Perfect Little Monsters and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Then what do you want?” I ask, trying to ignore the growing sense of panic in my chest. “Can you just open your fucking mouth and tell me? Please?”

  I wait, but he simply continues to stare straight me. That goddamn mask is starting to seriously freak me out. It's like he bought a pretty simple mask from some toy shop and then he painted it black before, I don't know, melting it in places. Even the dark eye-holes look all twisted and messed-up, like it's hard to believe his eyes line up with them. Maybe underneath he's some kind of freak.

  Finally, sighing, I realize that he's waiting for me to speak.

  “What,” I say firmly, holding back tears, “do you want? Can you at least tell me that?”

  He takes a step closer.

  “Do you want me to hate you?” I continue. “Is that it? Are you trying to teach me some kind of lesson? 'Cause well done, buddy, you succeeded. I hate you. Like, I really, really hate you, more than I've ever hated anyone in my life. You knocked two of my fucking teeth out, for fuck's sake!” Again I wait, but again he just takes another step toward me. “I really hate you,” I add, looking up at him, feeling as if I really don't want him to get too close. “You've made your point. Now can I please, please get the fuck out of this fucking chair?”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  Behind him, flowers are still blowing in the wind. I don't know where we are, but it looks like the edge of -

  Suddenly he grabs my shoulders and tips the chair over, sending me slamming down onto my side against the concrete floor. I let out a gasp as my head hits the ground, but before I can react I feel a book crunching into my chest and I cry out. For a few seconds, my vision is filled with flashes and blotches; I blink furiously a few times, clearing my sight, as I become aware of the guy walking around me. I thought the chair was bolted to the floor earlier, but somehow it's free now and on its side. I hold my breath, but suddenly he kicks the back of the chair hard, again and again, and the toe of his boot keeps slipping through the chair's slats and hitting my spine.

  “Stop!” I scream, as the force of his kicks pushes me forward. A moment later I hear a splitting sound from the chair, and then the guy steps around me again.

  I wait, desperately trying to get my breath back.

  Suddenly he kicks the chair's legs, slamming his boot down against them until they start breaking. Too scared to move, I wait as he steps around and starts kicking the seat with his heel, and finally the chair's frame starts to come apart. He's aiming at the chair, but every few seconds he misses and kicks me instead, and I scream as his heel slams into my thigh.

  Reaching down, he grabs what's left of the chair's frame and puts me and it on our backs.

  “Please,” I stammer, “don't -”

  I scream as he slams his boot against my belly, then again as he kicks the frame. I hear the sound of wood splintering, and then the guy grabs my shoulder and rolls me across the ground, dragging me until he shoves me down again. Desperately out of breath, I roll onto my side and see broken pieces of wood all over the floor.

  “There,” he says calmly. “You're out of the chair. Happy?”

  Fumbling with my wrists, I find that they're still tied. I try to wriggle them free, but the flesh around the top of my hands already feels so sore, I'm worried I might rub through to the bone. After a moment, realizing that I just have to get out of here, that this must be his way of freeing me, I start stumbling to my feet.

  “I didn't tell you to get up,” he says, still towering over me.

  Ignoring him, I stand on trembling knees.

  Suddenly he kicks my right leg, sending me slamming back down against the concrete. Shocked, I hesitate for a moment before trying again, but the same thing happens.

  “I didn't tell you to get up,” he says again.

  Rolling onto my front, I try wriggling across the concrete floor toward the door at the far end of the room, only for the guy to put his foot on my leg, pressing down hard.

  “Stay.”

  I try to get my leg free, but he's pushing down so hard, it really hurts.

  “Stay, Molly.”

  “What do you want?” I scream, turning and looking up at him. “You're not gonna kill me, so what the fuck do you want?”

  I wait, but he's just staring at me. After a moment, he releases the pressure on my leg a little, but I don't try to get away, not this time. He'd only hurt me again.

  “You're not gonna kill me,” I continue, my voice trembling a little. “Are you? I mean, you're crazy, but you're not that crazy.”

