The Monsters Files: Tale of the Suprasthete

By Sarah J Dhue

In this world so much like our own, monsters are not merely legends told around the campfire; they are living, breathing citizens among the hustle and bustle of everyday life. In this world, sometimes the lines of what a true monster is get blurred. Within these files are their stories: the monsters, everyday people, and most of all, the true monsters hiding behind human faces. File #001: Zelin Michaels is a special breed of monster where all five of his senses are heightened; he is what some would call a suprasthete. A very sarcastic, cocky, and intelligent individual, he turned to a life of petty crime using his abilities to help him rob businesses and banks undetected. He slips up, however, and is given a choice: use his abilities to help the police or do the jail time for his long list of offenses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781794841444

Sarah J Dhue

Sarah J Dhue is a fiction author from Illinois and has been writing since she was in elementary school. She writes predominantly Horror, Paranormal, and Sci-Fi fiction, but has branched off into Romance and plans to try to her hand at other genre departures. In addition to books, she also writes poetry, short stories, and songs. She loves networking with other writers and artists of other media. Some of her other interests include coffee, photography, graphic design, social media, animals, art, travel, music, and animation. Sarah currently resides with her family and cats in southern Illinois.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Zelin Michaels knelt down to adjust the straps of the roller skates he had attached to his dingy Converse.  He stood upright, shaking his shaggy, blonde hair out of his blue eyes.  Along with his makeshift skates, he wore black jeans, and a navy blue jacket with several zippers and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow over a band tee.  He had large, black headphones draped around his neck, as well as a silver chain with a pendant resting on his chest.  On his hands, he wore a pair of very distinctive red and black marbled gloves, and on his left wrist, he wore a large-faced, digital, blue and yellow watch.

Zelin stepped outside of the apartment complex into the night and looked up and down along the street.  He took his headphones from around his neck and placed them snugly over his ears.  He started the music, and Walk the Moon began to play.  He nodded his head in rhythm, looked both ways, and then began skating down the sidewalk.

Zelin gradually sped up.  He was not worried about running into anyone; despite wearing headphones, all of Zelin’s five senses were very in tune with what was going on around him.  As a matter of fact, the headphones were actually to keep too much sound from getting in.  Zelin was a very special breed of monster where all five of his senses were heightened; he was what some would call a suprasthete, although at least to his knowledge, there was no ‘official’ name for what he was.

He quickly glanced up at the street signs as he zoomed through the intersections, a few people giving him astounded looks as he whizzed past them.  He wasn’t worried about them; he knew exactly where he was going.  He took a sharp left down an alleyway and sniffed the air.  He recognized the scent of rotting garbage and cheap yet audacious colognes; he knew he was at the right place.

He slowed down to a steady pace and glided up to the back door of a small gallery.  He gave the alley a swift, cursory sweep with his eyes and a quick sniff before dropping his headphones back down around his neck.  He carefully removed his gloves and gripped them in his teeth as he pulled a pair of bobby pins from one of his jacket’s many pockets.

He knelt down and put his ear near the lock, inserting the bobby pins into the keyhole.  He listened for the tumblers to shift, also using his heightened sense of touch to feel the right way to move the pins.  The lock clicked open within a matter of seconds; this wasn’t his first rodeo.  He’d picked so many locks in his life that, at this point, he’d lost count.  Sure, he probably could have done something better with his talents, but he had chosen to turn to a life of petty crime.  A life that meant he was never worried about not having enough money to fall back on.  His heightened senses made breaking into buildings, safes, lockers – practically anything – a breeze.  And he was always very careful to cover his tracks.  He even leased his apartment under a false name, and he never stayed anywhere too long.

Zelin quickly pulled his gloves back on and eased the door open, unstrapping his skates from the bottoms of his shoes.  He clipped them together and draped them over his shoulder.  He crept into the small gallery, closing the door carefully and quietly behind him.

Not only did his eyes afford him the gift of better-than-perfect vision, but to a certain extent, he was able to see in the dark.  He scanned the room and quickly spotted the section of the back wall where the safe must be.  He tiptoed across the room, and sure enough, there was the safe set into the wall.

"Combination lock, he thought to himself with amusement.  Easy.  He tilted his head and put his ear close to the lock, listening carefully as he twisted the dial.  He heard the first click and began to turn the dial in the opposite direction.  The second click.  Just one more turn.  Easy, easy, easy," he thought joyously, slowly twisting the dial so as to not turn it too far and have to start all over again.  He knew he had to be close when he heard the scuff of a shoe behind him.

