This is a story I started to write one night in September 2010. I guess I forgot about it and never looked back, until now. I’ll post it as a short story for now because I’ve already got enough on my plate. It’s kind of a fun story that paralells the First Moon story I’ve been writing which is probably why I shelved it to begin with.
The Watcher
I had lived a happy, sheltered and most of all, “normal” life. That was until my twenty-first birthday. I grew up in a nice house, in a quiet neighborhood with loving parents. Things started to unravel about a week before my birthday.
I felt different. I was stronger and faster, though I wasn’t exercising. In fact I mostly just ate, night and day. I should have been pushing four hundred pounds and instead was lean and developing muscles in places I couldn’t even imagine how to exercise.
I put it off as some side effect of puberty. I read cases online about what was happening and of course there were thousands of pages of doctor’s reports of rare cases of hormone imbalance and whatnot and thousands of hearsay blogs about similar incidents all over the world.
I never put too much stock into the internet and the ridiculous rumors and opinions that race around cyberspace. But something was definitely happening to me and I needed quick and easy answers. I had started searching to placate my fears that maybe I had some sort of disease that would make me super strong very quickly and then make my heart explode.
But the myriad of web-tales and gossip had left me with an unexpected feeling of pride. Like I was a chosen one gifted with a blessing and not a curse. I had it made. I was eating whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and was still looking better than those douches down at the gym busting their butts hours a day every day.
Though I was an honor student and pretty good-looking, if I do say so myself, I was excited to think about how many more ladies I’d be getting with this newfound bod of mine. If only life could be that perfect… that simple. Looking back, I keep picturing myself as that dumb race horse with a string dangling out in front of its face with a the carrot attached to the end, running for hours and hours on end trying to catch it.
I was excited, thinking about the future and hoping for a better life. Hope was my carrot, dangling ever so closely in front of me. It always felt like that was something special, something important right in front of me and if I could just reach it, everything would be alright.
I never got the chance to see how my new sex appeal would serve me out on the club scene. I was two weeks away from turning twenty-one and being legally allowed to get into the Jackpot Lounge where Bridget bartended. That was part of my hope. She was twenty-six and I was just a kid to her, not that she said that because she had never spoken to me.
Maybe now being twenty-one, an adult for all intents and purposes, and sporting a brand new six-going-on-eight pack, she’d notice me. But as the days passed and my birthday got closer I started running an incredible temperature and vomiting hourly, though I was feeling impossibly healthy. While the internet doctors had done a marvelous job keeping me confident early on, I was quick to agree when my mother suggested taking me to the hospital to get checked out.
That didn’t help much. Nothing was wrong as far as any procedure or test would show and even the most senior docs were stumped. They sent me home with some antibiotics and ordered me to rest for a few days and see how things went. We didn’t have health insurance so sticking around there wasn’t an option.
Things just kept on going. I was still getting stronger. My muscles weren’t growing much more but I could still feel it. I was sure I could go flip over my mom’s SUV without much effort if I wanted to, though strong or not, I was sure she’d find a way to make me pay if I did, so I didn’t. The fever kept on going too and don’t forget the vomiting.
Then things started to turn bad from there. Probably the real clincher in the entire worst birthday ever ordeal was on October 26th, five days before my big day, when my parents decided to nonchalantly pull me aside and in between pukes, to inform me that I was not their biological child. They were my guardians.
I decided to go out and tip over my imposter mom’s SUV after all. Unfortunately I keeled over only a few feet off the porch, in the middle of the lawn and never got the chance. I wonder if she did that. Maybe she had found a way to preemptively make me pay after all.
I woke up on the 31st. I was upstairs in my bed, all alone in the house. Five days are a long ass time to be sleeping. I felt like crap. My head killed, like a migraine and a hangover in one. My body ached. Every movement from my toes to my neck made a grueling crunching sound, like shattering rock and felt just as painful.
It was almost unbearable at first but slowly got more manageable. After a few hours I managed to get myself out of bed. I had started to feel strong enough to do it, but I was afraid it would hurt a lot. So I had a brilliant idea in that I would just roll myself off the bed. Then I would have to get up. It wasn’t a smart idea, not by a long shot, but it worked.
The fall didn’t hurt at all and once all of my joints had gotten a couple snaps and cracks, started to feel relieved. Maybe they were just sore because air had built up and needed to be removed? I’d have checked it online but the power in the house was out. I trudged downstairs to the kitchen and made myself an enormous bowl of cereal.
I was way too hungry to settle for cereal but the cupboards were completely bare other than the box of Frosted Flakes and a small carton of 2% milk in the fridge. As I ate, my mind managed to wander from my stomach and aches and allowed me to assess my surroundings.
