Monsters

This is based on Beowulf, believe it or not. It's pretty easy to see what part it's taken from. This was for school and I had a word limit, which is why it might seem rushed. I have a feeling that this might be heavy handed and hashed, but let me know what you think.

“There’s a monster out there,” the old man breathed out clouds of white in the winter air and pointed towards the old factory. Brody stared at the dilapidated building, with the broken windows staring back at him like eyeless sockets, and agreed. “What makes people do that? Go crazy like that? Those poor kids…” the man shook his head. “And it’s not like the police can do anything.” He added.

Yellow lines of caution tape barred Brody from getting any closer to the factory. The rhythmic, pulsing red and blue lights from the cop cars reflected on the black pavement. Somewhere, Brad knew, the serial killer was watching their every move from his shadowy domain with haunted eyes. There was no name to the man who had, four hours earlier, assaulted a school bus and taken six kids hostage. He was known simply as “Lankin” and had so far killed at least twelve people, all under the age of ten.

That was why Brody was here. His little girl was inside, and he was here to get her back. “Please stay back,” a police officer motioned for the old man and Brody, along with a few other onlookers, to move farther away from the yellow tape.

“Are the kids still alright?” the old man asked. But the officer ignored him.

“We cannot disclose any information regarding the situation.” was the cold reply.

Brody felt his hands clench into fists as that all too familiar sense of rage again pushed to the surface, and blinked back tears. He was angry, he was worried, and he was terrified.

The sun began to set, low in the gray and gold sky. A few flecks of snow drifted through the air. The shadows began to stretch along the ground, and Brody crept forward with them. He couldn’t bear waiting any longer. It was clear that the police could do nothing, or would do nothing, until they could move under the cover of dark. But Brody knew he couldn’t wait that long. There was a feeling that writhed deep in his stomach. A premonition that settled in his center and refused to let go. He was running out of time.

The old factory faced the river. One part of an outlying garage leaning over the water’s edge. Brody crouched behind a line of empty oil barrels, piled with mud and trash, as he crept along the concrete wall. To reach the ladder that led up into the waterfront shed, he would have to wade through the freezing, fast current. Checking to make sure he had not been seen, Brody stepped into the river and moved, ever so slowly, towards the ladder.

At last his hands grasped the frosted metal rungs, and he pulled himself up, hand over hand, until he found himself standing on the rotten wooden floorboards of the shed.

Now it was time to find Lankin.

The stairs leading up into the first floor of the factory groaned and creaked beneath his weight. Shattered light pierced into the murky, dusty interior, rapidly fading as night approached. He moved as quickly as possible, careful to stay as silent as he could. The first floor was a maze of halls and rooms. Brody moved through eerie stillness. Only the wind could be heard, whistling through gaps and slats. Broken shards of glass lay strewn across the floor, jagged boards protruded like teeth.

At last he heard voice. Soft, subtle, whimpering. His heart began to pound in his chest. He followed the sounds until he came to a heavy wooden door. He pushed it open, and it creaked on the hinges.

The room was a vacant space, hollow and huge. He found that he was standing on a small ledge. Below him brick walls dropped to the dirty, rust-stained floor. Chains dangled from the ceiling, yellowed windows chocked the light, abandoned crates were pushed into the corners.

Lankin was staring up at him. With wild, wide eyes that narrowed in hatred.

“Don’t come any closer!” his voice was strained, scraping in his throat as he spoke.

“What did you do with them?” he asked. “Where are they?” Lankin snarled, and Brody saw that he had a gun. He raised it and fired, the bullet splintering wood behind Brody’s head. He dodged to the side, lost his footing, and fell from the platform. The drop was steep, and his body crashed into a pile of crates. Pieces of wood scattered across the floor. At first he could not breathe, could not move, but at last he pulled himself to his feet.

For a moment they stared at each other, eyes locked in wordless dare. The wronged and the wrong-doer. Hunter and prey.

There was fear in Lankin’s eyes then. His breaths came fast and hard, whistling out of his lungs. He peeled back his lips in a wide, mad grin and started to laugh uncontrollably. His hand went wild, firing the gun every time he waved his arm. Bullets slammed into the ceiling. Bullets chipped off the concrete. Brody knew this was his one chance, and he rushed at Lankin. The gun was instantly knocked away, sliding across the floor, worthless. They grappled hand to hand, locked in a desperate struggle. Demonic mayhem. Never before had Brody faced such an animalistic opponent. Lankin clawed at his face, dug into his ribs, kicking and raging like a beast unleashed. Every bone in his body recoiled, his fingers were bursting. Fast and hard they fought. At last Lankin pinned him to the floor, pushing down on him, grabbing his throat and suffocating him. Time ground to a halt, Lankin leaned in close.

“You want to know what I do with them?” his voice was unnaturally high. “Sometimes I eat them.” Brody was overcome with rage. Black and bitter, the wave finally broke. He was seized with a sudden, hidden strength. He grabbed Lankin by the arms, lifted him bodily, and threw him against the ground. A bone snapped under Brody’s hand, and Lankin screamed as he was hurled through the air.

At last, panting, Brody crawled to his feet. Lankin clutched his arm, cradling it as he rocked back and forth. But then he spun around, a knife in his good hand.

But Brody had found the gun. Lankin stared at him in horror, hesitating in blind panic, then raced towards him one last time...

Brody stared down into the haunted, wild, and dead eyes of the man before him. His hands trembled, and he dropped the pistol. Numbly facing the fact that it had been him who had pulled the trigger.

He wondered if perhaps there was a bit of monster inside us all.