Monster

by Barbara Steiner

  A musty smell surrounded her.

  Finally what was happening registered in her mind.

  She — she —

  Her scream echoed off the walls of the cavernous room.

  Chapter 21

  “Oh, my God, it’s me. It’s me that’s the monster! Stan, help! Help me!” Abby backed away from the rotten smelling mixture on the counter.

  Her stomach churned with nausea and anger. Anger! She needed to lash out against something, someone. The strength to do so swelled within her. A sense of power surrounded her, filled her. Her face stretched and contorted with her rage.

  Stan was at her side immediately. His image blurred before her. “Abby, my God,” he whispered. “I was right.”

  “Stan, help me, help me, Stan. Please, please, help me.”

  “What did you mix up, Abby? Did you drink it? Taste it at all?”

  “No, no, of course not. I — I — can’t remember.”

  “You have to remember. I can’t help you unless I know what you did to cause this. What gave off that smell?”

  “The smell. It was that stuff.” It was all she could do to control her rage, the urge to attack Stan. She struggled to stay Abby. Something else wanted to get out, was getting out. Fight, Abby, fight, she told herself.

  “You breathed the fumes?’

  “Yes. I — I couldn’t help it. When it started boiling, I —”

  Stan grabbed the now cooled dish and dumped its contents down the sink. “What was in it, Abby? What ingredients? In what proportions?” Stan shook her.

  She reached for him. He had no right to touch her, to shake her. She’d kill him.

  “Fight it, Abby, fight. Keep it away until you’ve told me.”

  “It’s — it’s in my notebook.”

  “Your lab notebook?”

  “In … in the back … last page.” Abby was losing. Waves of dizziness washed over her. She clutched her face with both … both paws. It felt misshapen. Her mouth had stretched. Her teeth were long and sharp.

  She moaned, groaned, then roared. The sound filled the room, bounced back at her, caused her to roar again.

  “I’m sorry to do this, Abby.”

  Stan whirled her around, ducking her swinging claws. He pushed with all his strength. Abby stumbled towards the large closet that held extra equipment and chemicals.

  She fell into the darkness and immediately spun around and growled. Doubled up, rose to her knees, swung her claws. A door slammed in her face and she raked it, digging deep into the soft wood panels.

  She stood, pounded, pushed with all her strength. She must get out. She must attack whoever had locked her into this darkness. This small space that contained her. She would not be contained. Kill — kill him. She would kill him.

  Anger turned her mind to hot lava, spilling over, spinning her around. One paw raked glass beakers onto the floor. Another ripped the shelf from the wall. She threw it into another wall of jars and bottles.

  Again and again she pounded on the door. She felt it give slightly. She pushed with all her weight. The door was flimsy. She was strong, so strong, so angry, so powerful. She would not be stopped by a slab of wood. She slammed her fist into the top panel. The wood shattered. She kicked at the bottom. Her foot shot through the panel, splintering it.

  One more deep, satisfying roar vibrated around her. She raised both powerful arms, crashed through the door, flinging it aside like cardboard. She loved the sound.

  There he was. Her victim. She stumbled towards him.

  “Get back, Abby. I need — I need one more minute.” Stan backed away from her. She followed. He snapped a switch that threw on all the lights in the room.

  “There! I think I have it. Pray it works, Abby. For you and for me.” Stan threw a glass vial at her.

  She hated the light, shielded her eyes. At the same time, she laughed, shrieked, roared again. He thought that small tube of glass could stop her. She reached for him as acrid fumes surrounded her. Coughing, she grasped both of his arms, started to lift him up, slam him against the wall.

  Then — then — she sank into a deep black void. Down, down, down she fell, her mind in darkness.

  Until a black hole consumed her, held her captive.

  Chapter 22

  “Let me go! Let go!” Abby struggled to get out of Stan’s arms. “What do you mean? What are you doing? Get away from me.”

  Abby scooted away from Stan, then realized she was sitting in something that smelled awful. Almost as bad as — as —

  She began to remember.

  She broke into uncontrollable sobbing, a hysterical crying jag that lasted for several minutes. Stan let her cry. He crouched beside her.

  Slowly, slowly her control was returning. She felt so empty, so frightened, so alone.

  “It was me, Stan. I was that — that thing. I attacked people, hurting them. David — I did that to David.” She sobbed again.

  Stan circled her with both his strong arms. Pulled her close and held her tightly until she stopped crying. Then he pulled out a huge white handkerchief and handed it to her.

  She mopped her face, blew her nose. “How could I? How could I do such a thing?”

  “It wasn’t you, Abby. It was what you turned into.”

  “But I — I didn’t want to turn into that — that thing. It was that stuff I mixed up, wasn’t it? That awful smell.”

  “Yes, you did something pretty remarkable when you come right down to it.” Stan talked as she struggled to calm down. “I’ve always wondered what Dr. Jekyll mixed up and drank to turn into Mr. Hyde. You discovered it, or something similar. You’ve made some kind of chemical breakthrough. By accident.”