The house was empty. Not just of people, but everything. It looked like a show house that was up for sale. I didn’t bother putting the cereal or dishes away. My stupid ‘guardians’ could do that. I should have felt lost and confused but I didn’t. I actually felt invigorated… alive. In less than three weeks my life was pulled out from under me and dumped me on my oblivious face.
But there was still hope. Still dangling precariously in front of me and I was still chasing it. I was young, strong and healthy. The fever was gone and the aches with it. I felt like I was ready to fly. I heard a car pulling up on the driveway. My imposter parents were home.
They were just as formal and matter of fact when they came home as they had been when they told me the truth earlier. Like this was no big deal. They explained that I had died. It wasn’t a concern for them because they knew I would. I was supposed to die.
I was standing in front of them, clearly animate and alive but that didn’t seem to faze them. Apparently I died and was reborn. So either they’re nuts, a definite possibility, or I am in some way akin to the only other person I’d ever heard of being reborn, Jesus Christ which was highly unlikely.
After they finished explaining their insane story, they informed me that as far as the entire sane world was concerned, I was dead and buried. They told me that we were moving in the morning and to stay out of sight until then. My first instinct was to call the cops and have these two nutjobs locked up but the story was so wild and crazy that my morbid curiosity beat down my rationale.
I wanted to know where they were planning on going in the morning and I was weighing the pros and cons of being dead, like no taxes. It was only 11:00AM. I had to sit in the house, in complete darkness and silence for about twenty-four hours. I’d never read recreationally before but after three hours I would have killed for a book, any book, and a lamp.
I was left alone with nothing to do except contemplate my situation. After a while it was easy to get cynical. I mean, why the hell was I chasing hope anyway? What did it ever do for anyone? Does the stupid horse really love carrots so much more than the grass all around him? Running through life aimlessly, always reaching out for that which we can’t reach and wanting that which we can’t have.
The grass isn’t just greener on the other side, over there are flowers and fruit bushes and hot girls lying around sun bathing… over here I’m surrounded by wilted brown blades. I wonder how things would have turned out if I had just stayed depressed and ready to quit. I can’t really picture it though. I can’t imagine that the carrot would have been all that gratifying to finally catch.
The point of the chase wasn’t to reach the end, to meet the final goal. The point was the chase itself. Pushing yourself to go faster, to get stronger, to be braver and never give up, that was the point. People would still be living in caves and spending their days trying to start fires if it wasn’t for that drive, that feeling of needing to go further and explore life and all if it’s endless possibilities.
It wasn’t supposed to be like that for me, or at least so I was told. I went downstairs and demanded answers. Jake and Nadia had always been great to me. They were patient and empathetic. It was hard to be angry at the only family I had known for the last twenty years. I could have easily accepted the truth of them not being my biological parents.
They were the ones that raised me. They cared for me, taught me and protected me. They were my parents whether I was from their loins or not. But they were different now. They were on edge and cautious like they were hiding out in a witness protection program or something. They were distant and cold too, very businesslike.
These weren’t my parents. They weren’t the same people who I’d shared a home with for the last twenty years. According to them, I was special. I was a rare descendant of some group or clan or something, called Watchers.
Most of it didn’t make any sense and they refused to repeat any answers so I improvised the meanings. I didn’t believe anything they said and was second guessing my decision not to call the police, but the insanity only piqued my curiosity more. I did have to give them one thing, I was definitely different. It wasn’t just the strength anymore either.
I could hear everything… the sound of the air moving around Nadia’s hand as she gestured while speaking… the faint whistling coming from between Jake’s front teeth as he exhaled. If I really concentrated I could hear the ticking of the second-hand on Jake’s wrist from the next room. In the same room I could hear his pulse in his neck.
And my vision was fantastic. If I concentrated I could actually see individual dust particles floating in the air and the nasty little dust mites munching on them. I remembered that it was usually the feces of the dust mites that got wafted into the air that made people sneeze, more so than the dust itself. I was curious at first, whether or not I could see the feces floating around in the air and then thought better of it.
I was better off not being able to see it otherwise I’d be looking like an idiot everywhere I go, dodging and holding my breath as I passed by each little turd. The day passed tediously. At one point I even tried to sit around and guess which insects were making which noises outside. The worst part was the night. I figured I’d get tired and just sleep through a few of the hours I had to wait.
No such luck though. Not only did I not sleep but I wasn’t even the slightest bit tired. After pacing the room over and over I had enough. Jake and Nadia had made it abundantly clear that I was not to leave the house under any circumstances, even if I was literally on fire, but I couldn’t take the isolation anymore.
I lifted the latch on the window and slid it up slightly. It made only the slightest of noises, one so small that only a week or two ago I wouldn’t have heard at all. But now I heard it loud and clear and I was sure that the imposters had heard it too. The silence that had swallowed the house had burst like a bubble and I could hear them rushing up towards my room.
