The Gronk

The Gronk wanted to kill me and was finished playing games. It crept into my backyard, shuffled its hairy body across the lawn and squatted on the patio steps, snarling and spitting drool over all eight of its arms.

I pretended not to notice, continued to dunk solders into my boiled egg, making sure the egg yolk soaked all the way to my fingers before popping the toast into my mouth.

There was no getting around the little monster. I had to go out into the garden and fight, no point in putting it off. Grab The Sword of Right, march out there and that would be the end of the matter.

Before I had taken a couple of steps though my mother’s voice called me back.

“Arthur Pebbly. Just where do you think you’re going.”

I turned around, signed that I wanted to go out and play. She narrowed her eyes, tapped the end of my plastic mug with her finger.

“Not before you finish that you’re not. Then only for ten minutes otherwise you’ll miss the school bus.”

Reluctantly I nodded and walked back over to drink the warm tea. All the while the snarls of the Gronk became louder as it grew more impatient.

Only people like me could see the Gronk. Our heads didn’t work the same way as everyone else, it might have been an accident or an illness but sometimes the way people perceive the world changes. They can begin to see the things that live in the shadows, in the cracks of what is and what’s not. That’s why it got so angry, didn’t like being noticed, made it feel uncomfortable. Which in turn made it nasty and mean.

I finished the tea in three gulps, picked up the plastic beaker and plate then left the dining room. I hated drinking from plastic, didn’t like the taste, but I had difficulty in holding anything else.

In the kitchen I grabbed hold of the old broom and watched it transform, the wood warped into steel, shining and righteous, the long thick bristles turned into the solid metal of a pommel and handle. Depending on my mood the sword sometimes changed size; today it was almost the length of my body. Then steeling myself for the worse I opened the backdoor and stepped outside.

Straight away the Gronk attacked me, all eight arms reaching for my throat. In a desperate move I twirled the sword so it acted like a shield, turning the Gronk away.

Then as it readied to pounce I set upon it, thrusting and slashing, giving no quarter and none to be expected in return.

Back across the lawn the Gronk retreated, towards the rose bushes and the neighbour’s fence. If I could just keep up the momentum it would be trapped.

However the Gronk’s seventh arm snaked out, grasped hold of my ankle and forced me off balance. I tried to counter by stabbing with the sword but the Gronk was too quick and darted to the left.

I fell over.

With hideous glee the Gronk leapt onto my chest, leant in close and sneered, breath smelling of rotting fish, overpowering decay.

“Bright light you are, shining and sweet. Dark world I belong, leaves me cold and shivering. Warm my belly perhaps? Maybe you make the Gronk shine?” It whispered.

The Gronk had won. I was defenceless. Then my mother’s voice cut unexpectedly over the garden.

“Arthur Pebbly get up out of that rose bush.” She was across the lawn in an instant; the Gronk squealed and fled out through the back gate.

“That’s the last time you play alone.” She snapped, spinning me around she forcibly dusted down my back; her face clouded with anger, her other hand firmly upon my shoulder like a rock.

“Let’s see about getting you to school now shall we.”




***



The tramp’s blood spilt onto my shoes. I hate it when that happens, stupid dirty men can’t even die properly. I gave him one last kick for good measure and almost overbalanced, as my right side failed to take the weight.

Damn it that’s the last thing I needed, to fall into that bag of puss, still he’s dead now, that’s what counted.

I went to fold the flick knife away but saw that the tip was missing! A brief moment of panic before I noticed it still stuck in the side of the old man’s neck. It must have snapped after the first time, then that must mean the other times were done with just the broken end.

It made me laugh, laugh so hard that tears rolled down my eyes and dripped from my chin.

“I bet that hurt.” I whispered to his corpse.

It was no less than he deserved, begging on the streets like an animal, drunk on cheap wine and so desperate that he would consider doing anything for money.

God, he made want to vomit. So pitifully weak, practically asking to be a victim.

