A Monster's Kindness

By Jessica Meats

Long ago, the village of Shrind sacrificed people to the monsters in the forest. Now the howling has started again, and a village elder has chosen Parton to be the next sacrifice.

Left to die for having shared a kiss with the elder's son, Parton receives more compassion from the supposed monster than from those who had been his friends and neighbours. In the heart of the woods, learning to accept himself may be a harder lesson than learning to accept the monster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Meats
• Release date: Oct 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781527250604

Book preview

Chapter 1

S trip him, Elder Corron ordered, while Parton struggled in the grip of two farm hands who had known him since childhood. He begged and pleaded, tears streaming down his face, still unable to comprehend how this was happening. He knew Corron hated him because of what had happened with Lucion, but he didn't understand how everyone else was able to go along with this. They knew him. They knew he didn't deserve to be devoured by some monster.

Please, he sobbed, you can't do this. You can't leave me out here like this.

It is necessary, Parton, Corron said. One life for the safety of the village. It's the only way to keep everyone in Shrind safe, and the choice was fair.

Parton shook his head. He didn't believe for one instant that Corron had truly picked fairly. Corron was the one who had suggested a lottery to select a sacrifice to the monsters in the forest; Corron had prepared the names; and Corron had drawn Parton's name out of the selection and read it aloud to the whole village. Parton had known it was coming, but any hope he'd had of his neighbours, people he'd once considered friends, coming to his aid or speaking up in his defence had been snatched away as he'd been dragged from the village square into this clearing in the woods.

The farmhands shoved his naked back against the trunk of a tree, pulled his arms behind him, and tied them tightly on the other side. More loops of rope went around his waist to hold him in place, removing any hope of escape. When the monsters came out of the forest, Parton would have no way to defend himself.

Return to the village, Corron told the men. I will stay and say a prayer with Parton, to help his soul be at peace before the journey into the next life.

Please, Parton said one last time, turning pleading eyes on men who turned aside and walked away. Parton hoped his words would haunt them for the rest of their lives. He hoped they would spend every day looking back on this moment and regretting. He hoped it hurt them.

This is necessary, Corron said, just as he'd said back in Shrind when he'd talked about the need for a sacrifice.

You don't believe that, Parton said. You just want to get rid of me.

I do believe it, but it does serve as a useful way to cut out a corruption in our village's heart before you can taint any other young men. Before you can lure any more pure souls away from the path of righteousness.

Helpless laughter bubbled up through Parton's tears. He thought of other tears, of Lucion sobbing as he'd admitted that he tried to pray his feelings away. He thought of the salt on their lips as they'd kissed for the first time. Parton had never lured Lucion into anything. Each reluctant step Lucion had taken, he had taken on his own.

You are a blight on our village, Corron continued. Your death with spare us from the beasts of the forest, and it will spare the young and vulnerable souls from the danger you pose.

I never hurt Lucion, Parton said. You did.

But Corron would never listen. He believed so strongly in his own moral superiority that it would never occur to him that the beatings he dealt in the name of Lucion's immortal soul were anything but righteous. He wouldn't listen now. He wouldn't care to hear the truth, that Parton had never done anything to justify his death at the claws and teeth of some monster.

Goodbye, Parton, Corron said. May the spirits cleanse your wicked soul in the afterlife.

He drew a knife. Parton stared at that blade, barely able to process this development. Did Corron intend to kill him himself, just in case the monster didn't do his dirty work for him?

Corron brought his knife across Parton's stomach in a shallow cut. For about a second, he didn't really feel it, then the stinging pain began, and blood trickled down his bare skin. Corron dealt two more cuts, one on each arm, slicing down from shoulder to elbow and letting the blood drip free.

The monster will smell your blood and come to your sacrifice. By your blood, the lives of all in Shrind will be safe.

He drew out a cloth to wipe the blade clean, appearing almost indifferent to the mark of his crime. Corron dropped that bloody cloth at Parton's feet before he turned and walked away, leaving Parton to bleed alone in the forest, crying with the despair that filled him.

The blood dripped in a steady flow as night fell over the wood, and soon the only light came from the silvery moon peeking through the branches. A chill wind rustled the trees, making him jump at every noise, and he shook from a mixture of fear and cold.