  “Oh, Stan, I didn’t mean to. And I hurt people. Look at all the people I hurt.”

  “But the miracle of it.” Stan’s voice held awe.

  “I — I don’t want some kind of Nobel prize for chemistry, Stan. I just want this to be a terrible nightmare. To wake up and find I dreamed it.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “What can I do?” Abby started thinking about David again. “Poor David. The scars. He’s going to have awful scars because of me. Why did I do that to him, when I was that — that terrible beast?”

  “Well, I have two theories, Abby.” Stan scooted away from Abby now that she was calm. He crossed his legs and hugged his knees, as if this were some kind of normal philosophical discussion they were having. “The first attacks were random. You attacked Lenny because he was there when the first spell hit you. I guess the reaction was delayed the first few times it happened. Then it became easier to change.”

  “And Jerry. I must have left here and once I — I changed, I wandered into those woods. He came along …”

  “Then David made you angry. It was becoming easier for you to make the transformation. You were reexposed to the chemicals each time you tried to mix up that brew again. So it became easier and easier to change. I think anger triggered the appearance of the beast the last two times.”

  “I wasn’t angry enough to hurt David.” Abby bit her lip to keep from crying again.

  “Sometimes we don’t realize how much anger is stored inside of us, Abby. My theory is that you’ve always been a very nice girl. And a control freak. There must have been many times over the years when you’ve suppressed anger, pushed it down, said I will stay in control, not lose my temper.”

  “You’re right. I’ve done that. I tried not to be angry at Sissy, at David. I tried to be a good sport, Stan.”

  “I’m not much of one to preach, Abby. I keep a lot of anger inside myself, too. But there’s nothing like a huge yelling, screaming fit of temper to clear the air. Anger itself is a nasty beast if it’s not let out occasionally.”

  “But look at what I’ve done. I have to accept responsibility.”

  “Yes, you do. But I’d have to say that Quinton Brooks deserved being attacked. Men who beat up on women are the worst kind of animals.”

  Abby’s first apo
logy was to Stan. “You know, Stan, you’re not as bad a guy as I thought you were. How can I ever thank you for tonight? What would I have done if you hadn’t been there?”

  “I don’t know. But acknowledge my genius at finding an antidote for your potion so fast,” Stan grinned.

  “You can have my chemistry award, Stan. How’d you do that?”

  “To tell the truth, Abby, I’ve suspected you for a while now. And so I followed you, to see if my hypothesis was accurate. I had already given some thought to what you might have mixed up and what might counteract it. If I hadn’t hit on the right mixture, you would have put me in the hospital tonight.”

  Abby studied her hands, her back-to-normal hands. Surely this was all a dream, a nightmare. Again she wished it were. She got to her feet, looked around. The storage closet was a shambles. It was no dream. She had done that. She picked up her notebook, stained with a yellowish-brown color. Flipped to the last page of notes.

  “I have to call the police, Stan. I have to turn myself in. I don’t know what they’ll do, but —”

  “There probably isn’t any precedent for this kind of case, unless you count the novel, but Hyde killed his victims.”

  “What if the police don’t believe me?”

  “I guess you can just write it off to experience, forget about it, since it won’t happen again.”

  “I can’t forget this, Stan.”

  “I know you can’t, Abby. But I do have one suggestion before you do anything else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This formula, list of chemicals and proportions —”

  “Should be destroyed. You’re right.” Abby ripped the sheet from her notebook. The flame still burned on her Bunsen burner. She held the paper sideways over the fire. Watched as it flamed, burned down to ashes. She crumbled the ashes on the counter.

  She walked to Dr. Curruthers’s office. The wooden door she — no, the monster — had thrown had broken the glass in the office door. She reached in, turned the lock, opened it. Stan followed her inside. She rested her hand on the phone for a few seconds.

  “Will I have to leave Salem?”

  “It depends. Maybe the police will agree to keep this whole thing secret.”

  “I can’t think right now what would be the best for everyone concerned.” Abby couldn’t even imagine telling Officer Mooney her story. She started to dial 911.

  Stan’s hand covered hers. “Abby, I know I’m not much in the social graces department. I’ve never even dated a girl before.” He held up one hand as she looked at him, eyes wide. “Hey, I’m not asking again for you to go out with me. But you’re going to need a friend. One who does believe what’s happened. If you’d let me —if—”

  “I’d be honored, Stan. Thanks. You might turn out to be the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  Abby reached for the phone again to report — to turn in the monster that had been terrorizing Salem University.

  About the Author

  Barbara Steiner (1934–2014) was an acclaimed author known for her books for children and young adults. Steiner authored over seventy titles, including picture books, early chapter books, mysteries, young adult thrillers, historical novels, and romances. In her lifetime, Steiner visited more than ninety-four countries and all seven continents, and many of her books were inspired by her travels. She lived in Boulder with her family until her death in January 2014.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1994 by Barbara Steiner

  Cover design by Mimi Bark

  ISBN: 978-1-4976-2857-1

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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