I hate weakness; it’s ugly and dark. Compassion, kindness and love are all symptoms of its cancerous grip on the human condition. The tramps, beggars, vagrants of life are simply its physical manifestations, as such they need to be removed, and cast out of our gene pool.

Let their seed die with them.

He wasn’t my first, that was different, I actually knew him. Dirty little tramp used to beg next to the ATM every day, come rain or shine. I could see him from my flat first thing in the morning, playing on his inability to function and others stupidity. Watching him made me realise what’s wrong with society, with the whole dammed world.

That’s why I called him over, offered to make some soup. I could tell he was tired and hungry yet he held a kind of haunted, wary look about him, but it didn’t stop him from refusing. He couldn’t refuse, he knew what it was all about deep down, he knew and what’s more, he wanted it.

As soon as I shut the door, I was on him, pressing myself against his vile body, grabbing at his clothes. He fought at first, but a couple of good hard hits soon put a stop to that. The trouble was I knew he would tell afterwards, his type always would. Run off at first chance crying to Daddy, then I’d be up for it.

That’s why I killed him, grabbing his throat and squeezing, with every last ounce of strength that I possessed.

He took a long time to die.

After I finished I realised that I had spent myself whilst grappling with him. Something about the death throes, the power involved, it was better than any sex could ever be.
Later I remember sitting at my kitchen table calmly stirring sugar into my coffee, just looking at the partly naked body still in my hallway, aware that I had evolved in some way as a caterpillar might one day become a butterfly. I had now gained an insight into life, and I was very eager to try again, very eager indeed.

This latest victim of mine, lying in a pool of his own piss in this dead end ally, hadn’t resisted as much as the others; maybe he didn’t see the point.

Tall, well muscled with masses of wild dark hair I manage to cut an imposing figure, I bet he took one look at me coming and knew he hadn’t a chance. The idea started me giggling once more.

The faint sounds of a siren stopped my laughter. It couldn’t be?

The siren rose in pitch and volume, now there could be no doubt.

They were coming for me. But I had been so careful.

Stupid…Eddie…stupid….

I hurried off down the alleyway as fast as my good leg would carry me. I couldn’t really feel the right-hand side of my body, just the odd tingling sensation now and then, so when I walked I was forced to drag the leg behind me like some dribbling retard. So you might imagine when I ran it was a shameless, shambling mess. The effort it took exhausted me and that was just to run to the next road.

A few other people were walking by, but no one paid me any attention, or if they did they were quick to pretend that they hadn’t noticed.

The sirens were really loud now, had I been seen?

To make things worse, a pressure around my temples signalled the start of a migraine. I had tablets but they were in the car, didn’t think I would need them for a lazy shit like him. Without those tablets though I would soon be on the floor unable to move let alone escape.

I had to get to the car; it wasn’t very far, just parked further along.

I started to walk but swayed like a drunk with the pain, at the same time a police car roared around the bend, it’s sirens blazing. The noise almost made my head explode.

I started to punch my face, hitting at myself in desperation and rage. I couldn’t be stopped, I hadn’t done enough. I didn’t want to be caught and if I was what would they do to me?

My hand tightened round the flick knife, there was absolutely no way that I’m going to jail for this.

Killing a cop was different though, not like the others, he might fight back, I might lose?

Get a grip Eddie; it’s either them or you, which one is it going to be?

The police car raced past and took the next corner without even slowing.

I would have laughed but it was all I could do to stagger on and find the car.

Even when I found it I struggled with the keys and I practically fell into the driving seat. I scrambled with the pills, popping several into my mouth at once, no water to wash them down, so ground them up in my teeth before swallowing. The taste made me heave and I almost puked over my lap, bile dribbling from the corner of my mouth.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for the pain to fade, clawing at my face until it was gone and I could start to think again. Dragging my nails across my cheeks gave me focus and clarity of vision, a kind of routine that helped with the migraines. When finally it passed I felt exhausted and drained, my breath came in shallow ragged gulps, patiently I waited until they evened out and I could relax.

That was close, but they hadn’t found me, perhaps they wouldn’t?

