Creature
by Fatima Al-Shemary
by Fatima Al-Shemary
As soon as I open my eyes, I know that I’m back in the home. I recognize the scum-stained floor and the dingy bathroom walls. I'm in the rusty bathtub, which is filled with cold water. My arms are shackled above me. I know Mother is here, but I don’t look at her.
“What were you thinking?” is the first thing she says. “Someone could have seen you, it was almost sunset!”
I don’t answer her, but look down at my slimy white body, at my long, floppy fins dangling over the edge of the tub. They are shackled as well. I see my reflection in the still water. My enormous blue fish-eyes stare back at me from my scaly face.
“How did you find me?” My voice gargles, but Mother understands what I’m saying.
“I didn’t. Someone brought you to me. A fisherman who recognized you as my son.”
“I got caught in a net,” I whisper.
“What you did was dangerous,” Mother exclaims. “You could have been killed!”
“Maybe that would have been better for both of us."
“You don’t mean that,” Mother says. “I’m barring your window, for your own good.”
I finally look at her. She sits next to me in an old wooden chair, her gray, tear-filled eyes surrounded by dark billows that suck them into her pale, bone-thin face.
“You treat me like a prisoner,” I say. “This is happening because of what you’ve done.”
She ignores me and reaches out to the sink, where a wooden bowl sits at the edge. “You’ve been unconscious for a few hours. When they dropped you on the boat you landed on your head. You need to gain your strength back. I made you some soup.”
The soup is grey, cold and slimy. Octopus legs. Raw seafood is the only thing I can eat in this form.
“I hate you.”
She feeds me the slime.
“I hate you.” I flop, splashing water over the edges of the tub. “Do you hear me?”
“You don’t mean it,” she hisses. Her eyes are fiery and crazed, like the first time I tried to leave her - when I was a normal boy.
“I’ve thought about killing you before, for doing this to me. I’ve thought about murdering you just to free myself.”
She doesn’t look threatened.
“Don’t worry, I may be a monster, but I’m not nearly as grotesque as you are. I’ll find another way.”
“Eat your soup,” she states, feeding me the next spoonful. We don’t speak. When I’m done, she takes the bowl and stands up.
“I love you, Will,” she says. She kisses my head. “You love me, too. I know you do.”
She turns the lights off and leaves me in the dark.
* * *
I awake when day breaks and find myself in bed. Faint white daylight outlines the closed curtains on the opposite side of the room. I’m human again. My arms and legs are shackled. I feel the cold, hard iron bracelets locked around my wrists and ankles.
The locks on the door jingle. Mother walks in with a tray of food. Her fine black hair is swept up into an elegant bun, and she wears a white satin dress with long sleeves and silver buttons down the front. Around her neck is the pearl choker I’d made her years ago, before I was a monster. I’d spent an entire summer swimming in the ocean looking for those pearls.
“You’re awake,” she says brightly. “Good. I made breakfast.”
She puts the tray down in front of me. There’s a glass of milk, French toast and eggs. My stomach grumbles.
I look up. She smiles brightly, clearly determined to forget everything that happened.
I’m so sickened by her, despise having to accept her services. I take the fork; the chains tying me down are long enough for me to move my arms and legs, but not long enough to let me out of bed.
Mother looks pleased when I begin to eat. She goes to the window and draws the curtains apart. Dismal morning light fills the room, streaming in between the iron bars that are now fixed over the window.
“It’s a fine day, isn't it, Will?” Mother says. “I’m going to the village to buy a few new books. I’m sure you’ve read all of yours by now. If you’d like, I can bring some new ones for you. How does that sound?”
I don’t answer.
“I suppose I can just pick some out myself. Oh! I forgot to tell you, I bought a new chessboard yesterday. We can play a few rounds when you’re done with breakfast. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
This is what my days are composed of. Playing games with Mother. Or drawing pictures with her. Or listening while she reads to me. Or sitting in silence while she plays her violin.
When I don’t say anything, Mother smoothes out her dress and sits next to me. She takes my hand.
“Will, I know you’re angry with me, but I think it would be best if we just forgave each other and put this all behind us. Don’t you agree?”
I just drink the milk and pretend she’s invisible. She sighs.
“All right then, I’ll just wait for you, I suppose. You’ll come around.” She goes to the door and walks out, locking it behind her.
The glass shakes in my trembling hand. I stare at the bars on the window, then throw the glass at the space underneath it. It shatters into a thousand little shards, and the milk splatters all over the ugly, brown striped wallpaper. It leaves a long white stain as it streams down to the dark floorboards.