  Again I wait.

  “I get it,” I tell him. “You're teaching me a lesson. I'm supposed to become a better person and... and... I'm supposed to not be so angry, not be such a bitch, and you want me to stop throwing the word 'hate' around all over the place. You've made me really see my faults, okay? Job done.”

  I wait.

  No reply.

  “So if you just let me go,” I continue, “then I can prove to you that I'm fixed, can't I? And if it turns out that I still haven't learned my lesson, then you can come get me all over again and really beat the crap out of me, and then I'll learn.”

  I wait.

  Nothing.

  “Please let me go,” I add, finding it harder and harder to keep from sobbing. “Please, just let me go home. I'll do anything you want, but just let me out of here. I'll even do things for you before you leave. If that's what you want, I'll do anything, just name it, but just... Tell me you're gonna let me go.”

  Silence.

  I stare up at him for a moment, before finally the panic takes hold and I look over toward the door.

  “Help!” I scream, even though my throat hurts like a bitch. “Help me!”

  Unable to hold myself back, I start wriggling like some kind of goddamn worm as I desperately trying to make my way across the concrete floor. My entire body hurts, but after what feels like an eternity I finally reach the door. The guy doesn't seem to have followed me yet, so I'm starting to think that this really is his way out letting me go. Despite the pain, I manage to slowly get to my feet, while turning my back to the door so that finally I'm able to reach the handle with my tied-together hands. I give it a turn, only to find that it's locked. I try again and again, then I start fumbling to see if there's a key, and then finally I freeze for a moment before turning to look at the guy.

  He's still in the exact same spot, still just watching me.

  “What do you want?” I ask, as my whole body starts shivering. Slowly, unable to help myself, I start slipping down against the door until I end up sitting on the dusty concrete floor. “What do you want?” I scream, before breaking into a series of sobs. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Just tell me what the fuck you want!”

  For the next few minutes, all I can do is sit here against the wall and cry like a goddamn baby. No matter how hard I try to pull myself together, my body convulses with wave after wave of deep, agonized sobs, each one stronger than the last, each one causing my entire chest to heave. It's like I've totally lost control, and it takes a monumental amount of effort before I'm able to even begin to pull myself straight. My eyes are filled with tears, and I have to wipe them with my knees until I can see properly again.

  The guy is still standing in the same place, still watching me.

  I wait, but he doesn't make a move. For a moment, it's almost as if somehow he's stopped, as if maybe he's out of power. I've tried telling him what he wants to hear, but he seems hell-bent on making my life as miserable as possible. I swear, once I get out of this place, I am going to make sure this asshole goes to jail and never, ever sees the light of day again.

  And I will get out of here.

  I feel it in my gut.

  This idiot won't keep me in here forever.

  “So are you someone I've been mean to on the internet?” I ask. “Is that it? This is revenge? Are you someone who can't take a joke?”

  No reply. />
  “Maybe I did get a little carried away at times,” I continue, which isn't true at all. I mean, sure, I can take things to extremes, but those assholes all deserved it. Still, I need to say the right thing here. “Maybe they weren't jokes. Listen, I'll make you a deal. If you let me go right now, I'll do three things. First, I won't tell anyone about this. Not a soul. I won't get you in any kind of trouble. Two, I'll go straight home and delete all my programs, all the ones I've been using to set up the VPNs and tunnel in to systems, all that crap. And three, I'll never, ever send mean messages online again. I'll just stop and focus on being a good person. I've got exams to think about anyway, and I should start really getting down to work at high school.”

  I wait.

  Still nothing.

  “I wanna be a veterinarian,” I add, figuring it won't hurt to try to humanize myself a little. “That takes, like, tons of studying and stuff, so I could be doing that instead of spending all my time online. I'm not some total loser, I actually have plans for my life. I might hate most people, but I fucking love animals.”

  Again I wait.

  Again, nothing.

  “What if I totally disconnect from the internet?” I ask. “Would that satisfy you? Like, I swear, I'll limit myself to two hours a day, and most of that'll be gaming.”