My face was a mess, my nose bled and my left eye was swollen, I hadn’t shaved for a couple of weeks and that hid most of the bruises. It didn’t matter, I would heal in a few days, and the important thing was that the police passed me by.

That must mean that they weren’t even looking yet, I still had time to carry on.

I took a deep breath, smiled and even managed a light whistle. Today wasn’t turning out so bad after all.



***



Mum packed my bag, clucking over me as usual.

“Honestly Arthur you should really have grown out of your imaginary friend by now. You’re almost fourteen and you’re going to have to grow up sometime.”

She hadn’t slept again, she sounded tired and I noticed bags around her eyes. She was wearing her old plimsolls, faded jeans with small holes in the knees, and a grey T-shirt that had once said, ‘Relax’ in big blue letters but now only the pale outline remained. I couldn’t seem to remember when I last saw her wearing anything nice, apply any make up or take time just for herself.

In one of her more reflective moments, she sometimes told me that the toughest time of her life was just after giving birth. She would purse her lips together and her usually soft eyes would harden with remembered pain. Then she often launched into this monologue stopping only to scowl at me if I attempted to interrupt.

These moments were rare, brought on by either one to many shots of Gin late at night or just a unfulfilled, unrecognised need to talk of such times.

To me they proved a valuable insight into my past, my beginnings, the why and how of who and what I was.

So it went then, that at four in the morning after twenty-four hours of blood and anguish I was dragged into the world. Not screaming like any other child, but perfectly quiet, not a single sound escaping from my lips. At a glance the Doctors’ could see that their were problems, facial abnormalities and webbing of my hands complete with a paleness of my flesh and a disturbing ability to stop breathing ensured that I saw out the first two weeks of my life in intensive care.

My mother was inconsolable, nothing anyone said could help, no Doctor or Nurse and especially my grandmother could make it better.

Grandmother decided I was obviously retarded, deformed, sick in the mind. Chances were that I wouldn’t last long anyway, it would be better for all if I stayed in the hospital, get the best care that I could. Mum could come home with her, put this bad experience behind them, with time even forget that it ever happened.

When the doctors finally diagnosed me with having Blackfan Diamond Anemia, a rare blood disorder it should have been the end of any chance we would have had of a normal life together.

But it wasn’t. The grief she felt over the loss of the child that she should have had, faded in those two weeks and once it was gone she was still left with a baby boy who very much needed her to care for him, even if he did look a little odd.

The long list of symptoms associated with my condition: fusion of certain bones in my spine, congenital heart defects, mutism, slow growth and abnormal weakness all gave my grandmother extra ammunition to fight with. The two argued bitterly, but in the end my mother’s decision was final. I came home one month later.

We don’t see my grandmother anymore.

I guess I’ve been lucky though, I’ve had the same opportunities as any other child. I just have to work harder than most. A lot harder in fact. Failure is not an option or a luxury that I’m allowed to entertain. This translates to extra homework, weekend Math, English lesions and a healthy fear of scoring anything less than a ‘B’. It also means I’ve never had time for any friends, not that anyone would play with me, the special needs kid at the end of the row. But I’ve always got my imagination, I can visit different worlds, explore ancient castles or ruins, whatever I can think of, I see as if it’s really there.

It’s what helps me fight the Gronk. I’m not sure why, but the stuff of dreams work against it, perhaps it’s partly made up of the same substance, maybe it’s magic, it could even be psychic powers. I doubt I will ever know the truth, but what I do know is that it works.

My mum often said that she loved me but by doing so it left little room for anything else, which included the imagination. I could have tried to explain about the Gronk but what would have been the point?

Instead I signed that I was sorry and it wouldn’t happen again.
In response she handed over the bag and managed a weak smile.

“Inside you’ve got the last apple, a penguin and some corn beef sandwiches.”

I made a face.

“Tough. It’s only going to waste otherwise so you might as well have them. Also there is a letter to Mr. Parsons your gym teacher asking you to be excused from rugby this winter.”

Now I looked shocked.

