I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1)

by Tony Monchinski

  From a waning crescent to its complete absence a sliver of the moon appeared again in the night sky. Feigl’s boys antagonized us as we passed them, their words especially tormenting Leonid and Mina. Gerald sprouted hair on his face, Ezra looked much the same, and Symeon grew uglier. Maleva regaled those who would listen with tales of the otherworldly while speculation as to the identity of our new landlord spread like wildfire among the adults. Our father would slump upon the table at night and my eldest sister and brother would have to carry him off to his pallet. At night, the moon was a white crescent and the wolves howled.

  And then one day the manor house was completed. It was a sight to behold, truly beautiful. It lent a sense of pride to all of us, to be associated—no matter how tangentially—with such a structure. The workers, who had kept to themselves the entire time they labored on it, had disappeared without a word. That night, at the stream, my brothers and sisters and I discussed their possible whereabouts. To the east they had gone, claimed Leonid, to bore tunnels through the mountains in a herculean task. No, maintained Mina, they had returned west, where they had been retained by none other than Pyotr Alexeyevich Romanov and his half-brother, Ivan, for some magnificent government project. Viktor argued that both were incorrect, that the workers were in the service of the Habsburgs and would be sent across the ocean to toil on some splendor among the savage Mohammedans.

  Once again it was little Sasha who alerted us to the presence of others at the stream. She stood staring into the dark and we looked as one to where she gazed. Gerald and Ezra and Symeon. When they saw the fear in our eyes they laughed at us. The laughter of one fed off of and reinforced the other. Their hilarity was drawn out and each second I grew more uncomfortable, more fearful. Were they never warned, Gerald asked tauntingly between the tears his laughter had dredged out, that the night holds many a fearsome beast, and that these creatures descend from the mountains in the dark to drink from the cool waters? But, brother, who would tell them, Ezra wiped his nose with his hand, their cur mother is not of this earth any longer, and their father’s only concern is the fermented potato. The brothers, even the little stupid one, enjoyed a hearty laugh at this. Leonid moved so as to position himself between ourselves and the three miscreants.

  Gerald took a step towards the river. Most creatures, he noted, hearing the voices of human beings, would retreat into the night. But not all, piped up Symeon. A day at the hunt, in the mountains, considered Ezra, taking a step forward like his oldest brother, would leave these animals parched. Certainly the voices of five little children would not scare them off? Five…harmless children.

  Gerald stepped into the river. I had not noticed before that the brothers’ feet were bare. They must have been watching us and plotting for some time from the bank. And come to the river to drink, Gerald continued, finding the voices portended no threat, would the animal not rejoice? Would it not recognize the meal waiting for it, bathing itself in the stream?

  Leonid took his eyes off the three boys long enough to give Mina a look.

  Many a bad thing has been known to happen to little children in streams. Gerald was in the water up to his ankles, close enough that, should he lunge, he would be upon us. Has not Maleva, Gerald looked like a beast ready to spring, that gypsy whore, told you of the Vodyanoi? He is an old man, offered Ezra, covered with scales like a fish. The littlest of Feigl’s boys chimed in, it is said he has a tail!

  He exists, Gerald spoke as if he relished the words, only to drown the unsuspecting. That is, unless he is propitiated.

  And what, brother, asked Ezra, would be proper placation for such a being? Oh…Gerald considered, looking from Leonid to Viktor, a chicken would do, perhaps, or even some salt or vodka—too bad your father is not here. He looked at Leonid as he said this last part. They don’t have any of these, snickered Symeon. He was sneering, but his face was so ugly it was hard to tell. No, they do not, agreed Gerald. What then might they offer? asked Ezra. He and his older brother were leering at Mina when Gerald said, I’m sure they have something.

  Symeon, who had not joined his brothers in the river, gave a sudden screech which caused all to look. The shadow had broken from the night and stood, looming over the youngest of Feigl’s boys. From our angle the moon was hidden by its cloak, which it had spread wide, giving it the appearance of wings.

