did to her, but told them all the wrong things. And they consumed it!

  Gold had gotten very good at picking them out by now. The men that would be most sensitive to her beauty. She could see it in their faces, somehow, particularly when they were illuminated by the lights they carried. The gleam in their eyes would be soft and playful. A feigned innocence, Gold knew, because her mother had told her men were never truly innocent.

  Boys could be innocent, Gold thought, but not men. There came a moment of passing—if you blinked you could miss it—where a boy would turn into a man. It could be a statement, or a single act that took on more responsibility than a child could shoulder. When that happened, the dark taint of manhood would come over a boy and claim him, force upon him wild and evil thoughts that women had to pay for.

  Such a man passed her by now, on his beautiful black horse, with his hand extended in front of him to hold his light. Gold saw a playful spark reflected in his dark eyes and knew that she had found one. Her heartbeat rose slightly—it always did during this part—and her palms went just that little bit greasy from the sweat.

  With a voice so magical that it could have shipwrecked any sailor she called out, “Oh, sir! Won’t you please spare a moment for me?”

  The man stopped the horse dead in its tracks and turned his light to the left, where the voice had come from. He saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

  “My dear! What are you doing out here in the lone dark?”

  With a swift movement he jumped off his horse and walked toward her, his light so far extended in front of him that he could see her even better.

  When he looked into her deep blue eyes he was lost. It wasn’t the perfect blonde hair, or her length that almost rivaled his own. It wasn’t even her ample bosom that rose slightly with every heavy breath she took. It was those eyes that drilled into his chest and touched whatever lump of a heart he had beating there. Grasped it, squeezed it tightly, and held it in a warm but steadfast grip.

  He was her hostage then and whatever her magic voice said would forever be his command.

  Gold stepped forward and reached for his empty hand. She pulled him close to her as she whispered, “I know a place. Won’t you join me at my beautiful place?”

  She rubbed against him for good measure, though she knew she already had him. As she did so she felt the rough stubble on his chin against her cheek and smelled the fresh sweat of his labor. It aroused her.

  Gold turned around and, with his hand still in hers, guided him deeper into the woods. Accompanied by his light, she found her way back to her sandy trail in no time and turned right.

  “Just follow me,” she said to him in her sweetest voice.

  Experience had taught her that the spell of her beauty could sometimes be broken, but not if she occasionally blew warm words from her lips. Sometimes the men spoke back, but not this one. This one was so caught up in the prison of her beauty that he would have followed her to the end of the world and back again. Gold felt flattered by his unsaid devotion.

  The sandy trail led them to the sacred place Mother had shown Gold and her sisters when they were children. It was where the pines refused to grow and only thin foliage graced the edge of a big, open field. In the middle of that field stood a mighty oak that towered over all that dared to approach it.

  For a moment the man behind her hesitated as Gold stepped onto the field. The sweet nothings she whispered to him eased his mind.

  He was such a good, brave man. And she
needed him. Needed his presence. Needed his warmth. His hands on her soft skin. His lips on her fragile neck. Wouldn’t he please love her? And protect her? Keep her safe from all the evil that haunted this terrible, terrible new world?

  And he would, so he followed her all the way to the dark, terrible oak that sent shivers down his spine. Even in his current trance he was aware of the tree’s deep and dark power.

  Gold took the light he kept in his free hand and put it on the grass. Then she pulled his shoulders so he stood directly parallel to the oak, with his right side toward it. This was how Black wanted it; said it was easiest.

  Gently she caressed his stubbly cheek and just when he leaned in to kiss her an arrow flew from the side of the field and pierced his throat. His blood splattered all over Gold’s face.

  The man’s eyes grew as his knees faltered and, reaching out to the last beauty he would ever see, he fell forward. Gold quietly thanked him for his final adoration.

  From the side of the field sounded Black’s excited roar. “I got him! Did you see that?! With one shot!” She howled like a rabid wolf into the darkness of the night.