“It’s for the best Arthur. Last weeks storms knocked down all the trees on Maple road and the weather man’s forecast says there’s more to come.”

I tried to sign that it wasn’t fair, how did she expect me to stop acting like a child when she always treats me like one.

She put her hands over mine.

“Life isn’t fair.” There was a bitter edge to her voice that stopped any argument.

Sometimes Mum got like that, always when she was tired. It was usually best not to continue but wait until her mood improved.

I nodded and she seemed satisfied.

“Look at the time”, she said staring up at the clock. “Get your coat on quick Arthur or you’ll miss that bus.”

I grabbed my anorak and hurried to pull the zip up as she ushered me from the house.

“Have a good day. Make sure you give that letter to Mr Parsons and remember that Mummy loves you.”

I went to sign that I loved her too but she had already closed the door.

I waited until I could hear her back in the kitchen and then took the letter, crumpled it into a ball and chucked it into my neighbour’s bin.

Waiting to be picked up was always the worst time of the day. I had to walk past the other kids and wait on the street corner for my bus to arrive.

This morning it was my neighbour, Billy Brent who started it.

“Hey mongrel face, why you looking so down.”

The other kids laughed and sniggered between themselves.

“Look at him, all ready for school as if he could actually learn something.”

I’m not sure why, but this morning the insults got to me more, perhaps it had been the battle with the Gronk. I signed that Billy Brent ate too much and liked to kiss boys.
He didn’t get it though, none of them did. They just stared at me and then burst out laughing.

“Mongrel face can’t even talk yet.” Billy sneered.

I remembered one sign Billy would recognise. I saw the older boys use it from time to time.

I showed him my middle finger.

Billy stopped laughing and his face went red.

“Why you thick little turd.” He shouted.

I stood there and grinned.

That’s when the Gronk appeared. It slithered up out of the gutter like a snake regarding me with disgust.

My grin leeched away. The Gronk had never followed me here before; our battles were in the back garden only. It had been an unspoken rule between us.

I couldn’t fight it here. The Sword of Right was back in the house; my mum had needed it to brush down the landing steps.

A stone whistled past. Billy Brent had collected a handful and persisted in chucking them towards me, cheered on by the others.

I signed at him not to, that they might hurt but of course he couldn’t understand and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

He threw another, it would have gone wide off the mark but the Gronk abruptly leapt into action.

Its third and fifth hands clenched together into one large fist and punched out at the stone, causing it to change course and strike me on the head.

The blow left me almost senseless.

I could feel the trickle of warm blood running down my face. Billy had stopped throwing the stones probably amazed at the sudden change in direction.

I could no longer see the Gronk but it couldn’t be far away so I turned and ran for all I was worth.



***



I found myself singing some bullshit song from my youth, couldn’t quite remember the name of it, but it made me smile. The song was about cats and reminded me of ones my father had.

I use to love those cats, especially when they were kittens. Tiny balls of fluff and claws, attacking everything in sight, easy to look after and good companions when no one else wanted to know.

I decided then that I might get myself another one, maybe a pedigree from a pet store. I’d have to see what type they had and expense was a factor, but I think I could manage it.

My mind wandered but the automatic was easy to drive even with my useless right arm. I picked up speed and took the outside lane to clear the congestion building up around the centre. It meant hitting the suburbs but I didn’t care, in fact I had no worries in the world.

That was when I saw it!

I glanced into my rear view mirror and saw something squatting on the backseat, something hairy…with eight arms!

I blinked and looked again but it was gone.

“What in hell.”

I wanted to lean over and have a real good look in the back, but I couldn’t rely on my right side so had to search through the rear mirror as best I could.

Definitely no sign of it, it must have been me, a trick of the light perhaps?

“Slow down.”

I dropped down gear.

I had never hallucinated before, I always thought of myself as being stronger than that.

“Turn left here.”

I moved across the lanes and took the left turning; it brought me close to the outskirts of the estate.

Had to be a result of me being hyped. Yeah must have been that. Body pumped like mine, mind has to release in some way.

