Chapter 9
For Every Fairy, Ten Monsters

“Scary monsters, super creeps, keep me running, running scared.”
— from “Scary Monsters” by David Bowie

The discovery of spanking my monkey was just about the only thing I got out of junior high that was good. The rest was horror, pure and simple. Every day seemed to be a fight. Kids that age are terrible. They smell blood, and they swarm. Gone were the days that fighting was a one-on-one affair. These kids were pack animals. If the pack caught your scent, then it was a fight for your life. I fought alot of fights in junior high school, and senior high, and I won a few too.

One vicious slack-jawed asshole had singled me out as the focus of his rage, and I couldn’t shake this narrow-eyed unibrow neanderthal no matter how hard I tried. We fought, he still came at me. We were made to box in the gym and he still came at me. One time I stopped him briefly by burning a half dozen rocks into his skull (I have a wicked pitching arm, and deadly aim) and he still came at me. He wasn’t evil, he was just prosimian stupid, pug ugly, and mongrel mean. His name was Richard Eberhart and I sincerely hope wherever the state has chosen to incarcerate him, he is some bigger, meaner gorilla’s butt boy. I mean I can’t imagine this sadist out wandering the streets, for very long. I know he probably beat his wife, molest his kids, and tortures animals for fun. He probably wound up killing someone. He was that much of a psycho dickhead. He made my life miserable all the way through high school.

The good thing was, Richard was an idiot and he could be easily fooled. I don’t know how many times he fell for the old trick of telling him I would meet him after school at some chosen spot, and then I’d simply not show up. I must have done that hundreds of times. And every day, as I left by a different route, there would be Richard waiting for me like a good junkyard dog. I mean, how dumb could one dickless wonder be? Today this guy is comical to me, but back then he was like the Terminator: He just kept coming at me like a mindless automaton, which is exactly what he was.

As bad as Richard was, he really was a minor monster to deal with. A bottom feeder. Possibly a goblin or a ghoul. Nothing with any romance to it at all. Spawn of a succubus, or possibly seed of an incubus. A genetic recessive run amok.

My social standing had dropped, moving to a new neighborhood. At my old school I was a kinda popular guy. Not for being a jock or anything but because I was funny. Funny goes a long way on the playground and in the lunchroom, when you can do all the kid classics like squirt milk out your nose and master the Pit Pump at the same time. At this school, I couldn’t gain any respect even with a well-timed belch and fart combo. I was a nobody, and worst of all the girls didn’t like me. What happened?

I’ll tell you what happened. Puberty hit me and I was a nightmare of raging testosterone and leaking secretions. It wasn’t fair! How come there are all those guys in school that seem to thrive on the boy juice. They get stronger and better-looking everyday. Are they freaks? Are they aliens, or are they the product of some selective breeding program in the Ukraine? I wasn’t really sure, but one thing that kind of warms my heart now is that I have since run into a few of these guys in different places, and let me tell you, they don’t age well at all. They bloat, they bald, and they sag wonderfully.

Still, at the time, without the perspective of future vision, I envied those fuckers because they held the girls’ attention, and guys like me were either invisible or the target of savage schoolgirl ridicule. And the sickest part is, I was starting to crave that ridicule from girls like a drug. It was becoming an important element in my masturbatory fantasies. I craved their attention, good or bad, with equal relish, and it freaked me out. Stupidly, I thought to myself, “how could it get any worse.” But of course, it could. It can always get worse. Much, much worse.

I didn’t know that my little junior high school had a monster lurking in it. A thing from the primordial pit. A vicious, bloodthirsty maneater, whose very existence is anathema to humanity. The kind of thing that, when discovered, your every instinct is to kill it on sight. The kind of monster that Tempest had tried so hard to warn me about.

How could I know that my math teacher was a wraith? Wraiths are creatures who were once human, but their humanity has been eaten away and replaced by darkness. Alot of politicians are wraiths. He didn’t look like a wraith on the outside. He was a skinny guy with white hair and washed-out blue eyes. He was always smiling. At the time I thought that smile was the byproduct of a kindly personality, but since then I’ve seen pictures of hyenas hunting, and they smile just like that when they are crushing bones to get to the marrow inside.

His name was Mr. Richards, and despite the fact that he was a math teacher he was very popular with the students. Kids hung out in his class after school the same way they liked to hang out at the mall or the Recreation Center down the street. I have to admit I liked him, too. He was smart, easy to talk to, and wise in the ways of the savage youth. He was married, with a daughter who was a mere toddler, and he was very well-respected in the local community. Hardly what one would call a monster at all.

Mr. Richards knew I was having trouble in class, so he had invited me to stop by after school to give me some help. I was grateful for the attention. Grateful... the idea that at the time I was grateful makes me want to vomit. The funny thing, when I did show up after school, it seemed we didn’t talk very much about math at all. He wanted to know all about me. My family, my friends, my ideas, and my dreams, and these talks would last for hours, and he always seemed to have the time for me. What a swell guy.

When predators hunt, they stalk the herd, looking for the outsiders and the strays. I had no idea that Mr. Richards was stalking me, talking to the kids to find out about me, and then hinting that he found me strange to those same kids. When a popular teacher labels you weird, then that’s it, you might as well move to Antarctica, ‘cause your life is over in polite society. He was culling me from the herd. Isolating me, so then when he did attack, I would be alone and vulnerable.

The attack came probably at my worst possible time. I wasn’t getting along with my parents. Puberty was kicking my ass, and the girl I did like had just told her friends that I made her sick. I was sitting after school in Mr. Richards’ class for one of our so-called lessons, when Mr. Richards announced he was going on sabbatical to Kenya.

“Wow, cool!” I said. That was always a dream of mine. I have always adored animals and they have always adored me. In particular the great apes. I would give anything to be able to see them in the wild. And he knew it. He knew all about me. He told me that there might be an opening for a student assistant to come along, and wondered if I would be interested.

“Hell yes!” I exploded. “That would be fantastic.”

Mr. Richards smiled back at me, that toothy shark grin, dripping venom and lust. God I wish I was more experienced. I have seen that grin a million times since then on a million horny creeps’ faces but at the time he seemed so nice and genuine.

“There’s an application you have to fill out. Lots of paperwork. Why don’t you come on over to my house after school tomorrow and we can fill them out together? Then I can make some calls.”

“Really? Holy shit, Mr. Richards, thank you!”

Oh Goddess, I was a naive motherfucker. I can still see myself walking down the street toward his house, all smiles and blissful in my innocence. A last moment of childhood and sanity. Sure I may have been a little different in my fantasy life than some kids, but I was not so different that I deserved what I got. Nobody does. I walked up to his door and rang the bell, and he came to the door letting me in, laughing all the time. Asking if I needed a coke. I said sure, and then the door closed behind me and he locked it.

A few minutes later, the screaming started.

– to be continued –