  V-V-Vodyanoi! Symeon whispered, his voice gone from him in terror. Ezra had already turned and ran screaming into the night. Gerald stood frozen in the river. The front of his breeches darkened as he released his bladder. Strangely enough, neither my brothers or sisters or I felt the least apprehension.

  The thing on the bank lowered its arms, drawing the cloak around its body, and revealed itself for a man. But not just any man. You, the lord of the manor addressed Feigl’s sons, go from this stream and never return. The way Gerald and Symeon were focused on the lord, unmoving, it was if they were spell bound. Go now! He commanded and the two brothers were off after the third, little Symeon falling behind. Gerald did not wait for him.

  Thank you, sir, said Mina, we are in your debt. Nonsense, the lord waved his hand dismissively. My sister speaks correctly, lord, Leonid noted, those boys meant us harm, a harm your intervention prevented.

  No, children, listen to me… Whatever menace the lord had held moments earlier for those others was gone. This is my property. It is I who am indebted to you.

  Indebted to us, Leonid shook his head, but how sir?

  It is his land, I said, understanding, he is meant to protect us.

  Protect us he did! protested Mina.

  But nearly too late, Mina Andriyivna, lamented the lord. Come, I wish to invite you to my home to enjoy a meal at my table.

  At your table, sir? Mina gasped.

  Your house? Viktor looked wondrous.

  Yes, and I suggest we leave at once, the roast will be basking in its juices.

  Sasha looked at me and her look said the roast? She had eaten little meat in her days, few of us had. But it is late, Leonid began, and we must be—

  I insist. Before Leonid could finish the lord interrupted. I want you to return home at once and invite your father. Tell him his company would be a great honor to me.

  Our father’s presence an honor to one such as this? I remember feeling a surge of pride for my father. Little one, the lord smiled down on Sasha, you are quiet. Are you hungry?

  Yes, sir, I am.

  The lord laughed, then come, come with me now child. One of you—you—he looked at me—run home and invite your father, yes? No sense letting the food cool when there are hungry bellies to be filled.

  Whether we were that hungry, that curious to see this man’s house and sit at his table, or that caught up in his presence the way Gerald and his brothers had been, I knew not. His suggestion seemed eminently practical and I dashed off into the night, buoyed by our good fortune.

  Even as I ran home, however, it crossed my mind not to invite father. What if he denied the invitation and demanded we return at once? What if he were too besotted to attend or made a fool of himself in the presence of this lord? I raced home, considering all this, but could not settle upon a resolution in my mind. When I was within sight of our cottage I slowed and walked, listening for any sounds from within.

  There were none.

  It was not until I had reached the door and spied through a window that I heard the drunken snores of my father. His jug was within reach where he lay slumped over the table.

  The decision was made for me then. My father was in no shape to accompany us. I knew from many nights’ past experience, that when he was in this condition he would not stir until the morn. I rushed back to the road, towards the manor house, which, I saw as I drew near, was ablaze with light.

  The door was ajar to the cool evening. No manservant let me in. The house was like none we had ever been in. It had rooms. I traversed its commodious chambers and wide halls, decorated with finery, drawn to the sounds of gaiety. I entered a dining room lit by candelabra
s. A long table groaned with food, a feast from some fairy tale. This is where I found Leonid and Mina, their midsections distended from a surfeit of victuals, laughing at some jest the master had leveled. Viktor was still engorging himself at the feast. My little sister, Sasha, was licking her fingers clean of meat fat, looking contented, seated on the lap of the lord Vinci.

  Ah, welcome to our fandango, the lord greeted me, his person suffused with delight. I made some excuse about our father being too ill to attend the banquet and the master made a show of appearing concerned, but I politely dismissed his solicitude, assuring all our father would be well by the morning, back at work in the field. I was staring at the food, drooling despite myself. The lord invited me to help myself and I did not hesitate. I dived in, bolting down food and drink the likes of which I had never tasted before. There was lamb and goat and pheasant and meat I could not identify drizzled with rich sauces. There were vegetables and fruit and an assortment of bread. There was ale and cool water and milk thick with curd. It was delectable, all of it, and I ate enough for three.

