Her Ugly Monster (book 1)

by Kaylee Rymer

“And where are you going?”

  She stopped and turned back. “I forgot, I need to go into town before I start the dinner. I’m out of blue paint.”

  Mother raised a brow. “That’s because it’s all stuck in your hair, sweetie.”

  Ivora reached a hand up to the flower.

  “Did you really think you could hide it from me? Remember to add ‘washing hair’ to your list of chores,” Mother said, turning the spoon.

  Ivora adjusted the flower a little and headed outside.

  “Oh, and Ivora,” her mother called after her again. “Just maybe we will take you to see the ocean for your birthday after all.”

  Ivora froze at the threshold, staring at her mother slack-jawed. Mother, meanwhile, wore a gigantic grin on her face.

  Her heart lurched, and Ivora almost choked. She swallowed, trying to regain her composure.

  “Now go before all the best paints are taken.” Mother ushered her outside and shut the door.

  Ivora stared at the peeling paint of the door, disbelief swirling through her mind.

  Did she really hear right? Had Mother just confessed their plans for her sixteenth birthday?

  Ivora jumped up and squealed, doing a happy little dance, but stopped when all the goats looked up from the paddock. Even a few chickens ogled her.

  She brushed her hair aside, fixed the flower, and marched to town.

  THE SUN SHONE IN A cloudless sky as a gentle breeze swept through the woods, bringing Ivora the sweet scent of blossoms.

  The woodland path towards town was a charming walk. Trees lined the road on either side, filled with the chatter of birds. A friendly robin came to say hello, and she held her palm out and fed it some seeds.

  When it had its fill, it fluttered off into the woods again, and Ivora smiled.

  Just four more weeks and she would get to see the great big blue. She almost squealed again but instead opted for a spin, swinging her basket around. Would the ocean be as blue as the painting on her wall? How many shades would she find when she gazed into its watery depths? Perhaps she would discover a shade she’d never seen before, a rare turquoise of some kind?

  Ivora gazed up at the sky, imagining it was a great expanse of water. She had always dreamed of seeing the point where the sky touched the sea.

  Dull colours greeted her when she entered the town, all beiges, browns, and greys. Market stalls lined the streets, filled with humdrum items: yarn, metal, cogs, shoes, and old ladies’ bonnets.

  The only light at the end of the dreary tunnel — Arthur’s art shop. Arthur was the only friend Ivora had in town, a local artist who the town considered a crackpot, much like her dear mother. His shop sat beside the butchers, much to Ivora’s distaste.

  “Hello,” she said to several passersby.

  They whispered and stared, and Ivora felt her ears burn. A group of girls hovered outside a dress shop, and several pointed in her direction.

  Tabitha Tweedle, the ringleader, giggled. “Look at her hair,” she said.

  Ivora touched her head, and her skin paled. The flower had fallen out. No wonder everyone was whispering today, but it wouldn’t be the first time she came into town covered in paint. That was Ivora, after all, the odd girl who liked to paint.

  Most of the other girls in town only cared about being a housewife and settling down with a husband, but Ivora wanted to paint and travel the world first.

  There was a rumour that Tabitha was engaged to the sheriff’s son and was getting married next spring. Ivora hadn’t been invited.

  Once upon a time Ivora and Tabitha were the best of friends, but things turned sour when they reached twelve. As if by magic, Tabitha had transformed from a sweet, funny girl into a malicious bully, and now she was never without her crowd of girls.

  The girl’s laughs increased in volume, and Ivora whipped her head around. Tabitha folded her arms, waiting for Ivora’s reply. The other girls stood and watched.

  It was no wonder Tabitha won the affection of the sheriff’s son; she was tall with dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and full-sized breasts. Ivora was thin and girlish, with barely any chest.

  Ivora moved away at last. The girls burst out laughing behind her, but they weren’t the only ones. Several others had joined in too.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she held her head high, refusing to let the town see her cry.

  At least she was leaving soon. Now they’d have to find someone else to laugh at.