Mother doesn’t come back, but I know she’s heard it.
I spend the rest of the morning staring at the ceiling, trying to think of ways to escape now, but between the bars on my window, the shackles binding me down to the bed, and the locks on my bedroom door, any thought of escape is pointless.
It’s around noon when I hear the creaking of the front door as it opens. Mother must be back from town. I wait dreadfully for her to come up. But she doesn’t.
Someone has come with her. I hear two voices drift up through the floorboards. One is mother's, and the other a man's. I don’t recognize his voice, but I can hear what they are saying:
“What about the boy’s father?” the man says, continuing a conversation they’d been having.
“Dead for nearly a decade,” Mother answers.
“Ah, I’m deeply sorry. That must be hard on you and your son.”
“We get along just fine,” Mother says, indifferent.
“And how long has he been...this way?”
“Around the same time his father died.”
“Oh.”
“He was lost at sea,” Mother says. “He was a sailor.”
We have not had a visitor in years. Mother makes sure to keep everyone out - away from me. Everyone in the village thinks I’m insane, so naturally, they stay away.
I don’t spend much time wondering about today’s exception.
I slam my back against the headboard of the bed so that it slams into the wall. I do it again, and again, and again, causing a ruckus to alert the man, whoever he is.
“Help! Help me!” I cry out. I keep knocking the bed into the wall and screaming. “Help me! Help me!”
I keep screaming, even when Mother bursts into the room moments later.
“Shhhhh!” she hisses, frenzied. She covers my mouth tightly with both her hands. I bite her palm. Her face twists into a pained grimace but she doesn’t let go, even when I begin to gnaw on her flesh. She grits her teeth and reaches into her dress pocket. She pulls out a small vial with a cork. Pulling the cork out with her teeth, she drags my head back and tries to force the sleep medicine into my mouth. I turn my head away and spit it out, coating the white bed sheets with the brown liquid. Mother flusters and brings out a handkerchief from her other pocket. She ties it around my head, gagging me with it. My screams turn into muffled cries.
“Be quiet!” she whispers. I stop screaming. She rushes out of the room. I listen intently when she returns to the anonymous guest.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Mother says pleasantly. “He doesn’t like visitors.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. Gosh, that must have frightened you, but there’s nothing to worry about.”
“You completely silenced him. What did you do?” The man’s tone is abashed and full of accusation.
Mother is quiet. I can imagine the impassive, deadly look on her face.
“I know how to take care of my son, Gordon,” she finally answers.
“That’s questionable,” he says. “Given that I caught him unconscious in my fishing net yesterday.”
The fisherman.
“You don’t have a right to come into my house and judge the way I look after my son, no matter what you’ve done,” Mother says venomously.
Gordon hesitates. “Forgive me...but I’ve never heard anyone cry out like that. Is that normal?”
“As I said, Will doesn’t like visitors. Having strangers in the house makes him upset.”
He doesn’t respond to that.
“I think it would be best if you left now.” Mother’s shoes clack against the hardwood floor, then the front door creaks open.
“I’m sorry,” Gordon says with some reluctance. “It wasn’t my place to judge.”
“Goodbye, then,” Mother says blankly.
“Goodbye,” Gordon returns.
The door creaks and slams shut. I hear her loud footsteps as she comes upstairs. She walks into the room, seething.
“What were you doing!” she cries. “You almost ruined everything!”
The handkerchief is still gagging me, so I can’t say what I want to say, which isn’t anything very pleasant.
“Whatever it was you were trying to do, it can’t ever happen again, understand?”
When I don’t answer, my silence ignites her. She rips the handkerchief from around my head.
“Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
She stares at me with those crazed eyes, panting as she tries to get a hold of herself. She smoothes her hair and her dress, then walks back to the door without looking at me. The room shudders when she slams the door behind her.
* * *
I don’t get any food for the rest of the day. By the time the sun sets, my stomach is growling, but it’s easy to ignore it, knowing that I’ve alerted someone of what Mother is doing to me, I don’t feel so helpless anymore.
Mother doesn’t take me to the tub after sunset, so I’m trapped in bed all night. The scales on my skin dry up and start to burn. My throat constricts and my breath comes out in raspy wheezes. The gills under my ears tighten painfully. My entire being yearns for water.
She’s left me like this before, when I’ve angered or upset her, to teach me a lesson. To teach me who is in charge.
