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Monster
The blood spattered the window with a sound resembling that of rain on a summer day. But instead of running easily down the pane as water droplets would have, the blood stuck to it tenaciously. Early morning sunlight shone through, casting the room in a reddish glow. Of course, there was no one to notice the fact, since the owner of the room and the cabin was the source whence the blood had come.
The body that had recently held the blood was lying outside the window, in a manner that suggested a struggle had ensued. It had been a man; that much was evident by the bare head. He was dressed in warm clothes, which made sense, considering the recently cold temperatures. There was a gold ring that glinted dully from the left hand. There would be at least one person who would miss him, then. Probably more. From the almost portly stomach to the hand-knitted scarf that was now flung away, torn in two, he seemed to be an average human being with an average, yet fulfilling, life.
Which led to the question, why? Why was he now covered in his own blood that had poured out of the large hole in his head? What could have done that? It looked like the markings of a beast; a savage, vicious, bloodthirsty beast, perhaps, that subsisted off of a man’s brain. For the grayish matter, that nerve central, was missing.
The man lay in the sun that whole long day, reaching so close to the relative safety of his cabin’s window, but never making it there. Insects and animals eventually ravaged the body, until nothing but a mangled mass of rotting skin and innards draped the bones.
This was the sight that greeted our hero’s eyes as he came tromping through the dense thicket of trees and entered the clearing. A cry of shock, horror, and repulsion left his mouth, and he hurried closer to the scene.
“Another one,” he muttered aloud. There wasn’t anyone else to talk to, of course, so he relayed the fact to himself, and noted it with interest.
“Same manner of death, I wonder?”
He snapped a long, thin branch off a nearby tree and, crouching down, gingerly poked the skull. It rolled over on its side easily enough, and he craned his neck to get a better look.
“Hole in the skull,” he remarked aloud. “Same as last time.”
Our hero stood up with a groan that should have belonged to a man much older than he. Not that he was a young man; but he certainly wasn’t old enough to sound like he was arthritic and rheumatic.
“It couldn’t be, could it?” he mused. “But then again, no animal that I know of could create a hole like that. It’s too perfect.” Perhaps, he pondered hopefully, it was the work of some psychopathic murderer, who used some cylindrical implement to stab his victims in the head and then—
“Took the brains?” Our hero scoffed at the idea. “To what purpose? Study? They’d be more use to him whole, not dragged out through a small opening like that.”
Then a more disturbing thought occurred. “Eat them? Perhaps in some delusional idea that he’d grow smarter?”
Either way, he clung to the slim hope that whatever had killed the man was a human. Not what he thought it really was. If that was the case—he shuddered and focused on the corpse.
“Well, there’s nothing I can do for him. Don’t even have any way of knowing how to identify him. That’s for the authorities anyways, if they weren’t so frickin’ scared of coming up here.”
He took one more solemn look at the remains before turning and heading back to his own little cabin.
...Good Job!
) Actually, there was only a few things that I find off about this...
I hope not. I wasn't meaning to be mean or anything.