  She passed the sheriff’s office where people milled around. Unfortunately, they crowded the street, making it difficult to get to Arthur’s luminous door.

  Ivora fought her way through, but the crowd pushed her aside. A man stepped on her foot and she hissed in pain. Frustrated, she turned to see what the cause of the commotion was.

  The sheriff had placed a poster on a notice board.

  “I hear it skins children alive and boils their flesh,” a woman said.

  “Well, I heard it breathes fire,” a man replied.

  “Now that’s just ridiculous.”

  The townsfolk started arguing.

  Ivora gawped at the crowd. What were they talking about?

  Someone pushed her towards the poster, and the hairs on the back of her neck pricked on end. A horned creature scowled back; it had the eyes of a reptile and the tongue of a snake. Her eyes moved up to the bold black writing: Worcog. Wanted for theft.

  “So gruesome,” a woman shivered next to her, covering her small boy’s eyes.

  Ivora had to agree. A monster like this couldn’t exist. It was like a creature from a story her mother read to her once as a child. They lurked in your closets and under your beds, only coming forth when darkness engulfed the land.

  She stared into its cold reptilian eyes, and a frigid hand gripped her heart. The worcog seemed to have brought a winter chill.

  The crowd shoved her aside once again, and more people came to investigate.

  Ivora had almost forgotten why she was there until the bright yellow door of Arthur’s shop caught her eye.

  She moved to the shop with nothing but goat-like creatures on her mind.

  3. Weegel

  Weegel narrowed his eyes at his map. The kingdom of Liona spread out before him. Named for its resemblance to the mighty cat, the north made up the mouth and head, while the south included a foot and tail. Three peninsulas created a fearsome mane along the eastern shoreline, and a roaring mouth engulfed a small series of islands to the west.

  According to his coordinates, he should be entering the border of Chars-town. Weegel looked ahead. Nothing but dense thick forest.

  He stepped forward, and a strong force sent him flying onto his back. Next, he was staring up at the forest canopy, leaves swirling in a green blur above. A dull pain throbbed through his skull.

  What just happened?

  He sat up, rubbing his sore head. A rippling wall appeared several feet away, creating the shape of a bubble.

  So the rumours were true; an invisible barrier protected Chars-town. According to legend, a witch had cast a protective spell around the town to ward off criminals and to keep the peace. Except for one little caveat: the wall would one day shatter and allow enemies to penetrate, a punishment for her execution by the townspeople. It was only a matter of how or when.

  Well, Weegel hadn’t come all this way for nothing. One way or other, he was getting inside the town.

  He tiptoed towards the barrier, reaching a hand out at arm’s length. His fingers grazed the outer wall, and a sensation like fire tore through his flesh and propelled him back.

  “Ouch!” he yelped, shaking his fingers to cool them off.

  It seemed the wall knew of his true intentions: to come into town and steal.

  But he would not give up. Somehow, Weegel would get inside.

  Suddenly, a horse emerged from nowhere, almost knocking him off his feet. Weegel backed up against a tree, scowling at the rider as he rounded the bend. The idiot ought to look where he was going.

 
Weegel watched the chickens clucking at the back of his cart. What if he could be imported like livestock? Maybe then he could bypass the spell and gain entry into the town.

  Crouching down into the bushes, he waited for his chance to break in. The sun glared down, making him sweat. He pulled on his collar, allowing air to slip through his shirt.

  Sheep bleated up ahead, and his heart raced. It seemed destiny was finally on his side.

  Weegel closed his eyes, whispering to himself, “I am a sheep. I only yearn to follow and do as I’m told.”

  “You’ve always been a sheep,” Rosemary said.

  He took a deep breath. “I know...”

  Rosemary only helped. All his childhood taunts of goat and sheep rushed through his mind, and he smiled.

  The cart appeared up the road, carrying fluffy white sheep inside. Slipping out from behind the bush, Weegel climbed up onto the cart, clearing his mind and filling it with nothing but sheep-like thoughts. Follow the herd, blend in, and never stand out.