“Go faster.”

I watched the speed dial increase from thirty then forty and climb up to fifty. The buildings, the gardens, the pavements raced by becoming a blur.

“Faster.”

I put my foot down.


***





By some means or other the Gronk had got ahead of me. I managed to wipe the blood from my eyes to see it standing there sneering with it’s arms wide expecting me to run blindly forward.

So instead I stopped, tried to catch my breath. Running had been hard and now a ball of pain tightened in my chest, I found it difficult to breathe.

Somehow I’d ran onto Maple Street. The trees were still down, but their branches were gone, packed into bundles and left to be collected at some futures date. The old trees still covered the pavement and blocked the way completely so I couldn’t get through.

Perhaps I could cross over the road, escape through the buildings and somehow get back towards home. I discounted the idea almost immediately though. The traffic on the road was heavy; most of it trucks on their way for early morning pickups at the factories a couple of miles south, Maple Street ran for a fair distance and they could really pick up a good fast speed if the mood took them, which it often did.

There wasn’t anything other than offices down here, most of them now were empty, abandoned for as far back as I could remember. I was trapped.

The Gronk stepped forward.

I needed to find somewhere safe, perhaps the school, the Gronk wouldn’t follow there, with all the adults, it wouldn’t dare. My mind raced as I tried to think of a different route to take, as if guessing my intentions the Gronk ran forward a few feet and let out a long high pitched whine.

However, a sharp sound caused us both to spin around.

A small black and white cat had been curled up in a nearby hedge and now stood with it’s back arced, hissing at the Gronk.

The Gronk’s sneer turned into a savage grin, It leaped towards the cat, screeching and waving its arms wildly.

The cat bolted, tried to run into the offices but the Gronk blocked its escape, forcing it back towards the road. Before I could even move it darted between my legs and ran into the fast moving traffic but amazingly passed through the first lane unhurt. Terrified it stopped and shrank back as vehicles on both sides raced by.

I didn’t even think about what I then did, just reacted.

Like the cat I ran onto the road, I could hear the Gronk’s laughter but I didn’t care, that poor cat might die and I had to save it.

Within seconds a giant truck was bearing over me and I caught a look of panic in the drivers face.

I didn’t stop. Instead I jumped forward and felt the hot rush of air as the truck hammered past.

I made it and grabbed the cat, all I needed to do now was find a break in the traffic and get us both out of there, but the Gronk landed by my side. It punched out with its first and third hands catching me in the face and stomach, both at the same time. The blows knocked me to the floor and further opened the cut on my face.

The cat now struggled to escape, its claws digging into my skin through fear, I needed something to defend myself with but what…

On the tarmac, just before me, I noticed a thin stunted branch.

I couldn’t believe my luck. I pushed myself forward and with my free hand grabbed hold of it, my sudden movement stopped the Gronks attack and it looked at me suspiciously.

What could it be though? Anything I liked if I really wanted it to, I had learnt from the very first time we fought that my imagination could hurt it, even make it bleed.

The stick transformed into The Dagger of Truth.

The Gronk wailed in despair and I plunged the dagger forward, catching its legs, bright fountains of green blood spurted out onto the road.

It staggered back; this gave me a chance to clamber quickly up, which was awkward with the dagger and the squirming cat.

I looked deep into the Gronk’s eyes and I thought I saw doubt reflected there. It was scared of me! An evil smile of my own crept across my face.

I wanted to push forward but changed my mind, better to get off the road, fight back on the pavement if need be. The Gronk must have known this as well but it didn’t attack, instead it stood there watching as if waiting for something.

I searched the far lane for an opening but there was none. Each vehicle came by at speed, a rush of metal and noise leaving no more than a second before the next arrived, I could see no gaps appearing.

The Gronk scuttled forward and stepped out into the oncoming traffic! I watched amazed, as the next car ran straight over it, no not over it but rather through it. The Gronk had become insubstantial, its fat body wavering as if beneath water. The next car did the same, then a gap appeared in the traffic, I went to take it but the Gronk stood there blocking the way. Its expression changed once again; it seemed expectant, almost hungry. It’s dark eyes flickered back and forth between myself and something else, something behind me.