With nothing to do but think about his impending death, his thoughts drifted back to Lucion. What would Corron tell his son? Would he tell Lucion that a monster had carried Parton off and eaten him, further proof that the spirits had condemned his wickedness? Or would he admit that he had strung him out here and let him bleed? That steady flow of blood kept running from the knife wounds. Whether the monster came or not, Parton doubted he would live until morning.

A howl rose through the trees, almost musical in quality, sending more shivers through Parton's spine and silencing the forest creatures. Parton tried to tell himself that it was just a wolf, but even that was little comfort. A roving wolf pack would kill him as easily as some monster.

There were no more tears left to cry. His head and wounds ached, and his arms ached from being tied behind him. He tried to comfort himself that at least the pain would be over soon. He closed his eyes and offered a prayer to the spirits for a quick death, and for more kindness in the afterlife than he'd been offered in life. His grandmother had always told him that the spirits were gentle and loving. Parton hoped she was right, that the spirits would welcome him home with embraces instead of the harsh punishments Corron foretold when he spoke of corrupted souls.

When he opened his eyes, the creature was in front of him. It had approached far too silently for something so large, and now Parton's heart pounded in his chest at the sight of it. It was no wolf, though there was something wolf-like in its face. It was huge, dark as shadows, and its yellow eyes seemed to glow against the black of its fur.

Parton strained against the ropes even though he knew it was pointless, some fear-driven instinct making him fight one last time.  He struggled until the ropes bit into his flesh and the tree's bark scratched up his back. New blood flowed from the knife wounds, but the creature just stood there, studying him with those bright eyes.

Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was blood loss, perhaps it was some magic in those golden eyes, but Parton went still in his bounds. He slipped into unconsciousness and welcomed the darkness that swallowed him.

Chapter 2

Consciousness crept back to Parton in stages. He became aware of hard ground beneath him and something soft above, of the warmth along his right side. There was a smell of something rich and meaty that couldn't quite conceal an underlying odour of damp and rot. He felt the discomfort of his own body, of what seemed like a hundred aches and pain, of the throbbing in his head and a thirst so great his mouth felt cracked and barren. He opened his eyes to the sight of beams overhead and the flickering of a fire beside him. He was inside some sort of house. More than that, he was alive, which was the greater surprise. He was covered in a ragged blanket, discoloured by dark stains he didn't want to identify.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, and the world spun about him. Lights sparkled at the edge of his vision, and he nearly slumped back down again.

Don't move, a voice commanded, stern and rough.

Parton startled and turned to see the figure in the corner of the small room. He was a stranger, glowering at him, though Parton wasn't sure what he'd done to offend this man. The man stood and moved across the room with a predator's gait, all lean muscle and purpose. He stepped around Parton to the fire and used a dirty cloth to lift a kettle from a metal frame above the flames. He poured a little water into a wooden cup and offered it to Parton.

Parton took the cup with shaking fingers. He sipped at the hot water, trying not to spill the liquid, while the stranger prodded at a pot that stood beside the kettle. That was where the smell of meat was coming from. Who was this man, who moved like a stalking animal and had hair as dark as the wolf's fur?

An idea wormed through Parton's mind, and he desperately hoped he was wrong.

Did you save me from the monster? Parton asked.

The man's amused smirk was almost enough to confirm Parton's suspicions. The man said simply, No.

He spooned out a portion of a thick stew into a bowl and set that down beside Parton before refilling the cup again. If the man was feeding him, he probably didn't intend to kill him. Unless the man was feeding him up so he'd make a better meal. Parton drained the cup a second time, then prodded at the stew with the spoon he'd been given.

What is this? he asked.

Rabbit.

Parton ate. Now that his thirst had been dealt with, hunger was making itself known, and there was no point starving himself after he'd been so recently spared from death. If it turned out this man was planning on eating him later, at least he would have the strength to try and run. The stew was good, with much more meat than he was usually able to afford.

The man refilled Parton's water cup once more and returned to the corner where he'd been sitting. Parton took the time to study his surroundings more closely. This house was smaller than his own, with everything fitted into this one room. A single chair stood beside the narrow bed, a small table against the opposite wall. Parton, sitting on the floor before the fire, covered by his blanket, took up most of what space was left.

Where are we? Parton asked.

The man shrugged. My family's cabin.

Your family? This space seemed too small for even one person, never mind a family, and there was no sign of anyone else about. The man just shrugged again as answer. Parton kept eating, scraping clean the bowl with the spoon to get each last morsel of gravy. The man just watched him.

You don't talk much, do you? Parton