This page contains two short stories – “Murderers and Monsters” and “A bird and a Garden”
Keep in mind that there may be disturbing imager.
“Murderers and Monsters”
“There’s a monster in the woods, you know.”
“I’ve heard.” Prince said back dryly.
“But you still walked into them.” The man said. He had long black hair that stuck out in odd places and the oddest shade of purple eyes. His bangs fell around his pale face and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes.
“That I did.” Prince muttered. He tilted his head down slightly but his eyes remained on the man. He licked his lips to wet them. “I don’t believe much in rumors.”
“I’m sorry then, for what’s going to happen.” The man said. He was standing by a long table with an array of tools on it. The room smelled wet, like the foundation was rotting. The man was dressed in a black t-shirt, sweats and had a tan apron neatly tied around his waist. The apron was stained in places.
“Not even going to give me a name?” Prince asked as he leaned back, his back bumping against the wall. He frowned faintly, disliking the way his long, pastel pink hair caught on the rough stone of the man’s basement. Everything was made of cement down here besides the dirt floor and the room was small. Prince suspected it was a side room. Prince’s black eyes drifted towards the doorway before they returned to the man. “If you’re going to kill me regardless, I should at least get to decide which gods I’ll curse you out to. That’ll work better if I know your name.” He said, his voice rich and smooth.
The man’s brows furrowed and his cracked lips turned into a faint frown. “Lucien.” He said slowly, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to give it.
“Last name?” Prince requested. He leaned forward, his shoulders twisting with the uncomfortable movement. Ah, Prince thought, my hands are tied. His long, gangly limbs had all been tied up. Prince glanced down at his polished black shoes. The shiny surface was scuffed and Prince glanced up at the man. He scuffed my shoes. Prince thought bitterly.
The man, Lucien, stared at Prince oddly, confused. Then, he set down one of the tools he’d been fiddling with. He turned and strode towards Prince, crouching down in front of him. The man wore high platforms but Prince was sure he was taller than the man. Certainly not broader though, Prince noted. Prince took after his mother in the regard that he was tall and slender. “You’re weird.” Lucien muttered, his voice deep and rough. Prince wondered if the man had difficulty sleeping.
“I don’t think you get to call me weird, Lucien.” Prince said, Lucien’s name flowing off his tongue like gasoline.
Lucien’s lips pressed into a firm, displeased line and he stood. His boots were scuffed to hell and Prince idly wondered if the man wore those in his everyday life or just when he was working. “Don’t call me casually.” Lucien muttered, his voice quiet and disgruntled. Lucien spoke with a low, mullish tone that came off as moody.
“I think I will.”
Lucien glanced behind him and if looks could kill, Prince would be dead six times over. “You know I’m going to kill you, right?” Lucien asked. The words filled the room and made the damp air feel stifling.
“I could gather that.” Prince said.
“Annoying your murderer doesn’t work, you know.” Lucien said dryly.
“I’d guess not. Maybe I’m seducing you.” Prince said with a shrug. His legs were half sprawled out, one knee raised higher than the other and skewed to the left. His ankles and wrists had been tied. His lithe fingers brushed the rough rope tying his hands together. The knot was poorly made.
Confusion bled into Lucien’s expression and his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re doing a bad job.” Lucien turned towards the man tied up in his basement and crossed his arms, leaning back against the table behind him.
“I don’t know, I haven’t started yet.” Prince said. His smile was thin and relaxed. It would have been charming if it wasn’t oddly eerie.
“You’re creepy.” Lucien said, his voice filled with displeasure.
“That’s because I’m still trying to figure out how you managed to get me into your basement.” Prince said, his voice nearly playful. Prince tipped his chin down, watching Lucien through his lashes. But, those obsidian eyes that glimmered like the black sea made the hairs along the back of Lucien’s neck stand up. “You scuffed my shoes.”
Lucien stared at Prince, momentarily thrown off. His eyes darted down to Prince’s relatively glossy black shoes. His brows furrowed and he looked confused again. “Oh. Sorry.” Lucien said stiffly.
“An apologetic killer is a bad killer, Lucien.” Prince said. His smile faded and his lips twisted into a faint frown. “Now, how exactly did you get me down here?”
“I carried you down.” Lucien said mulishly, as if the answer were obvious. Lucien picked up a knife and turned his back on Prince. He grabbed a sharpening stone and ran the blade carefully along the wet stone. Lucien had certainly done this before, Prince could gather.
“Before that, in the woods, what did you do?” Prince asked. He tilted his head, trying to get a glimpse of Lucien’s face. For a killer, this guy seemed oddly soft. Lucien’s lips parted to answer, but Prince cut him off before he could make a sound. “Specifically.” Prince’s fingers caught on the knot, his blunt nails digging into the rough, old hemp.
—
Lucien glanced back at the strange man that he’d stolen from the woods. Huffing, he quietly turned back towards his knife where he continued to carefully sharpen it into a fine, crisp point. “I hit you over the head.” Lucien muttered.
“That’s all?” The tied up man asked. He sounded confused, perhaps a little bitter. The tone reminded Lucien of stubborn old men when they were told they’d lost a bet. Those old fools always carried a note of disbelief, like they couldn’t believe their own folly.