  Gold turned and watched as her family entered the field. The excited Black was in the lead, followed by Red and her mother carrying the wood.

  Black jumped toward Gold and grabbed her face. “Let me taste him!” She licked the blood off Gold’s cheek. “Pretty good!”

  Gold pushed her away as she said, “Black! Control yourself. There’s an entire body left for us!”

  Red and her mother built a fire as Black went to work on the body.

  Cutting him up so they could roast the good pieces, Black could barely contain her excitement. “You got a good one, Gold! He’s good! Good meat on him!”

  Gold was happy her sister was happy but she paid her no visible mind. She was more interested in the whispers of the oak that graced her soul with its presence. It told her of the stars and the moon, and their beautiful but chaotic dance. Existence was about destruction, about the fire that burned in the hearts and minds of all that lived. It was a dance, the oak told her, that would never end. She and her sisters were the most beautiful piece of music it had ever heard.

  Their campfire burned and on it they roasted the man’s delicious meat. Gnawing away at his flesh, the women sat in perfect silence, listening to the oak’s hymn running endlessly through their heads. They focused only on the man’s skin between their teeth and the rhythm of a night that promised them it would never end.

  Gold closed her eyes and relished the scent of the meat roasting on the fire. Only Black had said so, but she knew she had done a good job. Red never praised her, but she could tell her sister was enjoying the meat as much as she was. Her mother, too, looked quietly pleased.

  In the company of the burning fire, the beautiful scent of the man’s smoldering flesh and the quiet love of her family, Gold felt the only thing she ever wanted. She felt perfect.

  The oak’s silent song turned into a loud beat and soon the women jumped to their feet. They undressed themselves, exposing their bodies to the elements, and started dancing around the fire.

  As the time passed their dance got wilder, until their movements became so uncontrollable that they clashed into each other. When the women felt each other’s skin the dance turned into a violent game of lovemaking and sexual pleasure.

  It was Gold that sat at the center of their orgy. Caressed, kissed, squeezed, and bitten by her sisters and mother alike. Her gorgeous body drew them toward her like moths to a flame and in their shared lust they reached orgasm after orgasm. Their heavy panting, moaning and, eventually, screaming, filled the field’s oppressive atmosphere.

  Piled up together in a heap of warm and lustful flesh, they passed out.

  Hours passed before Gold opened her eyes again. The sun was not yet rising but its first rays would be upon them very soon.

  She untangled herself from Red’s arm draped around her neck and crawled to her feet. She looked back to find her sisters still caught in their peaceful slumber, but where was her mother?

  Gold turned and scanned the field until she found her mother at the edge. She stood in front of a naked man Gold didn’t know. He was unspeakably beautiful, with his exquisite pale skin and flowing dark hair.

  She watched as her mother pressed herself against the stranger’s chest. Listened carefully as her mother’s voice echoed quietly along the field. “You are finally here? Is it finally time?”

  The stranger did not answer her in words, but in deeds. He took her head and tore it from her neck, watching as the fountain of blood spouting from her body drenched the grass.

  Gold knew that she should be afraid, or angry, or both, but felt nothing as the stranger crushed her mother’s skull with his pale, powerful hands. Folded it up until it was small enough to fit in his mouth. With three strong bites he consumed her.

  The stranger stepped onto the field and toward the oak where Black and Red lay ignorant of the events that were unfolding.

  Gold simply watched as the stranger repeated his gruesome act with her sisters. Tearing their skulls clean off, enjoying the spectacle of blood, only to stuff his mouth with their precious, powerful heads.

  Then he turned to her and Gold was struck again by his absolute beauty. She was nothing next to him. Gold felt like an ugly, incompetent child that would never be good enough. Would never surpass what she instinctively felt was her father.

  He walked toward her and placed his warm hands on her shoulders. Their eyes locked and then she heard his voice whisper inside her head.

