A Monster Escapes

by Lewis Wolfe

  It pained him to know that she had seen him at his worst. Crippled by the horrible terrors that attacked him during his sleep. How frightened she must have been. Although she wore a brave face for him the morning after, Arthur could see the anxiety hiding behind her bright blue eyes and the worry she felt for him. It was the same worry Mary had, though the woman was far more vocal about it.

  Ellie. What was he going to do about Ellie? At least she was going to school. Thank God for small blessings.

  3

  Ellie didn’t like math. She had never liked it, had never been good at it either. She wasn’t afraid to admit that the questions in her textbook didn’t make any sense to her. Nor did Mr. Boothby’s explanations that he expounded, without much regard for his students, in front of the classroom.

  Mr. Boothby was a typical mathematician, Ellie thought. One of those people that understood everything, except for the fact that others didn’t understand them. So they explained things in ways that were so vague and abstract that nobody could really relate to what they were saying.

  Ellie couldn’t relate to the older man in front of the class. His thin, round glasses and balding head. What little black hair he had danced wildly, as if his brain exploded regularly to jolt his hair upward. He wasn’t unfriendly or anything, Ellie thought, just a little weird.

  Mister Boothby took time out of his busy schedule of writing equations on the chalkboard to check on the few students that hadn’t lost focus.

  “Do you all understand now?” he asked.

  The few awkward nods that followed wouldn’t have inspired an attentive teacher, but Mr. Boothby was satisfied with them. He had always been good at explaining difficult concepts to the casual listener, he thought. So much so that he cited the quality in all of his job interviews when asked why he should be hired as a teacher.

  Astutely self-aware, Ellie raised her hand. This was the very first time that she had ever asked something in class. The first time that she had been motivated enough to do so. Ellie wanted to be better, to do better. If she did better, Arthur would worry less and maybe his night terrors wouldn’t be so bad.

  Mr. Boothby acknowledged her slowly. “Yes, Ellie?”

  “I, um… I actually don’t understand.”

  “What part don’t you understand, then?”

  “Um… all the parts?”

  Her classmates laughed. In part because the girl had said it so dryly, and in part because they saw their own confusion reflected in her words. They, too, understood painfully little of the teacher’s lecture.

  “That’s quite enough,” Mr. Boothby said as sternly as he could. Authority didn’t suit him very well. It didn’t mix with the round glasses and the balding head.

  The attention curve of the kids had been broken and their laughter made room for small talk, jokes, and the all-around mess only a classroom of kids could produce. The kind of mess that a skilled teacher could master and steer back into focus, engaging the most problematic students first and having the rest fall in line by default.

  Mr. Boothby wasn’t that teacher. He had lost them and wouldn’t get them back for the last fifteen minutes of class.

  “Please stay after class, Ellie. I will explain things to you then,” he said.

  Ellie quietly watched her teacher walk back to his chair and sit down behind his desk. Wordlessly Mr. Boothby bent over a pile of papers that still needed grading and delved into them, leaving the class to its own devices.

  With a deep sigh Ellie turned to her left and stared out the window. The voices of her classmates turned into senseless background noise behind the intricacies of her own thoughts.

  She never paid much attention to the other kids. She didn’t really know anybody well enough to make her attention worthwhile, she thought. Being the new kid was always difficult and for a while her attendance had been, at best, sporadic. Getting to know her classmates felt difficult and intimidating to Ellie. Where could she even begin?

  The bell rang and school was finished for the day. Except for Ellie, who, with her big mouth, had invited herself to an extra fifteen minutes or so in the company of the awkward Mr. Boothby.

  Ellie watched her classmates get up and leave the room with even more noise than they had previously produced. Then her eyes fell on Mr. Boothby, who still sat at his desk, quietly grading away.

  Maybe he had already forgotten about her? Maybe she could get up and just kind of mix in with her classmates, make her escape?

