The Beast of Harlem

And just like every night, the neighbors barricaded behind their doors and hid the kids under crowded beds and inside rusted tubs. This ritual had become more frequent with the recent deaths of gang members. So far, it had only been members of various gangs. Rumors swirled from house to house about the horrific images police officers described as absolutely bone-chilling. 

***

I huddled with my siblings under the twin beds Mama had pushed together for our protection. Everyone’s breath seemed trapped inside each body, terrified of escaping if the beast could hear us. I could feel the beads of sweat running down my face as I squeezed my youngest sister, Brianna, as close to me as I could. Her compact body and smooth, soft skin smelled of fragrance-free lotion. Brianna wiggled from the discomfort of being cramped as I squeezed her tighter. I keenly love my siblings, but Brianna, a surviving twin, owned my heart.

Everyone jumped simultaneously, including Mama, when the piercing screams of young men traveled through the air, breaking the silence. My heart skipped about fifteen beats when the sound of long claws scraped across the front door. Mama paced back and forth like a soldier, examining every area in the tiny house. Brianna began sobbing as Mama snatched her up and held her close to her chest, stifling the loud sobs.

I could hear the soft-spoken prayers Mama recited as the scratching became louder; the grind would stop like always. I knew that it had been Mama’s prayers that had protected us from the beast. Mama would repeat the 91 Psalms over the entire house and anoint each of us with oil that Reverend James had blessed. 

The increasing horror led me to do something about the beast’s nightly rampage. Some people believed that because the victims were gang members, there wasn’t anything to be concerned about as long as people stayed locked in their homes. I secretly organized a vigilante of teenagers to fight the beast. I knew that Mama would disapprove and that if she and the other mothers knew, they would stop it.

***

We met in Franklin’s damp and cluttered basement. It was an even four, two girls and two boys. Tasha and Jackie sat cross-legged on the large moldy pillows that Franklin had dug out of the numerous boxes in the basement. Silence was so imperative at night that during the day everyone still remained quiet. It took us months to accumulate the weapons we needed for the battle. I marveled at the bravery Tasha showed in defeating the beast. Tall and slender with an attitude of steel, she was the first one on board. Jackie expressed more concern about facing the beast. Her diminutive frame suggested fragile to most people, but there peeked out an inner strength that even she wasn’t aware she possessed. Each of us acquired donated crossbows, arrows, and an arrow case. We stapled large water-stained poster boards around the walls stuffed with old discarded lumpy pillows to practice. The four of us spent two hours after school practicing shooting arrows. All but Franklin showed adequate skills with the crossbow. Franklin’s bulky build suggested clumsy and awkward. He, however, mastered the art of archery as if he was born with a crossbow in his hands.

We decided to vote on the night we would kill the beast. Terror became an unwelcome guest in our community. Violence had lodged in every corner of the area, and refused to leave. We were living in constant fear, making hope elusive. Each of us experienced the profound loss of a loved one to gang violence. The gangs were unwelcome, but this new terror was more sinister.

Jackie, looking uneasy whispered, “Maybe we should forget about this. We’re only kids and we don’t know what this thing is or even if it’s human!”

Franklin, grabbing a handful of chips and stuffing them into his mouth, sputtered “Plus, we don’t know what we’re doing.”

Tasha, stooping over to remove her chunky black boots, chuckled, “Yeah, I’m scared spitless too!”

Standing in front of the group, I admitted to myself and the group that the victims deserved their comeuppance. They killed people as if they were expendable, and contributed to the mindset that our community of brokenness doesn’t deserve life, or safety.

We chose the night of gang initiations.

***

I quietly climbed over my younger brother the night of the hunt, trying not to wake him. Moving stealthily across the room and slowly pulling the door open, I ran swiftly to join the others. Dressed in black, the four of us appeared bold, but our thumping heartbeats told another story. As we reached Fourth Street, next to where the gang initiations began, we froze in terror as the piercing sounds waved through the air. While we moved in unison, fear kept us from separating ourselves to search for the beast. When we approached Fifth Street, the sight before us was surreal. The young men lay on the ground, lifeless and grotesque, sprawled across the land like rag dolls.

Viewing the field of bodies, bodies that had murdered so many, including Brianna's twin, I remembered seeing the execution of a dictator who had imposed unspeakable punishment and death on millions in his country. He was convicted of crimes against humanity and sentenced to death. I recalled his grey-ashen face twisted with what appeared to be a lethal combination of fear and hatred. I observed that same look now on the lifeless bodies. When they draped the noose around his neck and placed a black hood over his head, the camera quickly switched to people in the streets. They were laughing, cheering and waving their hands, elated that he was dead.

I wondered what changed. There would still be murderers and death. There would always be monsters.

We found the courage to separate and stepped carefully over the mutilated bodies.

Franklin and I paired off and headed south of the field near an old building that had burned down a few days ago. Peering inside, we found nothing but burnt office furniture that smelled like death. Suddenly, we heard an eerie scratching sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. Franklin swiveled toward the sound with his bow ready to shoot. Looking up at intact tall green curtains framing the window, we witnessed a grey tabby clinging for life as he slid down, splitting the curtain.

Looking for the girls, I could see them looking around near one of the alleyways.

Tasha and Jackie clung to their bows, listening and watching for anything. None of us knew what to expect.

Walking towards another alley, I heard loud sobs and wailing near by as if the owner’s heart ripped apart. The girls ran from their search to join us. We cautiously moved toward the path. The beam of my flashlight exposed a bloody trail of footprints curved in the darkness where the outline of a small shadowy figure sat hunched on the ground. Franklin took his flashlight and pointed it towards the tiny creature . As it slowly turned its head towards us, pain disguised as fury washed over its swollen face. Its sobs wailed as if they would never stop. Dressed in black, just like us, it held a small, bloodied rake with sharp knives at the end. We stared at it for several minutes, astonished at the sight. The young girl couldn’t have been older than fourteen. As she looked at us, her tear-stained face caked with blood and mud, stared into the distance dazed and confused. Her mouth began to move, but no sound came out. As her voice grew, the sound became audible. “I had to do it!” She screamed those words as if it was an accusation. “They killed my little brother!” 

I inched closer to her and kneeled to her face. Carefully taking the deadly rake from her tight grip, I handed it slowly to Jackie. Stroking her face, I held the broken girl close and rocked her gently back and forth. Emotions filtered through my soul as unresolved violence had conquered the beast. Her tiny body shook heavily as grief and anger flooded through her. “It’s okay. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.” The four of us huddled around her like human shields. We carefully helped her up and walked with her down the moonlit street.