  The cart passed through the barrier. Weegel gazed around in astonishment. A new road appeared, leading towards a town in the distance. A clock tower chimed the hour, carrying over the surrounding fields.

  His plan had worked.

  Weegel laughed and rubbed his horns. For once they were a blessing and not a curse.

  The sound of chatter soon reached his ears, and his joy vanished. Of course, there were the people of the town to contend with. If he put his head down, making sure his face and horns were covered, he’d avoid detection. Then at nightfall when they all go to bed, he would sneak into their houses and take his fill.

  The cart stopped outside a pub, and the rider jumped off and disappeared inside. A chorus of merry sounds burst out onto the street when he opened the door, followed by a strong whiff of ale.

  Weegel looked up at the swinging pub sign: the Burning Witch Inn. What a nice nod to the woman they burned hundreds of years ago. There was even a little complimentary picture of a red-headed lady standing amidst the flames.

  He climbed out of the cart, saying his farewell to the sheep, and moved off down a busy high street. Under the hood, he appeared like any other boy, though he still kept to the shadows. They had plastered several of his posters along the walls.

  Humans brushed past him, their voices loud and raucous. So far they all appeared to be farmers, merchants, or other types of tradesmen. Where were the finely dressed gentlemen Weegel had heard so much about? The beautiful ladies in their silk gowns? The ground he walked on was simple cobblestone, not gem. He guessed the last may have been an over exaggeration, but Weegel had still understood the sentiment — the town was filthy rich.

  Everyone he passed either smelled of manure or ale. No rich perfumes and exotic spices, or a glint of gold to be found.

  That was the last time he’d take advice from an old babbling fart he met in a tavern. What a waste of time. Weegel risked his neck for nothing.

  At least the women weren’t bad to look at. A group of girls gathered outside a dress shop. The dresses were of simple cotton designs, but the girls still marvelled as if they were made of silk.

  The ringleader stopped her friends and pointed. Weegel followed their gazes. The door of an alarmingly yellow shop front opened, and a girl stepped out, hair of the lightest shade.

  Weegel’s pulse quickened. Now she was definitely easy on the eyes.

  An old man with white tufts of hair waved her away. “You’ll have to let me come over and see your painting once it’s finished, dear.”

  “I will,” the girl chimed. “With my new turquoise, too, the waves are sure to come to life.”

  The old man chuckled. “You take care now,” he said and disappeared inside.

  The girl faced forward, a bright smile on her perky face. But then her grin vanished, and a sombre frown took its place. She drew a deep breath and walked through the crowd. She passed the girls by the dress shop, who regarded her as if she were a pile of manure.

  “Aw, look, she’s bought herself some more paint. Now she can cover the whole of her head,” the ringleader said.

  They all laughed.

  Weegel glowered at the girls. He didn’t get the joke, but it was the manner in which it was spoken. It was caused to inflict pain. Well, mental pain to the poor girl. Human females were so cruel to each other. At least the boys only used their fists as Weegel had experienced first-hand.

  The girl picked up her pace, and Weegel noticed she was crying. More pity her. Only a fool would let such a petty comment get to her.

  He looked about himself. Why was he even observing such a juvenile display of behaviour? He had more important matters at hand, such as finding jewels to steal. There had to be a jeweller somewhere. Even an antique store would suffice.

  Something around the fair girl’s neck caught his eye, a bright gold chain with a pendant attached.

  Weegel moved closer to get a second look. As the girl approached, he eyed her pendant, and his heart stopped.

  A Westwind seal. There was no mistaking the bright blue wave blowing westwards. How in the world did a peasant girl get her hands on such a valuable item?

  She moved her teary eyes up to his, and he faced the other way. At least she couldn’t see the dribble running down his chin.

  An aching hunger spread through his chest and he salivated even more. He had to get his hands on the necklace. Finally, a chance to escape and find his ancestral homeland. No more being on the run, no more humans.