  Ellie decided it was worth a shot and carefully put her books inside the yellow backpack she carried. Then she quietly got up from her chair and trailed two other girls very closely as they moved through the classroom.

  Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

  Ellie kept telling herself that as they neared the front of the classroom. Eye contact would be deadly now and she focused her eyes on the door. If she didn’t see him, he wouldn’t see her.

  It wasn’t far. The door was just a few more steps away now and the girls she followed were already walking out. She was next and she knew then that she had gotten away with it.

  She stepped outside into the hallway and turned to her right where her locker was. She just needed to get her coat and she would be out of here.

  “Ellie! Did you forget? Stay and I will help you,” Mr. Boothby called out to her from inside the classroom.

  Disappointed, Ellie closed her eyes. Her neck refused to hold up her head, crippled by the bitter defeat. She sighed as she contemplated just running away. He wouldn’t chase her and, when asked, she could simply deny having heard him call out to her.

  How fucking awkward that would be.

  Ellie turned around and walked back into the nearly deserted classroom. It was now just her and Mr. Boothby, who looked at her with a strange kind of anticipation in his eyes.

  “Right. Take a seat and grab your book.” Mr. Boothby pointed to one of the tables in front of his desk and waited for Ellie to sit down.

  Then the teacher got up from behind his desk and walked to the door. Gently he closed it.

  “We can focus better this way,” he said with a dry smile.

  When she heard the sound of the door closing Ellie felt threatened. Her stomach revolted, making her sick, and her muscles tensed up.

  It wasn’t because Mr. Boothby was an evil man that had bad intentions. It wasn’t about Mr. Boothby at all. It was about her past. Her memories of men that had done things to her that should not have been done. Her memories of things that shouldn’t have happened to her. Memories that, now that she was alone with a man, came resurfacing from that place deep down where she tried to drown all her bad thoughts and feelings.

  Deep down Ellie knew she was ugly. That she was bad. Because the things that had happened to her had happened because she let them happen. Because she had invited them to happen. Her mother had said so and mothers knew about such things. Mothers knew about womanhood and all the curses that came with it.

  Ellie’s fault. Everything was Ellie’s fault. Now, too, she was alone with this man because she had said something. Done something. She didn’t run when she had the chance and now she was here, stuck in this dark, closed-off classroom with Mr. Boothby.

  Mr. Boothby walked over to her as he said with an awkward smile, “Get out your book. We’ll take a look together.”

  Ellie froze up. She knew how to move, theoretically, but her body refused to push through the tension burdening her muscles.

  Mr. Boothby slightly leaned over her shoulder. “Is something wrong, Ellie?”

  Ellie didn’t answer. She knew how to speak, theoretically, but her lips refused to curl into the expressions she so desperately needed. Get away from me. Open the door. Let me leave.

  And then Mr. Boothby did something no qualified teacher should ever do. He misread the situation so gravely, understood his student so poorly, that he put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Relax, El—”

  Ellie’s body exploded and with one powerful blow she
crushed her teacher’s nose.

  Mr. Boothby fell back with a scream that mixed surprise with pain and reached for his nose where blood came gushing out. He could barely see a thing through the tears that burned in his eyes and stained his glasses. What the hell had just happened?!

  Ellie jumped up, abandoned her backpack, and ran out into the hallway.

  Her mind no longer understood what her body was doing. Her body didn’t care about the coat in her locker. It didn’t care about the few remaining students looking at her awkwardly. It only cared about running. Getting away. As far as possible, as fast as she could.

  Ellie ran through the hallways of the school building that felt infinitely large, making her feel infinitely tiny. She ran, and ran, and ran until she reached the exit and burst outside.

  The fresh air did nothing to calm her mind. The cold October wind emphasized how utterly alone and vulnerable she was. It took her by her throat and forced this awareness on her; she was meaningless and not meant to be loved.