Glancing round I saw a red car swerve into the middle of the road. There was no time to get out of the way, nowhere to go. I caught a brief glimpse of the driver, who looked kind of dazed and realised that the Gronk had won.

“Die, die, die.” The Gronk shouted with glee.



***



I felt top of my game. Nothing could stop me, firing on all cylinders and loving it.

To kill and kill again, now that was the ultimate high. The fact that I was doing the world a favour just the icing on top of the cake.

The speedometer hit ninety but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to die. I just knew it, felt it in every part of my being. I was in the zone, in touch and…

I glanced off the side of an Escort. It took out my wing mirror and scraped along the side of the car.

“Idiot”, I screamed looking back over my shoulder, but the vehicle was long gone.

When I glanced back round I saw a boy in the middle of the road; he had his back to me and seemed to be struggling with something.

“Kill him.”

Stupid boy! Was he mental or something?

“Kill him now.”

He must have heard the sound of the engine or just felt my approach because he twisted to look at me.

He was one of those retards! Stupid idiot didn’t know what way his arse was. It wouldn’t be my fault if my car hit him. It would look like an accident.

“Do it.”

I would do the world a favour.

I aimed the car right at him and smiled. Stupid ugly kid wouldn’t know what had happened until too late.

In his arms something moved, squirmed to get away. It was a cat, more of a kitten really.

I couldn’t kill a kitten, no way. That would just be sick.

At the last moment I twisted the wheel to one side.

“NO.”

The creature again, right before me, it came out of nowhere, my car ploughed into it and I felt the thing roll under the wheels. Before I had chance to comprehend what had just happened I carried on straight into the other lane of traffic and into an oncoming truck.

Metal shrieked and tore; an explosion of pain and then the car suddenly stopped. I however, did not…



***



With little time to act I thrust The Dagger of Truth at the Gronk, not for one moment thinking that it would work.

Yet it did.

The Gronk seemed distracted and never saw the dagger until too late. The tip cut deep into its body. The Gronk howled in agony and fell back.

Into the red car!

At the last moment the driver dragged the wheel and the car missed me by inches. It crossed the road and ploughed headlong into a truck. Both vehicles became a twisted mangled mass of metal that flipped up into the air and then crashed heavily back onto the road.

One driver, the man who had almost hit me, burst through the front windscreen and hit the ground hard, rolling several times upon the tarmac before coming to a stop.

He left a bloody smear in his wake.

The Traffic on both sides of the road screeched to a stop, the occupants all sharing the same look of horror.

I let the cat go and it raced off into the bushes. Already a crowd had started to gather.

“Did you see that.”

“Came out of nowhere.”

“Like he had a death sentence.”

I had to know if it really was dead, so I pushed through the people. Nobody tried to stop me; perhaps they were to stunned by the scene of such a brutal accident.

The truck driver climbed out of the wreckage, seemingly no worse off. She appeared dazed and was helped up onto the pavement, but the other driver, he was…well he was…there was not much left of him put it that way.

I had never seen a dead body before. It looked strange and awkward, made my stomach churn and my eyes water.

I looked away.

The Gronk however had fallen onto the remains of the man; its body ruined, gasping its last. When it saw me it tried to rise, the old hatred flashing for a moment in its eyes. But the damage was too extensive and the moment did not last. With one final shudder the Gronk died.

The crowds pressed in.

“Someone call the police.”

“Get that boy out of here.”

Firm hands guided me away. A man wearing an expensive looking business suit smiled down and ruffled my hair.

“Are you all right. Do you need your mum or something? Can you understand what I’m saying?” He said this loudly and with deliberate slowness.

I signed that I was fine and he had no need to worry. But he just shook his head dumbly.

“Perhaps when the ambulance gets here…” He muttered.

It didn’t matter though, as this was the greatest day of my life. I had won.

The Gronk was dead.




END