Monster

I imagine this is what it is like to be caught in an avalanche, the silence cold and dark and so heavy that we can hardly breathe. My brother sniffles – he is too young to know what has happened, but he must be old enough to feel this weight now pushing down on us, must feel the tension in the air. Or perhaps he is just scared of the dark. He is, after all, only a child.

Only a child, like…

I stop these thoughts before they come to fruition, using all my strength to push them far, far down. If I think about it, I will drown in the horror and the disgust and the betrayal, and it will kill me. I breathe in for three and out for three. All is fine. Nothing exists outside of this tent. Nothing has ever happened outside of this tent. There are no monsters in the woods.

But I have not feared the monsters in the woods since I was a child. Now, I know why: there are no monsters in the woods – the monster is already in the tent with us.

The devil is unassuming, with brown wiry hair and kind brown eyes – they always said I had his eyes. He has laugh lines, glasses, a crumpled suit. I almost forget what he is, before it comes crashing down on me again. Monster. He is like an angler fish deep in the ocean, an innocent light hiding layers and layers of teeth.

Monster. Monster. Monster. It echoes in my head, consuming my every thought. It is almost comforting to see him this way – if he stops being the devil, he may once again become my father.

The torch flickers, casting hellish shadows on his face, before dying. We sit in the darkness for a moment, before my brother starts sobbing quietly. Today has been too much for him, with the shouting and the crying and the fighting and then the darkness, the blackout bringing this awful silence in its wake. He starts shaking, and I smooth his hair before grabbing the torch.

“It probably just needs some batteries, I’ll-“

“No.” My mother’s voice cuts out, brittle and sharp as an icicle. She grabs my hand and squeezes. “I’ll do it. Please.” I can hear the desperation in her voice, the fear and anger and hurt. Don’t leave me, she is saying. Don’t leave me in here with him.

But what about me? I want to shout back. Why must you leave me? But she is gone, and I am alone. I gather my brother in my lap like I did when he was a baby, rocking and murmuring into his ear. Perhaps if I ignore the monster, he will go away.

“Carla…” I flinch at the sound of my name on his tongue. It sounds like a curse coming from him. It sounds like the far-off thunder before the storm. Worst of all, it sounds loving.

“Don’t – don’t speak to me.” My throat can barely get the words out, and they sound dry and coarse. I sound like I haven’t spoken in years. Perhaps I haven’t – it feels like I have spent an eternity in this tent.

“Carla, I just want to-“

My mother comes back then, with a lit torch and ragged breaths. Her face is pained, contorted, almost as if she is walking to the gallows. Part of me is angry – after all, she was the one who decided to come out here, who started setting up the tent when the lights went out. But part of me understands, knows that I could not face that house knowing what he has done. The place is permanently stained, standing only as a monument to the monster who lives inside.

As she sits down, my father reaches for her to help – an unconscious gesture, from years of familiarity – and she flinches away, inching ever closer to me. When did I become the mother, the pillar of strength? Why must I be her comfort? But I reach around my still snuffling brother and grip her hand. I will not begrudge her this, will not deny her a lifeline.

“My love-“ My father looks lost, almost heartbroken. Looking at him, part of me aches to comfort him too, to grant him forgiveness. Monster. Monster. Monster. My echo becomes a chant, a mantra to keep out the love. He is not my father. He has not been my father for a long time.

My mother’s hand grips me like a vice. I wince at the pain, but I do not pull away. To pull away would be to let her drown. I cannot lose another parent.

The monster opens his mouth as if to speak again, but my mother shakes her head. “Stop. Just – stop. I can’t… I can’t speak to you right now.” I can hear the tears in her throat, the nasally sound of someone close to breaking down. She cried when she went to get the batteries, I can tell. By the look in the monster’s eyes, so can he.

“I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to say, before tomorrow, that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

I laugh, a harsh cold sound bubbling out of me. My mother glances at me, a frightened look in her eyes. I ignore it. A savage ice is flowing through my veins, the anger I have buried deep overflowing through my mouth. “Didn’t mean what? What did you not mean, Dad?” I choke slightly at the lie. He is not my father. He is the monster. “Did you not mean for us to know, is that it? Or was it some grand accident, that you didn’t mean to spend the last year-“ I cannot say the words, but I knows he hears them nonetheless. Dear God, she's only a child.

“I-“ The lost, helpless look is back, but now it only makes me hate him even more. How dare he still wear this disguise of humanity, this veneer of emotions. I can see the monster beneath the father-mask now. I can see the rot at the core of his being.

My nails are digging into my mother’s hand, almost drawing blood, but I cannot let her go. She is rock, my only link to the ground. If I let go, this icy madness will sweep me away.

The silence is broken now, the crushing weight lifted from me. The monster is unmasked. Soon the lights will come back, and my mother will call for her sister to take us away – away from this haunted house, away from the ghostly reminder of all this pain and fear. Monsters cannot live in the daylight, cannot hide when the burning light of truth washes away their lies. The blackout will end, and the devil will die.