  Silence.

  “I won't even chat during games.”

  No reply.

  I wait, trying to work out what else I can offer him.

  “I'll go be a fucking nun,” I add finally. “How about that? I'll literally find a convent and go there, and I'll join up! Is that what you want to hear? God, I fucking... I hate you!”

  I flinch as soon as I hear those words leave my lips. I knew I shouldn't say them, but they're just a habit these days.

  “Just lay it on the table, dude,” I continue, starting to run out of ideas. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I am in no fucking position to refuse. I'll even sign a contract! I will do literally anything, but Jesus Christ you have to actually, like, explain it to me. Maybe I'm dumb, maybe I'm not very perceptive and I should have already guessed, but I haven't. I'm flailing here, dude, and I'm not a mind-reader so -”

  Suddenly he turns and starts walking over to a desk in the far corner. I swallow hard, watching as he stops and opens a small case. Squinting, I try to see what he's doing, but my eyesight isn't worth a damn and all I can make out is that he's taken something small from the case and he's holding it up, as if he's examining it in the light from the window.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  Ignoring me, he takes something else from the case and puts it on top of the first item, and then he tilts them both upside down for a moment. When he turns, I see that he's holding a rag, and he's doused it in some kind of clear liquid from a bottle.

  “You are not drugging me again,” I tell him.

  He starts calmly walking toward me.

  “This isn't fair!” I shout, filled with panic. I try getting to my feet again, but obviously the door's no less locked than it was a moment ago, even as I furiously turn the handle. “Dude, you're not -”

  Grabbing my shoulder, he pulls me away from the door and then slams me down against the concrete. He's stronger than he looks, and he immediately grabs my legs. I try to kick him, but he's holding my ankles too tight and he starts dragging me back across the room, toward the desk in the corner.

  “Stop!” I shout, wriggling to get free. I need to kick this asshole in the face, but his grip is way too firm. “Leave me alone!” I tilt my head back until I can see the door. “Help me!” I scream. “Somebody help me!”

  I struggle some more, but no matter what I try, I just can't get free. Letting out a cry of frustration, I make the loudest noise possible, screaming and screaming until finally my throat can't take any more and all that comes out is a painful dry stutter. I can taste blood and I swear I can even feel strands of torn skin against the back of my tongue as I wait, trembling, for him to do or say something.

  Silence.

  I start sobbing, my whole body shuddering brutally.

  “I hate you,” I whimper, hoping against hope that it'll be enough. “I really hate you. Please, I do, I swear...”

  I sob for a few more minutes, before sheer exhaustion silences me and I fall still, with my head tilted back still looking toward the door.

  “You don't hate me,” he says after a moment.

  “I do,” I sob. “I really do.”

  “No,” he continues, “you don't. You're scared of me. Maybe you're angry, maybe you feel sorry for yourself, but you don't hate me. Believe me, true, pure hatred is something else. You can't think, you can't sleep, you can't eat, you can't contemplate any other thought except the need, the drive, to track down the object of your hatred and... and.. and just rain justice down on them. It eats at you, Molly. I'm serious, it physically feels as if something with teeth is chewing through your gut, but it never stops. Even when you finally pass out through sheer fatigue and exhaustion, it haunts your dreams, still consuming you.” He pauses, and I swear that for the first time there's a hint of emotion in his voice. “Hatred changes you, Molly. You can never be the same again. It's like being in love. Hell, you're just a kid, I don't even know if you're...”

  His voice trails off for a moment.

  “Ah, listen to me,” he mutters. “Of course you're capable. Everyone's capable, you just need to be pushed. You need to be changed.”

  Too exhausted to reply, I wait, just breathing slowly as I try to stop crying.

  “I had hoped that this would be enough,” he continues, “but deep down I knew it wouldn't be. Don't worry, though. I have a second phase all planned out already, and I can swing it into gear easily enough.”