I just stare out the barred window, waiting for the mercy of the sun. When it finally rises, my scales weave together to form my human skin again. The transformation is excruciating. I swallow painfully, my throat parched.
Mother comes up then, entering the room with a look on her face that implies that I am the one making her suffer. She is holding a long pitcher and a glass.
“Thirsty?” she says, eyeing my gaze. I nod.
She pours a few drops of water in the glass, then holds it up to my lips. The water is only enough to moisten my dry lips. Mother pulls the glass away.
“You don’t know how much I hate doing this,” she says, looking pained. “Why do you make me punish you this way?”
I try to swallow. “Water. Please.”
She pours me a small amount of water in the glass, then holds it out to me. I take it and gulp the feeble amount down.
“You really break my heart sometimes. You know that, don’t you? I give you everything. Food, shelter, love, and you still fight me.” Her gray eyes fill up. “Why can’t you just be happy?”
“Mother,” I start, my voice still hoarse. “All I want is for you to let me go. Is that really so much to ask for?”
“You’ll leave me.”
“I won’t leave you,” I say desperately. “I’ll come back. I’ll visit you all the time. And when I’m gone, I’ll write you letters every day.”
But I’m pulling at strings too far to reach. Her face is blank. I sink back in the bed, staring at the bars on the window.
“How am I supposed to live my life like this?”
“You’ll leave me,” she repeats. “Just like your father. I can’t let that happen.”
I say nothing. I’ve tried to rationalize with her before, but it’s useless trying to reason with someone who is so beyond reason. I hold the glass out. She watches me gravely, then fills it all the way up. I drink it down and hold out for another. A third.
“Thank you,” I say without emotion. She leaves the pitcher and the glass on the desk by my bed and stands. I watch her indifferently as she walks to the door. She stops with her hand on the door knob and looks at me.
“I just don’t know what to do anymore, Will.”
I turn to stare at the bars again. “Do what you always do, Mother, and I’ll do what I always do.”
She hovers for a minute, then leaves without a word. The door closes behind her without a shudder.
* * *
As dawn turns to day, everything goes back to the way it was. Mother brings me breakfast. She offers a game of chess, while I eat. I say yes, since I have nothing else to do. She beats me, like always.
“Why do you always win?” I mutter.
“I know all of your moves, Will. Try to change your tactic.”
I push the board away, annoyed by the lecturing schoolteacher tone she’s taken on. She sighs and puts the board back in the box, then stands and packs it away in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
“So is that fisherman ever coming back?” I ask, biting into my toast.
She doesn’t answer immediately. With her back to me, she says, “No, he’s not. I’ve asked him to stay away.”
When she turns back to me, her face is expressionless.
“He did save your life, however. For that, I’m grateful, and so I have to find some way to thank him.” She comes back to the desk by my bed. “I think a letter will do, don’t you?”
She opens the top drawer and pulls out a paper pad, an envelope, a pen, and ink. I watch her as she begins to write, an idea suddenly springing up in my head.
The letter only takes her ten minutes to write, and I wonder how truly heartfelt her gratitude could be.
“I didn’t finish shopping yesterday, so I’m going to the village again today,” she says without looking up from the letter. “I’ll likely be gone all day. I’ll give this to Gordon first thing. Hopefully he’ll leave us alone after that.”
She folds the paper in half and slides it into the envelope. Before she seals it, I say, as casually as possible,
“Mother, I’d like some more toast.”
She stops folding the envelope and looks at me, surprised. “You already had three.”
“Well, I’m starving, having skipped over lunch and dinner yesterday,” I say sardonically. “Some more eggs would be nice, too,” I add.
“I’ll have to make you some more. Can you wait ten minutes?”
“Yes.”
When she leaves, I snatch the paper and pen off the desk. With only ten minutes to write what I need to, I hastily write:
Gordon, this is Will.
Mother doesn’t know about this. I need your help. She is keeping me here against my will.
She’s going to shop in the village today. Come to the house. I don’t care what you have to do to get inside. Break down the front door - unless you know how to pick a lock. I don’t know where she keeps the keys to my bedroom. You might have to break that one down.
Please come. I’m not insane. She’s not just keeping me locked here. It’s so much worse. Please, Gordon. You helped me once. Help me again.
Please.
Will.
I fold the paper up and slip it behind her letter in the envelope so that it doesn‘t show, then place everything just as it was before she left the room. When she comes back, she has a plate full of eggs and cinnamon toast. She brings it to me and watches as I gorge myself. She gives me a strange look before she sits down and seals the letter.
