THE MONSTER


Death is wasted on humans.
The greatest metaphysical experience in the world and you spend all your life running away
and then you don’t even REMEMBER it 
Most people slip right away like woosh!
They don’t even feel their death coming on them.
Oh sure there’s the priors
the failing blood cells or the car crash or the bullet wound in your colon
but death itself is entirely without pain.
And you people fucking hate it!
You choose to extend the parts with the shitting in bags and making people cry because of your sheer smallness of imagination.

I mean, I don’t want to die.
That’s different though.

No one knows what happens when a monster dies.
You get this like, beautiful tingling-away, and I get I don’t know maybe the paranormal equivalent of a trash compactor.

I offer you a perfect death.
One chomp, one crunch, and then - !

And then the infinite sprawling Then.

It’s not so bad.
It’s not so bad.


KAYLEEN


The next day we get a letter from the school district letting our parents know that a student was missing and to talk it out with us if we needed help processing.
There will be, the letter reads, a manhunt starting tomorrow at 6pm at North Beach.
The Reed kid? asks my Dad, buried somewhere under the TV.
Our signal is out, but my Dad doesn’t believe in calling someone to do a task he is, quote, “perfectly capable” of doing himself.
We should close the park, I say. Out of respect.
Dad shrugs - weeknights aren’t great business anyway - and half an hour later I’m biking into town, my heart thumping in my throat.
I’m sweating buckets by the time I get there, and I try to wipe my face on my t-shirt which only makes it worse.
Tanya, of course, rolls up without a drop of sweat on her, dark eyes hidden behind heart-shaped sunglasses.
Why didn’t you drive? she whispers, as we enter the quiet cool of the library.
I can’t, I tell her.
She clicks her tongue.
It’s not that hard, she says. I can teach you.
We don’t really know where to start. Tanya sashays up to the half-dead librarian behind the desk and says very nicely that she’s doing a summer project on local legends. The librarian disappears for a few minutes and returns, panting heavily, with a stack of newspapers.
You’re a con artist, I tell Tanya, as she spreads the heavy pile out on the table.
She laughs. I’m actually a pretty shit liar.
What are you talking about? I ask. You lie like all the time.
She purses her lips.
I don’t lie. I pretend. It’s different.
Tanya pushes her hair back to look at me.
I’ve always been jealous of you.
I choke on my own spit.
Me?
She nods.
You’re not capable of pretending. You’re just…you.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I cast around in the pile.
Look -
There’s a drawing, in a paper from the 1950s, of a towering sea-serpent.
Joseph Rich to hunt famous Bear Lake Monster, Tanya reads. Rich’s grandfather, Bear Lake founder Charles Rich, famously named Bear Lake “the most haunted lake in the American West.” 
I notice she reads fast.
He says his grandpa - Charles Rich - was mocked for saying that he’d seen the Monster, even though it brought in tourists and stuff.
Did Joseph Rich find it? I ask.
She shakes her head. It doesn’t say.
We dig through the rest of the pile - a mixture of ads for the Strawberry Days Festival in August, where the star attraction is always a big monster-shaped float, and various tourists reporting sightings.
My Mom always liked the festival. She’d try to eat as many strawberries as she could, until they stained her fingers blood-red.

It looks like most of these turned out to be like, boats or bears, I say.
It’s funny, says Tanya. My great-great grandmother or something was in Elder Rich’s party.
You knew your great-great grandmother? I ask, stupidly.
She kept journals, Tanya says. I don’t know. I’ve never read them.
We should find them, I say. There might be some info we can use.
She nods. I’ll ask my Mom.
Tanya reads like me, nose scraping the page.
Her face is like the sky: everything’s there, if you know how to look for it.


EMILY


I could feel Sam’s eyes on me all through dinner but I could not meet them.
He had no way of knowing what I had overheard.

Marian was oblivious to my mood; frankly I’d never seen her so animated, chatting away to Mrs. Fielding like a schoolgirl.

Everyone was in high spirits, bolstered by the food and the warmth and two full nights of sleeping in a bed.

To my surprise, someone procured a handful of string instruments. The sound of music - stomping, joyful music, nothing like our daily hymns - awakened something in all of us.

The tables were cleared to the side and the whole room began to dance.

Children ran in and out of groups, winding between their parents’ legs. Young couples spun and leapt; no one was graceful, and no one cared
Little Thomas Fielding approached Marian and bowed low. Laughing, she bowed back, and I watched with delight as Thomas pulled Marian out onto the floor to join his family, all of them spinning and laughing as one.

For the first time, I found myself missing my Mother and Father. We did not have much music, but sometimes they would dance anyway, the two of them swaying in a corner while I clapped my hands.

I shut my eyes, trying to see them, see the farmhouse, the field -
and when I opened them, Sam was there, hand extended.

I remember yelling something like I didn’t think we were allowed to dance!
He only grinned and then released me into a  line of women, kicking up their heels, whirling endlessly.

I caught Marian’s hand as she passed, and found it covered in good sweat, happy sweat; her eyes sparkled like  ancient, magnificent stars.

We danced until one of the younger Elders stood up on a box to remind us of our early departure the next day, and encouraged us back to our beds.