He froze.  Someone – or someones – was behind him.  He’d been so focused on the safe that he hadn’t been paying attention to anything else.  He tried inconspicuously to sniff the air, but all he picked up was the lingering odor of the owner’s awful cologne.

Put your hands where I can see them, a woman’s voice said.  Zelin reluctantly lifted his hands up above his head.  Now, turn around.  Slowly.

Zelin turned around and spotted a female police officer flanked by a male officer and the gallery’s security guard.  He quickly took them in, his eyes darting between the three and then dropping to the floor.  The female officer was young, just about his age, with long, reddish-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and olive green eyes.  The male officer to her right was just barely older with short, straight, black hair and brown eyes.  The security guard was an overweight guy in his forties, his hair hidden under his security cap and his grey eyes lined with crow’s feet.

Silent alarm? he asked, glancing up at the female officer and internally kicking himself for getting overconfident.

She nodded and approached him.  The male officer placed his hand on his holstered gun, his eyes boring into Zelin, Don’t try anything.  Zelin rolled his eyes and smirked.

Zelin Michaels, right? the female officer said as she brought his arms down behind his back and cuffed him.  Zelin pressed his lips into a tight line, refusing to answer, her grip on his wrists making him squirm.  He was also holding his breath as her scent invaded his nostrils at such close quarters; he was thankful that she was not wearing any perfume.  You don’t have to confirm it; we have plenty of security footage and fingerprints that I’m sure you’ll match.

Zelin sighed heavily as she led him out the front door to the police cruiser that was waiting outside, flashing its red and blue lights. He’d gotten too comfortable and made a stupid slip up.  He was sure that he could get out of this mess.  As they sat him in the back seat of the cruiser, though, he just had to figure out how.

Chapter 2

Zelin sat at the table in an interrogation room, pouting.  They had taken most of his belongings aside from his clothes: everything from his pockets, his necklace, headphones, watch, skates, and gloves.  He did his best to not touch anything in the room; what he could see and smell was enough to give him a little bit of sensory overload.  One of his key motivators for not getting caught had always been to not get stuck in these kinds of places where he would have to be in the same space that other unsavory characters had been.  He typically avoided areas with lots of people or that were heavily used for this very reason.  Whoever they’d had in this room before him had an especially distinctive body odor.

He shifted in his chair, doing his best to only breathe when necessary.  The conglomeration of strong smells was beginning to give him a headache.  He had no idea how long he’d been sitting alone in the room; there were no clocks on the walls, and since they had taken his watch…

He rolled his eyes again, scowling and crossing his arms.  He knew there was no point in trying to break out, at least not yet.  He was sure at the very least that there was someone posted outside of the interrogation room door.

Finally, the door came open and in walked a tall, broad, African-American man in military uniform with cropped, black hair and brown eyes.  He was followed by the two officers who had arrested him.

Zelin Michaels, the male officer spoke.  I’m Officer Clark Antonio–

"That’s Zelin.  With a long E," Zelin corrected him.

Officer Antonio smirked and rolled his eyes. "All right, Zelin.  He indicated his companions, This is Officer Tanya Cleary.  And this is Sergeant Gerald Glassen.  He is stationed at Fort Lusus, the military base nearby, and works closely with the precinct.  He has a proposal for you."

Zelin simply glared as he looked between the three people in the room.  I want my gloves back.

Let’s talk, then we’ll see, Sergeant Glassen sat down opposite Zelin, Officers Antonio and Cleary remaining standing.

Zelin quirked an eyebrow and shot him a cocky look, Whatever you say, Mr. Glassen.

"That is Sergeant Glassen to you, Sergeant Glassen replied firmly, narrowing his eyes. Zelin shrugged, avoiding looking at the sergeant.  Sergeant Glassen folded his hands on the table in front of him.  Things don’t look good for you, Michaels.  We have a large enough file on you to fill a three-ring binder. Zelin felt a lump forming in his throat but tried not to let on.  Several reports of break-ins where you match the description of eyewitnesses.  Fingerprints.  Security footage.  Some strands of hair dropped at scenes.  I don’t think that there’s a judge or jury that would look at your case and buy ‘innocent’ for a second.  Sergeant Glassen let what he’d just said sink in.  Zelin continued to avoid looking at Sergeant Glassen.  Young man, you should look at me when I’m speaking to you."

Zelin shifted uncomfortably, glancing at him and then shifting his gaze to where the walls met behind him to form a corner.  Zelin hated looking at people for too long.  When he did, he started to see everything, and it just became too much to bear.  He never truly looked at anyone; a glance told him everything