A Boy Who Might Have Been a Monster

1,106 words - teen fantasy

Once upon a time, there was a monster and a girl. The girl’s name was Soray, and she was fifteen years old. The monster didn’t have a name, not a real name anyway.

Once upon a time, there were monsters everywhere. Monsters with teeth and claws. Monsters that could hide anywhere, be anything.

Once upon a time, a monster and a girl met in the forest. Or maybe it was a boy and a girl. It was always hard to tell with monsters. The boy had an ax. The girl had a basket and her mother’s crossbow. Inside the basket were two pats of fresh churned butter, one jar of strawberry jam, and a bouquet of wild honeysuckles. Inside the crossbow was an arrow. The basket was for her grandmother who lived in the forest because she wasn’t afraid of the monsters. The crossbow was for staying alive.

When Soray was seven, a stranger knocked on the door, and her father let him inside. The snow was as deep as Soray’s shoulders and the stranger was shivering so hard he was making his own windstorm inside their cottage. Her father gave him a blanket by the fire, but before the tea was hot the stranger had thrown off his disguise and her eaten her father in three dripping bites. The monster had more teeth than Soray could count. It would have eaten her too if her mother hadn’t shot it through three times.

Monsters were everywhere.

When the boy and the girl saw each other, the boy dropped his ax and Soray dropped her basket and her bow. The honeysuckles and the jam and the butter spilled out. The crossbow hit a rock, springing the arrow and almost hitting the boy.

“I’m not a monster,” the boy said.

“I don’t believe you,” Soray said. That was her last arrow. “Only monsters live in these woods.
“You’re here,” the boy pointed out.

“I’m visiting my grandmother.”

“Is she a monster?”

Soray narrowed her eyes. “No. She’s a fool.”

She had the crossbow. But she didn’t have any more arrows. She didn’t know how long it would take to run to her grandmother’s house. And she knew there was no one else nearby to hear her scream.

 So instead of shooting, or running, or screaming, she knelt down and gathered up her honeysuckle bouquet. Some of the flowers had fallen off, but she swept them into the basket anyway. The butter’s cloth was dirty, but she brushed it off. The jam jar was fine.

“If you’re going to eat me,” she said, “I can’t stop you.”

“I’m not going to eat you,” the boy said.

 Soray put the crossbow on her back. “Good. Because my grandmother would find you and shoot you if you did.”

 “Where does she live?” the boy asked. He still hadn’t picked up the ax. But monsters didn’t need axes to eat people.

  “I’m not telling you,” said Soray.

  The boy looked at her basket. “There are more honeysuckles just off the path.” He pointed.

  Soray didn’t look where he was pointing. If she turned, he might change into something with too many teeth and then it would be too late. Maybe it was already too late.

  “Why do you have an ax?” she asked.

  “In case I meet any monsters.” Hefting the ax handle, he unstuck the blade from where it had buried itself in the ground.

  Soray took a step back. “I’m going to go find my arrow.”

   The boy nodded and put the ax on his shoulder. “Okay.”

  Soray waited for him to move. When he didn’t, she sucked in her breath and marched past him, stepping off the path and into the tangled vines. She didn’t look back to see if she was going to be eaten. There was nothing she could do if she was.

    When she found the arrow, it was embedded in a tree trunk so deep she couldn’t get it free. When she turned around, the boy was gone.

  Her grandmother’s cottage was small with a vegetable garden out front. When Soray knocked on the door, she heard her grandmother shuffle to open it, lifting the latches that kept it locked one by one.

  Her grandmother was wearing a floured apron, and her house smelled like fresh bread. The aroma made Soray’s mouth water. She held out the basket.

  “My mother wanted me to bring you these, grandmother.”

 “Come inside, child. Come inside.” Her grandmother ushered her in and closed the door, doing the latches back up, one by one. “Where are your arrows, child?” she asked. “There are monsters in these parts.”

  “I lost them,” said Soray. She set the basket on the table. Her grandmother’s crossbow wasn’t by the door. Neither were her arrows. “Where are yours?”

  Her grandmother shuffled to the table, rubbing her back. “I ache something fierce today,” she said. “Let’s see what your mother sent.” Lifting the honeysuckles, she peered in at the butter and jam. “How thoughtful.”

Soray backed away. “Grandmother,” she said. “Where is your crossbow?”

“Why ever are you asking about it, child?” Her grandmother set the jam on the table with a hollow thunk.

 “I need a new arrow,” said Soray. “For my trip back home. There are monsters in these parts, you know.”

  “Yes,” said her grandmother. “Yes, there are.”

  Soray narrowed her eyes. “I’m hungry,” she said. “May I have something to eat?”

  “Of course.” Her grandmother smiled. Her teeth were sharp. “I’m hungry too.”

   Soray ran for the door, but the monster got there first, all resemblance to her grandmother gone. Only the apron stayed tied around the monster, drool dripping onto it.

    Soray knew it was foolish, but she screamed anyway. The sound was so loud it startled her. Grabbing the jam off the table, she threw it at the monster and ran for her grandmother’s bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her. There on the bed sat the crossbow and a quiver of arrows. Shucking the crossbow off her back, she slid an arrow free and notched it.

    The door banged open, hitting the wall. The boy from the forest was standing there. The ax was gone.

    Soray leveled the crossbow at him.

    “I told you I’m not a monster,” he said.

    “I wish I believed you.” Soray fired.

(photo by Orin Zebest)