The night air was shocking after the warmth of the barn.
I breathed out hard, filling the air with mist.
Marian did the same, clutching my arm and giggling.

You’re giddy, I told her, our feet crunching on the frosted ground.
She laughed.
Why shouldn’t I be?

A hand at my elbow, gentle.
May I speak with you?
Sam is there, his face hidden under a sheaf of hair, eyes glittering.

Marian snorts, and I wonder if she’s drunk although of course she isn’t.
Go on then, she says, and stumbles over to the Fieldings, mussing young Thomas’ hair.

Not meeting Sam’s eyes, I walk back towards the barn.
He follows, as I knew he would.
He chews his lip for a moment, then says:
Don’t come tomorrow. When we leave.

My stomach drops.
Don’t do this, I say.

We’re leaving too late, he says. I know you heard.

He means to ambush me but I won’t let him.
Are you going?

He nods.

Then I’m going too.

Emily, no.

Then stay.

He laughs softly.

You know I cannot.

And why not? You know the risk we are taking in those mountains. Don’t take it, Sam. Stay here.
Stay with me.

He frowns, and now he’s the one looking away.

I am responsible for them, he says. I cannot abandon that duty, no matter how much -

He shakes his head.
You are under no such obligation, he manages. I cannot protect you any further.

I didn’t come here, I say,  for you to leave me behind.

There is a hot, melting quality to the air between us.

What did you come for? He asks. Because if it is God, I cannot promise that you’ll find him in the mountains.

And I say: I came for you.
For the first time, our eyes meet.

He says only one thing, one small thing, just my name: Emily.

And I am taking one final step, farther than the distance from England to Nebraska, and before he can say anything else my mouth is on his.

He stands, frozen -

Then his arm arcs around my back, pulling me closer, so close we might explode -
I crush myself against him, harder, and he lifts me, pinning me against the wall of the barn.

We cannot get close enough, I want to be consumed, I want to cease to exist except inside his body
Sam groans and bites my lip and I feel something deep inside myself twist and burn -
We are breathing as one, both of us starving and on fire -

Footsteps, too close.

We break apart, gasping.

I -
No sooner has the syllable escaped Sam’s mouth than someone is waving, coming around the corner.

He whips around and I force myself back from him, into the night.
I hear him greeting someone, the slight catch in his voice, and I feel a flood of pride and shame as I stumble away like a broken lighthouse.

I will leave with him tomorrow, and sign my fate to the will of the weather.

It’s as inevitable as falling snow.


KAYLEEN


The manhunt begins the next day.
I am not exactly pumped to go, but my Dad insists. C’mon Marv, he says, it’s bad form if we’re the only ones who aren’t there.
And so at 6pm we roll up to the manhunt aka My Actual Social Nightmare with a flashlight and one of the walkie talkies from the park.
Jessica Meyer gives me a big hug and is all Thank you, every little bit counts. And then she adds, of course, I’ve been praying for him all day.
Yeah, um, same, I respond lamely. To my horror, this makes her burst into tears.
Did you know he was last seen at your park? I can’t believe it. You’ve had to deal with soooooo much!
My Dad joins the other neighborhood Dads. He looks so out of place with his skinny arms and Hawaiian shirt. Like he needs me to protect him.
Instead, Jessica drags me along by the arm all night, poring over every leaf and stick because there might be clothing on it.
Hyrum Bates walks ahead with a few other guys from the football team, his hands quivering like he wants to cry but can’t.
Everyone around me is so invested in the fantasy that we might find this kid that I start to believe it too.
Of course, we don’t.
Something about the word “manhunt” led me to expect more than a bunch of Concerned Citizens stomping around the woods.
Everything here is busted. 
I’ll see you tomorrow? Jessica asks, with one more boob-smushing hug.
For sure, I say. For sure.
Hyrum nods once. I’m not getting more from him.
The next night the whole town is there, and the cops have dogs that can smell blood and drugs and stuff. Tanya shows up late, smelling like alcohol. Not mine, she mutters, sliding in next to me.
Why didn’t you come yesterday? I ask.
She shrugs.
I assume you didn’t find him.
Tanya, that’s not funny.
She pokes me in the stomach.
Then stop smiling.
Jessica is eyeing Tanya skeptically. Hyrum Bates eyes her too, but I wouldn’t describe his look as skeptical. In fact, I’d love for him to never look at Tanya again.
Do you wanna go search by the lake? I ask her. We can talk about those journals.
She shakes her head. My mom said she sold them. Some collector, looking for Mormon artifacts. Looks like we’re back to being shit detectives.
She has on a black cropped t-shirt that says PSYCHO KILLER and this really rad denim acid-wash skirt.
We should pray, Jessica announces. Before we get started. Tanya, don’t you think that shirt is in poor taste?
Tanya rolls her eyes and turns back to me.
C’mon shit detective, she says. Let’s go.
We slip away, towards the beach, and I notice Hyrum looks pissed. I am deeply smug about this.
I feel like an asshole, Tanya says. Knowing he’s not coming back.
Are you sure, I say, that we shouldn’t tell?
She shakes her head.
He’s not worth us getting locked up.
The lake is quiet tonight, black and deep.
My mom used to love the lake, I say. Then: sorry, I don’t know where that came from.
Tanya frowns.
You can talk about her, she says. My mom is a piece of shit and if anything happened to her I would probably literally fucking die.
I shake my head. No, it’s okay.
So, where are you going? asks Tanya. In the fall.
I shrug.
I don’t know. My Dad made me apply to SLCC, but I don’t know if I’m gonna go.
The rest of the search party is far off now, their flashlights beaming like stars in the distance.
But you’re smart, Tanya says.
I guess, I say. Or I just used to be.
She grins.
Either way. You’re smarter than me.
Tanya, I say. I think you’re really smart.
She snorts.
Whatever, Brian the Brain. Why aren’t you going to college?
I shrug. My Dad really needs me.
I can see Monster Mania! in the distance, its cotton candy spires dimmed.
There was nothing like this for my Mom, I say. No hunt, or whatever. Like, Bronson doesn’t deserve-
Tanya smiles softly. He doesn’t deserve all of this?
I can hear, far away, a boat humming along the lake.
He was trying to hurt you, I say. I don’t care if he was like, your boyfriend.
The lake is rushing in my ears as Tanya takes a step towards me.
He wasn’t my boyfriend, she says. Just fun, or bullshit even sometimes. 
Why have I never noticed that Tanya has freckles? A small galaxy spread across her nose.
You think too much, she says.
I tell her, my mouth dry: I would never hurt you, Tanya.
Yeah, she says. I know.
And so casually, like it’s nothing, she puts her hand on my chest.
You should try just doing something because you want to, she says softly.
She moves a little closer and my heart is thudding in my ears because I know what’s about to happen, because I’ve wanted it for years, and oh my god I’ve wanted it for years?, and she’s close enough that I can feel the heat rising off her skin -
I step back.
We should find the others, I say.
Tanya blushes, but she doesn’t move.
You don’t have to be alone all the time, she says.
Plus, I say, I think my Dad will be worried.
Tanya says: I thought that we were  -
I shake my head.
We’re not even friends, Tanya.