  As we ate the lord Vinci regaled us with tales tall and true, accounts of his travails and triumphs. None of us supposed much verisimilitude in his yarns, yet we laughed and enjoyed his anecdotes, some of them complicated and drawn out, much of it seeming palaver. Unlike Maleva’s stories, the lord’s were largely cheerful and amused us. He did not speak of demons or the terrors of the swamp. I ate for what seemed hours, and when I finished I looked around the table, at my brothers and sisters, full, pleased, satisfied.

  It has grown late, Vinci pronounced, you must be returning to your father, for he will worry about you. We objected, wishing to stay longer and listen to this man who treated us—children—as his equals, but he rebuffed our protestations. Go now, he admonished us, you are safe and will be this night.

  Could we not stay longer, dyad’ko? Little Sasha, still atop his lap, asked him, calling him uncle. Vinci smiled down upon her. No, little one, was his reply, for now the hour is nearly upon us when I must feed, and my meal must be taken in solitude. None of us had noticed that the lord alone abstained at the table, or, if any of my brothers or sisters had noted it, the fact was of no concern to them. And none of us paid it any further mind when he mentioned his own coming refection.

  We had gotten up to leave, all of us bowing profusely, when the lord bade me a moment, khlopchyk. Leonid was leading the others out of the house and into the night, the four of them humming with merriment. Did you enjoy this evening’s repast? he asked me. I stammered over myself to assure him I had. Splendid! he clapped his hands, those hands. That first night at the stream, he pressed, you alone discerned who I was, did you not? I had to admit I had. A shrewd boy, a smart boy, he complimented. I have a proposition I would like to make you. A proposition? I did not know what he meant.

  I wish to offer you employ in my service, the lord Vinci explained. The task is quite simple, yet it pays handsomely. When he told me how much I could make I did not quite understand, but I knew it was more than anyone in my village had ever seen. What must I do to earn this? I asked, thinking what I could use the remuneration for. Sasha was in need of shoes.

  The employment is two-fold, the lord explained, and each task is quite simple, really. Firstly, you must vow silence and promise never to tell anyone you work for me. Can you keep a secret? It was the way he asked, his voice genuine, bereft of subterfuge, yet imparting the seriousness of the request. If he was hiding anything, it was not anything that would harm me or my family. I averred I could. Excellent! he looked pleased and described the nature of the work. When strangers passed through our town, I was to greet them and direct them to the grand manor house, where the lord may extend them his hospitality and a warm bed for the evening, a respite from the hard road.

  It all sounded innocuous enough, and I readily agreed. The lord was pleased.

  I do not know what compelled me, where my temerity came from, but I asked the lord if I may not ask him a question. He indicated I should proceed. Do they cause you much hurt? I asked him of his hands. A look crossed his face briefly, a look I had not seen there all evening nor at our first meeting. It was not anger and to call it concern would be too strong a word. I believe, what it was, was a recognition on his part that I had recognized this of him. My hands, he held them up in the candlelight, pondering them. I could see them clearly now, gnarled and veiny, the nails filed into sharp points. And still no tocsin sounded in my mind, no warning. They do not pain me, he admitted. I have…a condition. It accounts for their appearance.

  Most do not notice them, however, and he looked at me, again, pleased, for what reason I did not know. Yet you do. I thank you for your concern.

  I wished him a good night and left, following in the path of my siblings. I was lost in his spell then, though I did not recognize it. That we were invited into a stranger’s home late at night for a meal fit for kings, that this did not strike any of us as cause for concern…that this man, however kind and generous, had sat there and not eaten and then spoke of eating alone after all had left…that his hands, despite their grotesque appearance, had not been noticed by my brothers and sisters…

  As I walked home I thought about this man and the evening. Did the lord know my father would be unable to attend his feast? Did he suspect it would cross my mind to never invite our father to begin with? Somehow I thought it had and he did. How or why, I knew not, but I realized there was more to this man than the trappings of majesty, than a regale air. He had revealed some aspect of himself to Feigl’s boys at the stream. We were there but we had missed it. No, that was not correct. I could not say we had missed it, because we were not cognizant of it. It had been hidden from us, even as it was revealed to those with us.

