A Master and Prisoner

Some people will say it was nature. They’ll call me an unfortunate soul, unable to deny the lurking demon that whispered my name as I was cradled in the sanctuary of my mother’s first embrace. They’ll say the unforgiving claws of Fate were fastened to my flesh the moment I touched body to earth. They’ll watch as the world crashes down around them and I feast on its remains, and still they will only murmur in pity for my inescapable, doomed being.

Others will say it was nurtured. They’ll mutter behind closed doors of an innocent creature corrupted by negligent caregivers. For such evil to grow, they’ll hiss, seeds must first fall from a gardener’s hand. Those prideful ones will pat themselves on the back and purr to their own charges that they have raised them to embrace the light, while my caregivers have allowed me to prowl in shadows. With noses raised to God, they’ll accuse me of sharing soul with the Devil. And yet they’ll pat my head and assure me that I had no control over my metamorphosis into wickedness.

They would all be wrong.

Nature may whisper and nurture may prod, but it was I who summoned the Devil to me.

The stars stained the boundless navy sky with flecks of white that night, that night when I broke the irreparable barriers between fantasy and reality. Through icy panes of glass, the shudder and flapping of wings were the only movements to disrupt the slumber of nature. The flapping mesmerized me, drawing me in like a moth to flame to track the hasty flights of such delicate animals. My heart quickened, abandoning its gentle rhythm from the moment before. Across my body, I felt each muscle contract, pulling tight like rubber bands ready to snap, until I more resembled stone than flesh. Fantasies of sinking my jaws into their vulnerable facades and watching as the last of life disappeared from behind their terrified eyes flickered across my mind, like a primal, forbidden, intoxicating film. I felt the hunger running down my spine, spreading and infecting me until every hair on my body stood on end, crackling with the primitive, aching electricity.

Of course, I had never acted on my veiled desires. Since my earliest years, I had seen that good behavior invites greater rewards. What fool would bite the hand that feeds it? So I presented the exact façade expected of me: submissive and docile. But that gentle exterior housed a demon alongside its guiding angel, one that saw the light and favored the shadows cast within it. That wraith of darkness stood waiting at the gate of its cage, shackled but patient. For so long I turned my head from his enclosure, unwilling to feed the monster. For so long he stared back, unfazed and unbroken by my perseverance.

Until that night. Until, at long last, I lifted the lock that imprisoned my specter of sin. As I sat watching the birds dance against the night sky, echoing footsteps interrupted my brutish fantasies. Around the corner, cradling something delicately in her arms, walked my landlady, Mrs. Pfeiffer . She was a good sort of woman, goodhearted and trusting. I was as harmless as a stray kitten to her, and she often left me undisturbed to my musings. Without looking up, she sat at the small coffee table across the dark room, unaware of my watchful eyes, shielded by the dimness, scrutinizing her from the corner chair. She often overlooked my presence there, which is why it had become my favorite abode. As I sat watching, Mrs. Pfeiffer fidgeted back and forth, tending to that same something that had been locked in her arms upon arrival, and that still now was blocked from my view by her rather large person.

As Mrs. Pfeiffer stood back to observe her progress, I caught my first sight of that hideous creature: hunched over, brown skin withered to the point of crumbling away, looking so devoid of any nourishment that might resurrect its tender, rotting limbs. It was clear as day that Death held its scythe aloft, ready to plunge it into the heart of another victim. I had seen other creatures like this before, but never in this state. Mrs. Pfeiffer was a collector of sorts when it came to those in need of nurturing and often brought home new stewards on which she could dote with the finest care. That’s how I had first come into her home. But most of the other tenants were well fed and bursting with life. This one looked only perhaps about to burst free from Life’s hold.

As I stared in repulsed pity at that rotting weed of a creature, Mrs. Pfeiffer continued to tend to it, feeding it a slow drizzle of water and gently settling it into its newly procured bed. As she stepped back again to admire her work, I felt the heat that had swept over my muscles at the sight of the birds begin to simmer again. Mrs. Pfeiffer may have fended off the Grim Reaper for the night, but a single breath of wind would probably be enough to bring Death’s knife crashing down onto the poor thing. Really, it would be mercy to end its pain. Mercy… to end it….

A soft panting echoed in my ears, and gentle waves of my own hot breath washed over me. It would be mercy, that’s all. All this time, I’ve known that to take a life would be a journey from which there would be no return trip. A trip into the demon’s lair within me, one that could sever any ties to my angel. But if it was mercy? Wouldn’t that release the monster, but on the angel’s tether? For the first time, I saw a glint of excitement in the demon’s sly eyes. I could feel his blood running hot within my own speeding heartbeat. 