She says, very quietly: fuck off.

I turn and walk back up the path towards the woods, leaving Tanya alone by the lake.

I walk all the way home, my heart pounding in my throat, and it’s only when I get there and open the door that I realize I am still hoping to come home to my Mom.

But there’s just me:
an empty girl in an empty house.


THE MONSTER


She lay on the beach, her toes wriggling in the sand.
Her hair, long down her back.
She was in this white dress, the fabric taut against her hips.
Like a Grecian tribute she lay, unknowing and unafraid. 
I’d planned my approach for so long, practiced dangling my odd parts in the most attractive way, hiding my fangs behind a juicy-lipped smile. 
But now that the moment was here, I did the only thing I could think to do and sent one tentative tentacle out onto the beach to touch her ankle.
Julia screamed and stood up fast. Her dress was a little damp and I could see the fullness of her body underneath. 
She turned like she was gonna run. 
Nothing for it now. 
I raised the immensity of myself out of the water, infinite pounds and ounces on a thousand stubby legs.
She didn’t scream.
I smiled.
She screamed.
I wrapped a tentacle around her mouth to stop her, and she choked.
I said, as legibly as I could: I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. 
Her eyes widened. 
Then she bit down on the tentacle. 
No, no, don’t -
She scratched at me, her nails sharp for a star-person. 
Her mouth still soft. 
If I let you go, will you promise not to run? 
She froze. She nodded. I let her go.
She ran. 
I only meant to grab her, to bring her back, because after all my ardent love I deserved her attention, fuck, I deserved her, her star-mouth and her fierce eyes and taut hips -
I wrapped one long limb around her and snapped her spine clean in half. 
It was an accident.
I think it was an accident.
Julia flopped all the way backwards, a bubble of blood staining her lips. 
I hope it was an accident. 
She let out a sound like the rustling of damp leaves. 
Her eyes met mine, and she said:
Kayleen. Please. 
And then, there on the shores of the lake, I shared with her the most intimate thing any two people can share
(A monster is not a human but a monster is a person, and I was I was I was).

Something her husband would never see, something her daughter would never see, something that was only ours.
I watched Julia die, and I loved her through every agonized moment.
I held her against my heaving, slick body, and then I dived, still clutching her in my arms. 
Her skull collapsed under the weight of the water pressure, her body twisting as we dove deeper and deeper.
I laid her out on the lake floor and took one last look.
Still I wanted her, still I needed her. Still, she would be mine.
I ate Julia feet-first, savoring the crunch and softness of her body. 
She tasted like sun-baked rocks and vacuum cleaners and lasagna and book pages and bonfires and flannel shirts and stolen kisses and hand-made blankets and TV static and sunscreen and hair and whispers and bedtime stories and all the tiny perfect things that I would never ever share with her.
Yet as her skin melted against my acid tongue, I felt them. 
As her tendons snapped like gummy worms in my teeth, I lived the moments of Julia’s life as if they’d been mine.

I knew her, in the end, better than anyone.