Page 3 of To Love a Monster
Branches scrabble against the glass, the wind a mournful howl.Pipes groan and old wood settles.The noises merge into something unidentifiable, a symphony of unease that drowns out any chance of rest.I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.Of not being alone.
The bed feels too big, the room too empty, my thoughts too loud.I can’t escape them.I can’t escape myself.Each breath is a struggle, a reminder of the solitude I craved and the fear it’s given life to.I turn, twist, tangle in the sheets, fighting for comfort.
The hours stretch, endless and unforgiving.The sense of being a stranger in my own space wraps around me and tightens.I roll onto my back and stare into the dark, listening to the sounds as they become louder.My chest tightens, and I’m filled with a raw, electric tension.
A burst of sound echoes through the room.The clock ticking, the pipes whispering, the floorboards creaking.And I just know it’ll be hours before sleep whisks me away.
****
SurveillanceLog:L.M
Subject: Lila Montgomery
Location: Northern perimeter
Status: Camera Visual: 94%.Audio: 67%.
Subject arrived on time.Solo.No signs of distress or suspicion.No counter-surveillance behaviors detected.Vehicle registered to parental account.The cabin was prepped recently.
Cleaned and stocked.She moved through it like a memory, cautious but familiar.She touched the surfaces like someone reintroducing herself to an old friend.Or a ghost.She’s curvier than the file indicated.Her hair is a mess of jet-black curls, her eyes a storm-washed blue.She poured a glass of red wine and stood on the deck for several minutes, her eyes glued on the sunset.
She saw me.Not fully.Not clearly.But she certainly felt my presence.She blinked, then dismissed it.Subject painted from approximately 9:20 PM to midnight.Image not fully visible.Partial view shows dark palette, distorted.Themes appear psychological.Possibly trauma related.
She moved through the house with awareness.Turned locks and latched windows.
—N
Chapter Two
Lila
Iwake into the hushof the cabin, a silence so precise it seems to hold its breath.Pale gray light sneaks in through the windows while a subtle bite of cold grips me, reminding me that I’m still here.Today was meant for painting, the plan was simple.Rise, mix my cherished blues, and lose myself in the process.But the box is empty.No cobalt, no ultramarine, no cerulean, the very hues that breathe life into my art are missing.
I know exactly where they’re hiding, neatly stashed in my bedroom at my mother’s house.Immaculate, untouched, just waiting.I swore I wouldn’t go back, at least not until I had something to show for my trip.
My eyes fix on the open box, its stark emptiness screaming in my face.I’ll just have to buy new ones.I kick off the bed, my feet hitting the cold wood with purpose.In my mind, I see the paints perfectly ordered, as they always were.I can’t help but wonder if my mother noticed their presence, if she’s tucked them away or thinks I’ll be back for them any second.I breathe in deep, hold it, then exhale sharply.If I did that, it would only give her another opportunity to try talk me out of coming back.I won’t give her the chance to try and derail this again.