  “Please don't,” I reply, turning to look at him. “Just let me out of here. Please, whatever the fuck you want, just tell me already! I'll do it, I'll give it to you, anything, but you have to tell me!”

  “You have a really nasal voice,” he says calmly, “and although I'm by no means prudish, I find your constant stream of cursing to be more than a little pathetic. Do you honestly ever listen to yourself, Molly?”

  “I will,” I stammer, panicking as I see the cloth in his hand. Fresh tears are welling in my eyes now, and I just want to get the hell out of here. “I'll listen to myself every day, I swear! If that's what you want, I'll do it. Just tell me! Anything! I'll never say the f-word again!”

  “I need a little time,” he replies, leaning down toward me and moving the cloth toward my face.

  “No!” I scream, turning and trying to slam my knee into his chest, only for him to push me back down.

  “Not too long,” he continues, holding me as I continue to struggle, “but I require a short period in which to get a few things done.”

  “I hate you!” I shout. “Is that what you want to hear? I never hated anyone in my life before, not really, but I hate you! You were right about how it feels! I hate you more than anything in the whole world!”

  “No,” he replies, before pausing for a moment, as if he's contemplating something. For the first time, I can just about make out his eyes beneath the mask, and they seem so dark and large. “You don't hate me,” he continues. “If you hated me, your entire soul would be consumed by the sensation.”

  “It is,” I stammer, “I swear.”

  He shakes his head.

  “I hate you,” I tell him. “That's what this is about. I get it. You think I use that word too much, so you decided to teach me what it really means. Well... job done, okay? I hate you. My whole body hates you, and...” My bottom lip is trembling again, and I'm on the verge of sobbing like a little baby. “I don't want to die,” I whimper finally. “Please, whatever else you to do me, I don't want to die. I want to be a vet!”

  “I know you do,” he says calmly.

  “I want to go to college!”

  “I know.”

  “And I want to go home.”

  “I know.”

  “S
o let me go,” I sob. “If I ever do anything bad again, you can come and get me, but just let me go and I'll be perfect for the rest of my life, I swear.”

  “It's not that easy.”

  “Please...” Staring at at the mask, I can still see his eyes. I swear, I don't think he's even blinked once since I've been looking at him. “I hate you,” I stammer. “Truly, I do. From the bottom of my soul to the top, you're the only person I've ever really hated. Isn't that what you want?”

  He pauses. “You don't hate me,” he says finally, before suddenly pressing the wet cloth against my face. “But you will.”

  I scream as I feel something hot burning in my mouth. I can't even cry out, and my body is too heavy to move a muscle, so the scream just turns inward, obliterating my thoughts and echoing through my skull.

  “I just need a little time to set things up,” he continues, but his voice sounds distorted now, as if I'm losing consciousness. “It shouldn't take too long.”

  Four

  When I open my eyes, the first thing I see is that the door is wide open. Pieces of the broken chair are scattered all over the floor, just the way they were left before, but the door...

  The door is open.

  I start to sit up, but I immediately feel heavy, painful stiffness in all my joints. Letting out a gasp, I drag myself back on my elbows and then I lean against the wall for a moment. When I look over at the table in the corner, I see that it seems to be empty, and there's no sign of the guy with the mask at all. Glancing up at the window, I watch for a few seconds as thick grass dances in the breeze. I could've sworn there were just a few plants out there before, but now there's grass.

  And water.

  Drops of water all over the glass, as if it's been raining.

  Despite the pain that's flickering throughout my body, I stumble to my feet and start limping toward the door. I know there's a chance that this is a trick, that he'll be waiting outside, but deep down there's a part of me that hopes this is really the end, that he's finally left me alone. After all, he definitely taught me a lesson. I hate that asshole with every fiber of my being, and I'm gonna make sure he gets what's coming to him. I'll go to the cops, and then they'll track him down using DNA or something. I mean, Jesus Christ, he drugged me and beat me, and he even knocked out a couple of my teeth. That's a little worse than anything I've ever done to anyone, so he deserves to rot in jail.