  He had revealed something of himself to me with his hands, to all of us with the acknowledgement of his coming meal. But we were enraptured, and, as such, imperceptive. And, perhaps, I can admit it now, we were ignorant—I was ignorant—because we chose to be.

  A few days went by and our lives continued as they had. We arose at dawn, our father more often than not shaking off a drunk, and worked the land. Most evenings after supper we made our way down the road, past the manor house, past Maleva’s, bearing the taunts and barbs of Gerald and his brothers, to relax in the stream. The days were growing longer and the night shorter. The air was warming up in the day, though still chill at night. We kept that wonderful dinner among ourselves, my siblings and I, and spoke not about it to one another.

  The next stranger came to our village nearly a fortnight after our meal with the lord. We were returning from the stream in the cool of evening, relieved that Gerald and his brothers were apparently in their home for the night. The stranger and his horse looked the worse for wear, as though each had been on the road for some time. We quieted as we passed him and once we were passed I trailed my brothers and sisters that I may speak to him. The man looked dogged and hungry and seemed surprised when I approached him, introduced myself, and told him of the lord’s offer. His weariness gave way to relief as I spoke and he thanked me, asking me direction to the manor house. I complied and sent him on his way.

  That night, as my sisters and brothers slept through my father’s snores, I was awake. I extricated myself carefully from the bed we shared and stepped across the wooden floor to the open window, where I stood and stared out at the dark land under the stars. In the distance I heard a clamor of horse and carriage and as I watched a tumbrel passed on the road, drawn by an immense black steed. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stared. I could discern no driver in the cart, no one guiding the horse. Were my eyes deceiving me? When the horse and cart had passed I stood at the window for sometime, until fatigue crept over me. I climbed back into bed amidst the warm press of bodies that were my family.

  The next morning when I awoke and went outside to fetch wood for our stove’s fire, I noticed something reflecting the first rays of the sun from the wood pile. I bent down to retrieve it and stared in disbelief
at the object in my hand. A gold coin of some sort. I had never actually held one or even seen one, but I knew what it was because of Maleva’s stories and father’s oft-repeated answer to the query, what was it that Feigl did with his days? He counted his gold. He counted his gold. And now I had gold of my own. I looked around quickly, but no one had seen me, and I secreted the coin in my breeches where it would rest until later that day when I could hide it in a suitable spot.

  There were several strangers come through our town that season, and with them came rumors. The boyars were approaching, it was said, as there was a question of the land ownership now that the old lord was gone. I could not conceive what questions there might be. A new lord was ensconced in the manor house, a house he had spent untold sums upon to renovate, to restore to a glory it had never known. The strangers came and I greeted as many as I could, warning them away from the swamp, inviting them to rest at the lord’s house. I did this discreetly, less Leonid or Mina or one of our neighbors became suspicious, but I was a peasant boy, and no one paid me any mind.

  And every morning there was a new shiny coin sparkling in the sun among the wood pile awaiting me. I quickly amassed quite a little collection and, as I counted my own treasure, considered how best to spend my earnings. Sasha needed shoes. There were some instruments I had heard father wish for to better tend to the soil. Between the direction of strangers and the appearance of a new coin was the dead of night. It was within this period of time that I became aware of a correlation I had previously been ignorant of. Each time I directed a stranger to the manor house, the horse and carriage would pass by our cottage on the road in the dark, towards the swamp, towards the unknown beyond our land. And in the morning, a coin.

  I was ignorant, yes, but I was not stupid. Did I know then there was a relationship between the strangers who were seen to enter our village but not to leave and the night’s rider-less tumbrel? Of course. But I chose to ignore the obvious. As Fritz would remark some two hundred years later, the bite of conscience, like the bite of a dog into a stone, is a stupidity. Amid the heat of the coming summer, amid the escalating molestations of Feigl’s sons, I dutifully directed those passing through to the manor, where each willingly went, lured by my promises of the lord’s hospitality. And finally, Sasha had her shoes.