  Ellie looked to her right; Arthur’s mansion was that way. Then she looked to her left; farmlands and the southern border of Brettville.

  The blood she felt dripping from her fist told her that there was only one thing left for her to do. Even if she wanted to return to Arthur it was too late for that now. She had assaulted a teacher, probably broken his nose. Arthur would never forgive her and she didn’t deserve his forgiveness.

  She turned left and made a run for it.

  Ellie ran down the main road, passing farmlands left and right. It was all an adrenaline-filled blur to her at this point. She didn’t pay attention to her lungs that threatened to explode, nor did she care about her heart that raced to keep up with her anxiety.

  The pines that protected Brettville from the rest of the world became bigger and bigger as she neared the town’s border. They waved dangerously in the strong wind and towered menacingly over Ellie.

  With enough distance between her and the center of town Ellie stopped to take a breath. Nobody would look for her here, anyway. She could walk now and soon a car would pass by in the right direction. She could hitchhike her way out of here.

  Ellie walked slowly toward the pines when a strange itch began to tickle her toes. She thought that she had strained her muscles by the sudden run and decided to pay it no mind.

  The itch grew more powerful, however, and crawled from her toes all the way to her groin, where it nestled briefly. Then it jumped to her chest and Ellie tried to scratch it away. Only the itch seemed to be on the inside of her body now, where she couldn’t reach.

  The itch grew stronger and stronger, slowly turning into a horrible burn that clawed at Ellie’s throat. It choked her and, having trouble breathing, the girl fell to her knees.

  Sweat dripped from her forehead and Ellie was convinced she was having a heart attack then. She had pushed her body too far and now she was dying. It was only fair because she had nothing of value to offer to this world, anyway.

  The burn entered her head and Ellie screamed in unbearable pain. It clawed into her brain and forced horrible echoes through her skull.

  “My chocolate milk! How long it’s been. Let me have a taste of my chocolate milk!”

  Ellie would recognize that voice anywhere. It was him. Only it couldn’t be, because she had killed him back in Cleveland.

  4

  Jane walked through the fields just outside of Brettville with her bodyguard. The October wind was fierce and she had given up on trying to tame the hair blowing in front of her face.

  Colored leaves twirled freely through the air, carrying with them the musky scent of autumn. Their playful appearance stood in stark contrast with Jane’s current reality.

  The fields were all abandoned and overgrown now but at one point, Jane knew, they had been the place of labor for many black slaves. Their ghosts still lingered on these fields, clinging to the pain and abuse that they had suffered, not able to let go of a violently unfair past.

  Jane didn’t want to, but if she tried she could smell the putrid mix of blood and sweat coming from these lost souls.

  She could not help but feel their pain reflected by her own consciousness. Desperation, confusion, and the burn of the relentless whip carved themselves into her mind. At times it was difficult for her not to start crying, but she stayed strong because she didn’t want to explain any of this to Caleb.

  These ghosts, no matter how sorry Jane felt for them, wasn’t why they were here. They were here for something much older and far more dangerous than the suffering spirits that roamed the abandoned fields outside of Brettville.

  Caleb asked from slightly behind her, “Any idea if we’re getting close?”

  Jane shrugged as she turned her head slightly to look at him. “Not sure. I’ll know it when I see it.”

  Silently they continued through the fields until they reached a small creek, filled abundantly by the October rain.

  Jane took a few steps back, ran forward, and jumped to get across. When she landed she lost her balance and had to reach for the wet grass so she wouldn’t slide down.

  She looked back at her concerned bodyguard as she said, “I almost fucked that up, huh?”

  Caleb crossed the creek easily and helped her back on her feet.

  Jane had long since given up on trying to control her abilities. She heard every thought, all the time, whether she wanted to or not. Caleb’s mind felt rushed to her, with one chaotic thought after another fighting for its time in the spotlight. He didn’t like giving them the attention they deserved, Jane realized, because doing so meant facing demons he felt powerless against.