“Are you still hungry?” she asks.
“No.”
I watch her put everything away. She glances at the clock. It’s nearly noon. I can tell she's eager to leave. Whenever we have a fight, she spends a day in the village or in the park, away from me, so she can get herself together.
“I’m going to the village now,” she says solemnly. “Do you need anything else from me?”
I put the fork down, having cleaned the plate. “No.”
She nods once, then leaves the room, the letter clutched tightly in her hand.
* * *
All I can do now is wait. I stare at the bars on the window, but I do not see them. I’m aware of the shackles holding me down to the bed, but I do not feel them.
A few hours after Mother is gone, I hear a creaking noise down stairs. Not the familiar creaking of the front door. It’s a high pitched squeal - followed by a thud.
I sit up intently, hope rising. I hear the heavy footsteps as they come up the stairs - no way they could be Mother’s. They come down the hall and right up to my door, then stop.
“Will?” the man’s voice is no louder than a whisper, but I can still hear it.
“Yes!” I cry. “I’m in here, Gordon! How did you get inside?”
“I climbed in through the window. Are you all right?”
“At the moment. Can you open the door?”
He pauses.
“There are so many damned locks. I don’t think I can pick through them all…hold on, Will. I’ll try to find the keys.”
His heavy footsteps drift away from the door. I can hear him rustling through the rooms. He’s back in ten minutes.
“I think I’ve got them. This many keys could only be used for this door.”
“Where did you find them?”
“Your Mother’s bedroom, I think, in a drawer by the bed.”
He struggles with the locks, but eventually he gets them all. The door swings open and
Gordon walks into the room with great caution.
He is larger than I expected him to be. Very tall and broad, with suntanned skin and dark beard stubble. His brown eyes widen as they appraise me, the iron bracelets, and the bars on my window.
“Dear god,” he exclaims.
“They’re just precautions,” I mutter bitterly. “In case I ever to try to leave.”
“I don’t have much experience with the…mentally unstable,” Gordon says. “But is this all necessary?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have experience with the ‘mentally unstable’ either.” Unless I count Mother. “I’m not insane, Gordon.”
“So you have been locked up in here for…”
“Two years,” I say. “Since I was fifteen. I was going to be a sailor…like my father…I wanted to go and find him, even though he had been gone for eight years. I didn’t believe he was dead - I still don’t. Mother begged me not to go, but I didn’t listen to her. And so she did this to me, so I could never leave.”
He stares at me, wide eyed.
“In your letter,” he starts. “You said it was much worse than her keeping you locked in here. What did you mean by that?”
“You would have to see that for yourself. I have to show you, but you have to free me, first.”
He stands there, unsure what to do. Desperately, I sit up and reach for his hand with both of mine.
“Please, Gordon! I can’t stand it! Being locked in this room, with no one to talk to except her, and turning into…please, Gordon. She is not sane. Believe me.”
He stares for a minute, then nods sharply and fumbles with the ring of keys in his hand.
“This is the only key that didn’t work on any of the door locks,” he says. He holds up a long black key and sticks it into the bracelet around my left wrist. I watch as he twists it.
The clasp comes free. He quickly goes to the other one and unlocks it. I rub my wrists where the shackles had tightened so constrictively.
I look up at Gordon to smile at him, then stop in horror when I see Mother standing behind him. She’s holding a large statue of the Virgin Mary in her hands, raised over her head, ready to strike him.
“Gordon, look!” I yell.
Gordon turns just in time. Mother shrieks viciously and tries to hit him with the statue, but he catches her by the arms and shoves her back. Mother tries to wrestle out from his grasp in the ensuing struggle. She reaches for his face, scratching at it. Gordon leans away from her.
“The key, Gordon!” I say. He tosses it to me.
“No!” Mother shrieks and tries to dive for the key, but Gordon wraps his arms tightly around her, like a straitjacket.
I quickly unlock the shackles around my ankles while Gordon struggles to keep Mother away from me.
“Why?” she shouts, slamming her fists against the fisherman’s chest.
I get out of bed, using the post for support. My balance is a little unsteady, but I manage to walk over to her without falling.
In reaction to my progress, Mother sinks to the floor in a heap.
“Why?” she whispers.
* * *
It’s close to sunset.
I stand at the far edge of the dock, staring out at the water, breathing in the briny sea air. It has been too long since I’ve smelled the ocean.