I didn’t hesitate. I slid the window the rest of the way up and leapt out. My bedroom was on the second floor but the window was above an overhanging piece of the roof that I had climbed onto hundreds of times over the years. I deftly slid down and leapt from the overhang to the garage and then dropping to my belly, I easily dangled from the edge of the garage and dropped to the ground.
Jake was growling from the window, obviously pissed that I had ignored his orders. I didn’t really care. This was one of the first times I ever directly disobeyed them and it felt invigorating. I couldn’t see the carrot in front of me, but I could feel it. I was ready to start the chase and get exploring.
I took four steps and as I was about to break into a jog, an enormous hairball leapt out from the darkness in the trees a hundred yards away. I froze, staring in awe as the hulking mass of fur, teeth and claws charged at me. It was like an agile looking bear but I knew it wasn’t a bear. I knew for a fact what it was, but I also knew for a fact that it wasn’t possible.
The snarl it made sent shivers through every inch of my body. It moved so fast. It covered the football field distance in seconds and lunged forward at me. All that strength and power I had felt earlier that day was gone. I was a tiny helpless baby sucking my thumb as the furry wrecking ball pendulum swung at me.
I guess I should have been dead then and there. Come to think of it, I should have been dead at least six other times after that too. But that was the first time I met Gore. Gore wasn’t just a werewolf. He was THE werewolf. Not quite a king but the power and respect he held among his peers were equal to that of royalty.
I don’t know the other werewolf’s name though I guess it doesn’t matter. As he lunged at me, Gore appeared from beside me and intercepted him. The one charging me was massive. He would probably stand at about six feet, my height, but he was thick like a mixture of a black bear and silverback gorilla. It was crazy that this beast looked like a child next to Gore.
Gore was pushing ten feet and looked more like hairy black hummer than a gorilla. He grabbed hold of the smaller werewolf with both hands and after a series of violent rips and tears, there was only Gore standing over a pile of mutilated flesh.
I should have been twice as terrified of this monster as I was of the first, but I wasn’t. I actually felt comforted by his presence. Gore turned to me and wiped the dripping blood from his mouth with the back of his hairy forearm.
“You have much to learn little one” he growled at me.
I wasn’t about to argue with him so I just nodded in agreement. Jake and Nadia had made it out of the house at some point and were standing behind me with their arms crossed and scowls etched into their stone looking faces.
I wasn’t about to argue with them so I just nodded in agreement and headed back inside and the rest followed me. It freaked me out more than anything that Gore talked while he was a werewolf. Of course I had never considered the possibility that werewolves could possibly be real, but I guess if I had, I would have imagined that they would turn back into a human form and speak that way.
If his voice wasn’t so deep and full of respect demanding bass, I would have burst into laughter at the sight. They were aware that I was standing nearby listening in on them and so the three started speaking in another language. One that was clearly not anything a human being would have come up with though I suspected it probably wasn’t werewolfish or whatever, either.
“I’ll be standing guard outside until daybreak little one. You’re safe inside. You would do well to listen to the elders. There are things far worse than that youngling that would be interested in your head” Gore barked. He spoke with the intensity that he intended for everything he said to be listened too and the confidence that he knew it would be.
I nodded subserviently and flopped into the nearby chair. Gore was remarkably agile for his size as he silently made his way upstairs and presumably back out the window. That was about an hour ago. Afterwards I questioned Jake and Nadia incessantly, undeterred by their irritation.
They hesitated often, weighing each piece of information they would divulge and I assumed they sugar-coated most of it, apparently for my sake, but they inevitably answered most of my questions. They told me about the world. Not the world at large, the world I had come to know and understand, but a world underneath that, though not literally.
Every myth grew from a truth. Vampires, werewolves, witches and even goblins were out there. With a millennia of experience, the ‘monsters’ have learned to stay out of sight. To walk and live among the humans, undetected. I wouldn’t have believed a word of their psychotic babble if I hadn’t just been face to face with a gargantuan of a werewolf myself.
I couldn’t understand why the monsters would want to live among the humans, at least not hidden. I doubt there was anything alive that could stop Gore. He could easily barge into any Taco Bell or McDonald’s and gorge on whatever he wanted, whenever wanted. Why would he hide? I couldn’t imagine he would be afraid of anything, especially not some dinky little human.
And with the way Jake and Nadia spoke, it sounded like the monsters were everywhere. Gore wasn’t one of twenty werewolves in the world. He was more like one of twenty thousand in the United States alone. Surely the monsters could easily take hold of the world if they wanted. And that didn’t include the countless Vampires and Goblins and whatever other little nasties were running around.
But that was as much information as they were prepared to give me tonight.
Filed under: Short Stories, The Watcher