  “You have done me very proud. The blood you shed. It is truly beautiful.”

  Tears welled up in Gold’s eyes as she heard her father’s words of approval. She was good, she was beautiful!

  “May I now consume you, my perfect child? Will you offer to me your flesh, and your bones, and your blood?”

  The naked Gold knelt in front of her father and gently put his hands underneath her chin. She thought that it was there that he could most easily pull off her head.

  She closed her eyes but felt no fear. Gold knew that this was the design of the beautiful oak. This was what had to happen. It was fate and she was going home now.

  4

  (The life of a slave wasn’t marked by time, but by utility)

  Meriday didn’t exactly know how old he was. He had been torn from his mother’s arms by the scary white men when he was just a boy and life had been unkind ever since.

  In his dreams he could sometimes remember the ship that took him from his home to a strange new world in which he was less than a person. The water that rocked him during his sleep had forced him to wet his bed until he became a young man.

  Fear was what had fueled his earliest years and the burn of his unfortunate destiny never abandoned him.

  When Meriday first got to the plantation he had hidden behind one of the Master’s wagons, hiding his terrified eyes behind his small, pointy knees.

  When the Master had found him he yanked him by the arm and forced his red, bearded face very close to Meriday’s.

  “Your freedom was an illusion!”

  “You are my tool! My property!”

  “And if you work you will survive!”

  “And if you don’t, I will feed you to my dogs!”

  Meriday hadn’t understood a word the old man said, but the eager howl of the big black dogs the man pointed to had given him a general impression. His life was no longer his own and, over time, Meriday could no longer believe it ever had been to begin with.

  Days on the plantation were long and hard. There lingered always the sour mixture of blood and sweat in Meriday’s nose. Blood. Always blood, because there was always somebody that didn’t work hard enough… and there was always the Master’s eager whip ready to tear the flesh from their backs. Their open wounds would burn from the sweat and the brutal sun.

  The nights were much shorter and what little sleep Meriday got was always filled with memories he wasn’t sure b
elonged to him. In time it felt as if he no longer was an individual, but rather a small and replaceable cog within the grand machine. It was the Master that pulled the machine’s lever, whenever he pleased, and pushed the buttons that served him best.

  If he worked, Meriday would survive.

  And if he didn’t, he would be fed to the dogs.

  The big black dogs that were always on a short chain, barking and growling at Meriday as if they resented him for hanging on. For not giving up. For not becoming their next meal.

  If Meriday had known how to give up, he would have.

  Even though Meriday didn’t know how old he was, he could see his body change over time. His arms grew bigger, his chest wider, and his working shoulders could carry more and more weight. The instrument in his pants, the one he used to pee, grew too, though Meriday didn’t really understand the purpose of its size. It wasn’t as if he could pee more now, and why would he want to? The more time he spent peeing, the less time he had to work. The closer the growling dogs seemed to get.

  Meriday had little understanding of right and wrong. He understood perfectly, however, the state of pain and how best to avoid the Master’s whip. It didn’t have anything to do with working the hardest or being the last to leave the field. No, if you wanted to avoid the whip, you made sure you stayed out of sight. Meriday learned the Master’s blind angles and tried to work around him.

  There were still beatings, of course. But you couldn’t avoid those. They would happen at random hours, sometimes in the middle of the night, when the Master had too much to drink and his breath reeked of a deep and dark poison.

  Meriday preferred these beatings because they were always with fist and boot instead of the horrible whip. They wouldn’t rip the skin off his back and cause festering wounds. The bruises he could take, the swollen eyes he learned to see through, and if he breathed just right a cracked rib would heal much faster.

  Even throughout all the violence and abuse there were small rays of kindness that graced Meriday’s life. They came in the shape of the young girl that lived at the farm and called the Master her father. She would sometimes bring Meriday extra water, or a piece of bread that she hadn’t finished. Whenever Meriday’s beating had been especially brutal she would come to him during the nights and tend to his injuries.