Gordon’s fishing boat floats next to the dock, tied down so it doesn’t go anywhere. I hear the fisherman approaching from behind, but I don’t turn around. He comes to stand next to me.
“Will, here.” He holds out a coat. “It’s pretty cold out here.”
“I won’t be needing it,” I say. “Thank you, though.”
We watch the sun slowly begin to creep to the far end of the horizon.
“So, er, where did you go yesterday?" Gordon says. "After we took your mother to the doctor?”
“I had to show the doctor something - alone. The same thing I’m going to show you. I was hoping he could help me, but he couldn‘t.”
“Oh,” Gordon says. “What are you waiting for, exactly?”
“Sunset.”
I don’t say anything further. Gordon coughs self-consciously.
“I went to see your mother today,” he says.
“How is she?”
“She’s…they’ll take good care of her.”
“I hope so. I do still love her, no matter what she did to me.”
“You’re not angry with her?”
I shake my head. “Not anymore. I guess I'm just giddy with the freedom.”
“What did she do to you, Will?”
“It was a long time ago,” I say. “Like I told you, I was going to be a sailor. I was eight when my father was lost at sea, and Mother was afraid she would lose me, too. She was desperate to make me stay, but I wouldn’t listen to her. The night before I was supposed to leave she made me some broth. I don’t know what she did to it, but it was bitter and disgusting, and I wouldn’t eat more than a few spoonfuls. That was when it happened to me, but it didn’t work like she wanted to. I guess I was supposed to stay like that forever, but I always changed back when the sun rose, so she just kept me locked in bed, or in the tub, day and night.”
Gordon stays silent. I can tell he has no idea what I’m talking about. The sky begins to turn orange. I start to take my clothes off.
“Er, what are you doing there, son?”
“Just watch,” I say, pulling my shirt over my head. I take off my pants and my shoes, tossing them aside, and stand naked at the edge of the dock. I feel the painful transformation starting. My skin starts to stretch, split apart and harden into little scales. The color of the scales lightens and shimmers in the sun. I hear Gordon gasp.
My limbs begin to soften and elongate, and I know I can’t stand for much longer before I simply collapse, so I quickly dive into the water.
This is the first time I’ve ever experienced the transformation in the water. It’s much less painful than it is on the surface, and instead of feeling weak and frail, I feel light and swift, like I can swim for hundreds of miles without getting tired.
The water drifts pleasantly around me. It feels good on my scaly skin. I wiggle my long legs just slightly, but the movement pushes me very swiftly and very far. I move my legs faster, ascending, and break the surface in less than a second.
Gordon is still standing at the dock, his mouth hanging open.
“Will?”
“It’s me, don’t worry,” I gurgle. I dive back into the water, deeper this time, then rise back up to the surface with shooting force and fly out in a long arc over the water, like a dolphin, allowing the fisherman to get a good look, and then fall back into the ocean. I float on top of the water, waiting for him to say something. But he seems to be at a loss for words.
“You see?” I call out to him. “This is why I had to escape.”
“She did this to you?” he finally speaks. “Your own mother?”
I shrug. “It’s not so bad if I’m not locked up. And I’m not anymore, thanks to you. I’ll never forget what you did for me, Gordon.”
Gordon stares at me, taking in my words, the meaning behind them.
“I get the feeling you’re not going to stay for very long.
“I can’t stay here. I have to find a way to turn back to normal.”
“But how?”
“Mother won’t tell me how she did what she did. She won’t tell anyone. And the doctor is no help. I’d rather not stay here and do nothing.”
“So where are you going?”
“To a bigger continent. Explore some big cities, see if I can find more experienced doctors who might be able to help me.”
“Are you ever going to come back?”
I hesitate. “I don’t think so. At least, not for a long time.”
“Well,” Gordon says. “I guess you do what you have to do. I’ll be right here if you ever need me, though.”
“Thanks, Gordon. You’ve already done so much for me. Can I ask you to do one more thing?”
“Of course.”
“Next time you visit Mother, tell her I love her, and that I forgive her, and that I’m not angry with her, and that I’ll send her letters as often as I can.”
“Absolutely.”
I smile at him. “I’ll try to write to you, too.”
Gordon snorts. “And I’ll try to respond.”
I laugh. “Goodbye, then.”
“Bye, Will. Be safe.”
I swim away from the shore, not even turning around to look at the fisherman one last time. I leave everything behind me and dive back under, feeling the water rush past me as I cut through it. Uninhibited, unbound.
Free.
* * *
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