  When he helped her back on her feet, however, his mind was focused and calm. As if his protector’s instinct would always take precedence over his own trauma.

  Jane rubbed her hands and proceeded to pat off the grass stains from her pants. Her knees burned a little bit, but otherwise she was completely fine.

  Caleb said, “I noticed that you tend to move slowly. That jump looked awkward, too.”

  Jane nodded. “I grew up in a lab; gym wasn’t part of the curriculum. My motor skills aren’t that well developed, sadly.”

  “Makes sense. But it’s good to know what you can and can’t do. If a situation ever gets physical, I mean.”

  Jane briefly locked eyes with her bodyguard. He looked at her with a cold, analyzing gaze and she knew he was calculating her odds of survival under various circumstances. The skill with which he did so was both impressive and terrifying.

  Several different situations in which Jane could die flashed through Caleb’s mind, each one more gruesome than the one before. In a matter of seconds Jane saw herself stabbed, shot through the head, her throat slashed, her face beaten to a bloody pulp, and her insides torn from her stomach.

  All those moments were accompanied by Caleb’s mental notes on how fast and strong she was. How her small frame was an advantage in some situations, but a risk in others. Following on those notes, Jane heard the plans he formulated in his head to prevent all the terrible things he could imagine from happening to her.

  Jane looked away from Caleb and shifted her attention along with her gaze. She refocused on the seemingly endless fields, decorated here and there by withered wooden fences and colored by the fallen leaves.

  “Come on, Caleb. We need to keep moving.”

  Together they continued to defy the wind that sometimes lay dormant, only to well up in a series of powerful blows to their bodies. As if the wind gathered its energy to keep them from reaching a secret treasure hidden in the distant past of Brettville’s outskirts.

  Jane knew she wasn’t going to find any treasures here. If anything, she would find hints at the uncomfortable truths life and nature had to offer. Truths that best remained hidden to people because they were so wounding that most could never recover from them.

  These were the truths Jane was actively looking for and inviting into her mind. Truths that she had to witness, had to listen to, had to allow in
side her head, because that was the only way forward.

  To stop was to move backward. To move backward was to run. To run was to die.

  They’d kill me, take my brain, and use what they learned for the next specimen.

  She was no hero. She was a young woman who had been given one-third of a chance at life, trying desperately not to die. Hoping to retain some kind of freedom in the process.

  How long could she keep doing that? How long before she slipped up? Just like with the creek, there would come a moment where she stumbled and lost control of the situation. That was the moment Agent Bradford would push the button and she would get traded in for the next model. The better, faster, stronger one.

  With Caleb trailing shortly behind her she took a sharp left, guided by an intuition that kept tugging at her soul. She was close, she just knew it, and around here, somewhere, she would find what she was looking for.

  Out of nowhere it appeared. A field that was greener than the others and, strangely, seemed to be kept in neat order. Its fresh grass was cut short and no leaves dared to venture onto its clearly defined terrain. If animals even lived around here, Jane sensed, they would avoid this strange territory like the plague.

  It wasn’t the field’s oppressive atmosphere that struck fear into Jane’s heart, making it hard for her to breathe. It was the giant oak that stood in the middle of the foreign sea of grass, looming over her like a giant watchman ready to strike her down.

  The oak was old and dying, Jane could tell, yet from it dripped an aura that was potent and threatening. Something very powerful had lived here once.

  Jane took a deep breath and stepped onto the field. She sensed Caleb’s hesitation; he too had been caught in the dying oak’s gripping trance.

  “Come on, Caleb. Whatever is still here is just a remnant. The brunt of it has moved on,” she said, reassuring him.

  Together they walked toward the tree and studied its appearance. Its once pure bark had grown dirty and gray, easily torn by even the gentlest touch. The branches that had once carried a giant crown of the prettiest leaves were bare now and had lost most of their strength; they would snap under the slightest pressure.