Mrs. Pfeiffer hurried out of the room, leaving her newest charge unprotected in its new bed. My body curved forward, already relishing the pounce charging in my legs. Each limb seemed almost petrified from the tension wound into every fiber of muscle, like a coiled spring begging to be set free. Mercy. Mercy. I could hear the beast purring the word softly, beckoning me forward. One soft step, then another. My prey sat still, unaware of the servant of Fate slinking out of the shadows.

I crouched, ready to land the fatal blow, when a tug against my palpitating heart pulled me up short. In my mind’s eye, a pleading, desperate face gazed back at me. The tearstains of my sweet angel shone on her cheeks, and I could hear the pitiful entreaties behind the stormy, ocean blue eyes. She knew the macabre truth disguised as pious lies: mercy was a convenient excuse for my bloodlust, but no amount of claiming virtue would prevent the dark stain on my soul that would accompany my demon’s liberation. Its hunger would only grow, a parasite on any goodness I would carry within me.

For a long moment, I stared into her imploring eyes. My angel, my guide from the beginning, so full of hope, of optimism. Always in control. Always convinced that even as darkness whispered, I would obey her beckoning to the light. She was right, of course. Would I ever be able to escape the hold of the beast within if I acted in that moment? Or would that stain spread, like a cancer, until I was the one chained, possessed by my very own Devil? Noticing my pause, her face seemed to shimmer as she gave me a hopeful, dazzling smile.

She was still smiling when my monster ripped out her throat.

As I released by grip on the newly unlocked cage, my wraith of Evil turned his eyes on me, manic and frenzied after finally dealing the final stroke to its contradictory comrade. We stared at each other, no longer prisoner and master, but elected partners. Roaring with pleasure, he bared his glistening red fangs as I turned my focus back to the victim that would now be ours, not for mercy, but for lust.

I doubt that poor creature even felt as I knocked its fragile body to the cold ground. It seemed as dead to the world in consciousness as it was about to be in life. Over and over again, nails ripped through flesh, spilling what little life it had left over my arms and legs. Wet with what little guts it had to spare, I pounced forward repeatedly to sink my jaws into its limbs, ripping them free of their expiring host. Ecstasy pulsed through my veins as carnage spilled out around me, and I reared up to stare around me. My chest heaved as I drank in the macabre massacre, and I could hear the raucous shrieking of my monster as it reveled in its newfound authority. The body had morphed into an unrecognizable mound of appendages, soiled and strewn across the glossy floor.

I stared at the devastation I had inflicted, and a wave of satiated exhaustion crashed over me. It was as if I had been starving all my life and had never known what it was to be full. With every merciless lash against my victim, I feasted on my new power. I waited a moment, listening for any hint of remorse to echo from the hidden recesses of my soul. Would my angel’s warnings linger, despite her end?

Suddenly, I felt something rising up in me. I closed my eyes, lifted my head to Heaven… and yawned. With a great stretch, I dropped to the ground still covered in the remains of the slaughter and curled into a ball. As I let my heavy eyelids fall, a single regret flitted across my mind: this time, the fantasies that would meet me in my dreams would no longer live up to the ecstasy of my new reality.

***

Crash!

Annie Pfeiffer looked up from the sink. It sounded like something had shattered in the other room. Had she placed the pot too close to the edge of the table when she left? Brushing her hands hurriedly against her slacks, she trotted across the kitchen and pushed open the swinging door to the sitting room. Peeking her head in, she gave a gasp of despair. Curled up in the scattered remains of her newly potted Dahlia laid a gray tabby cat, coated in wet dirt and fragmented petals from top to tail.

“Mr. Whiskers! Are you kidding me?” Annie cried, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “I just planted that poor thing!” Her eyes scanning the room in dismay, she took in the terrible mess. Jagged fragments of terracotta floated on a blanket of plant and earth. Wet soil sprayed in every direction under the fluffy, flat-faced cat, and the dried flowers Annie had been trying so hard to revive were shredded to bits, splashes of faded pink and purple in a sea of brown. The cat opened one eye and mewed innocently.

Annie put her hands on her hips. “Oh, don’t give me that, you know you’re not supposed to get into my plants. That one was dying out in the heat and needed some TLC, and you just destroyed it.”

The gray cat stood up slowly, stretching out its paws unconcernedly in the mess of dirt and stems before sitting to stare at Annie with wide, guiltless eyes. Annie frowned and crossed over the cat, squatting down to massage its head softly. “You can’t just give me those big angel eyes and get away with anything. I’m onto you, sir.”

Annie sighed in exasperation as she brushed bits of dirt off of the feline’s nose. What could she expect from a cat, after all? This probably wouldn’t be his last victim.“Mr. Whiskers,” she said, standing to fetch the broom, “I think sometimes you’re bad on purpose. You can be quite the little devil, you know.”