  Weegel carried on a few more steps before turning around again, his heart pounding. The girl had vanished. How could he have let her escape so easily? She’d been carrying two thousand gold lions around her bloody neck!

  She’d been wearing a blue cloak. That Weegel could recall. And there she was up ahead, disappearing into the crowd looking like a giant blueberry.

  Weegel weaved his way through the crowd, keeping his eyes on the back of her skull. They moved through the high street, past the pub where the cart was still parked, and out onto a quiet road.

  He kept his distance, lest the girl suspected he was following her. She vanished inside a wood, and Weegel broke into a jog, catching glimpses of her blue cloak through the trees.

  She approached an adorable chocolate box cottage at the end of the road then entered the front gate.

  Weegel stopped behind a tree. Ivy and honeysuckle draped the walls of the tiny dwelling, blending in perfectly with the surrounding woods. Bees and butterflies fluttered amongst the flowers, their wings creating a musical hum in the warm afternoon.

  Weegel stuck his tongue out. It was as if a fairy tale spat up all over the place.

  He moved around the perimeter of the cottage, taking in every detail. There were a stable and kennels out back, a paddock with a number of goats, and various chickens pecking around. There was also an enormous cabbage twice the size of his head.

  Weegel fixed his gaze to the back door of the cottage. Voices drifted over the top half.

  He crept closer, passing the paddock where a baby goat poked its head through the fence.

  Apart from its yellow eyes, Weegel hardly saw the resemblance to himself, though he had to admit its stubby horns were delightful. A pink collar around the goat’s neck dubbed it ‘Lucy’.

  A female voice carried over the yard. “I’m worried about the worcog...”

  Weegel turned his head towards the door. Did he just hear right? He counted a few beats before creeping forward to investigate.

  It was clear the girl was distressed. From what he could gather, she had seen a poster of him in town and was now scared for her life.

  Not that Weegel could blame her; his posters were terrifying.

  “How come you never told me there were creatures like him?” she asked.

  The hair rose on the back of Weegel’s neck. Her tone, so fragile and innocent, seemed to send an exciting chill up his spine.

  Silence drifted out the open door. It appeared no one was able to answer her.


  After a while, a male voice sighed. “Some things are best left unknown.”

  “But the townspeople say he’s dangerous and will steal anything dear to you,” the girl cried. “What if he took one of the goats? What about Lucy?”

  Weegel looked back at the paddock and there was Lucy staring at him. Those big yellow eyes gazed into his soul, and he shivered.

  “It’ll be fine,” an older woman replied. “The townspeople aren’t the brightest bunch, so don’t listen to a word they say. He’s probably miles away by now. After all, who comes to Chars-town?”

  Another silent beat. Weegel almost felt bad about scaring her, but it wasn’t as if he drew that terrifying image. For one, he wasn’t even that imaginative.

  “Why don’t you start on your chores? Your father and I will be leaving in an hour. Best to get the dinner going.”

  The girl released a breath. “Okay.”

  “That’s our girl.”

  Footsteps approached the door. Weegel dashed towards the paddock to hide amongst the goats.

  The girl appeared carrying a bucket. She was coming towards him. Weegel crouched, sweat soaking his face.

  She reached the paddock, tossing the contents of the bucket over the fence. A mouldy cabbage hit Weegel on the head, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the girl.

  Her soft face was etched in deep lines. It was as if a dark cloud hovered over her sun-coloured hair, but despite her gloomy chill, she was beautiful. She had heart-shaped lips and a pair of round green eyes that would captivate any human male.

  Thank the gods he wasn’t a human then. It would make stealing from her harder.

  Before he could act, she wandered off towards the cottage and shut the door.

  Weegel sighed and massaged his temples. That was the second time he hesitated today. First the boys, and now the girl. It was as if he were turning soft.

  He could always wait around until the parents leave, then break in and take the necklace.

  More footsteps arrived. Weegel held his breath, heart bashing against his ribs. His second chance, he couldn’t mess it up.

  A tall man appeared. Thick, muscle-toned, and three times Weegel’s size.