Lucien glanced back at the man dubiously, his lips twisting down in befuddlement. The man had long, pastel pink hair and eyes that reminded Lucien of a seal with how big, glimmering and wet they looked. “That’s all,” he confirmed. “I slung you over my shoulder and carried you here.” He said. “You were heavy.”
The man nodded faintly, tipping his head back until it quietly knocked against the brick. Lucien cringed for him. His head must hurt already, Lucien couldn’t imagine that it would help to knock his sore head on the old stone. Lucien had once knocked his head against the stone by mistake and been left curled over in pain.
“So, you’re the type to go for random victims. Do you always choose random passersby in the woods.”
“Only the ones that trespass.”
“It’s a bad idea to get rid of people on land you own, Lucien. Besides, you don’t own the whole forest-”
“What’s your name?” Lucien said, interrupting the man. The man looked surprised before his brows furrowed and his lips twisted into a near pout, or perhaps it was a grimace. Lucien wasn’t quite sure.
“Prince.” The man answered.
“Prince?” Lucien asked. He didn’t believe the man for a moment. Feeling bitter, Lucien added, “Prince is a weird name.” He turned away, feeling a small, smug smirk tug at his lips.
“My mother says it’s because my father was so bad at giving me a name, that she decided on Prince.” The man said.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Suddenly curious about your victims?” Prince asked sarcastically.
Lucien rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question.”
“Vylian.” Prince answered. Lucien heard faint shuffling behind him and supposed that Prince was shifting around to either get comfortable or try to escape. He wouldn’t succeed in either, Lucien had been taught how to tie knots when he was young and the dirt floor was uneven and uncomfortable. Escape and comfort were impossible.
Wait, vylian. Hmm, that name rang a bell. “My dad knows a vylian.”
“It’s somewhat popular.” Prince said dryly.
Lucien gave him a sour look over his shoulder and Prince smiled sardonically. It didn’t reach those glassy black eyes. Lucien shook his head and looked back at the tools strewn across the wooden table. There was an assortment of knives, two saws, a few hammers for afterwards and pliers.
“Who’s your dad?” Prince asked, sounding curious but contemplative.
“Curious about your killer?” Lucien asked, mocking Prince’s prior retort. Prince snorted quietly, amused by his sass and Lucien felt an odd rush that he’d made the strange man chuckle. But, his smile faded as he thought of his father. He didn’t get along with the man. Lucien had taken in his youngest brother when he was barely an adult due to that bastardization of a person. Lucien’s other brother, who was only a few years younger than Lucien himself, lived with his own older half brother rather than with that vile man. “Kenny.”
“Kenny…” Prince said slowly. Something in Prince’s tone was different, more thoughtful and contemplative. An odd chill raced up Lucien’s spine, like a thousand needles stabbing into his skin.
He tilted his knife to catch the reflection of the man’s handsome conterance.
Lucien froze.
Prince was half crouched, half standing. His left hand was braced on the wall and he was pulling the last of the rope from his ankles. His dark eyes flickered up, catching the sudden tension in Lucien’s posture. Those dark eyes widened slightly before narrowing into thin slits. A slow, thin smile stretched across Prince’s features. “Oh dear. It seems I’ve been caught.” Prince said with a low chuckle.
Lucien jolted back into himself. He clutched the knife so tight his knuckles turned white as he whipped around and brandished it in front of himself. His eyes darted down to the rope, seeing it was still fully intact. His purple gaze darted back up to Prince’s dark eyes and he wondered how the hell the man had gotten out of those ropes. Lucien had killed over a dozen people, but none of them had slipped out of those ropes as easily as this tall, spindly man had. “How did you-” Lucien began, his voice cracking slightly near the end.
“I have an odd question.” Prince said, cutting him off. Prince’s top half was shadowed and only his shoes and black pants shone in the light. “Is your father Kenny Paccioretti?” Prince asked.
Lucien’s blood froze in his veins before it turned into rage. His grip on the knife tightened so much he felt his bones creak. He pointed the knife at the man with fury burning in his eyes. “How the fuck do you know that name?” Lucien hissed. Lucien preferred not to swear, but everything about this situation felt wrong.
Like a set up.
Prince smiled but it was humorless and didn’t reach the pool of his eyes. “Ah, so you are…” Prince’s tongue peaked out to wet his lips. “I hate that.” Prince brought his hands up and then clapped them once, the sound echoing in the quiet, small side room. Lucien’s eyes snapped towards the movement. Lucien’s heart was beating so loud he could barely hear the dripping noise from the old pipes anymore.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Prince said. Knob by knob, Prince slowly stood to his full height. Lucien’s spine tingled with unease at how the other man completely towered over him. His proportions looked slightly off and as beautiful as the man was, his face looked completely shadowed beyond the faint light that caught his ink black eyes.
Run, whispered something instinctive in the back of his mind. Run or die, it hissed. Lucien disorientedly wondered why his urge to run sounded like his father.
“You’re going to run,” Prince said softly. It was disconcerting when paired with those indifferent eyes. “Then you’re going to try to get my brother, Kazui, on the phone.” Prince said. Kazui was Lucien’s half brother. The hairs on the back of Lucien’s neck stood on end.
His brother, Lucien wondered half hysterically.
Prince smiled. “If you can, I won’t kill you.” Prince said as he slowly unclasped his hands. A silent countdown started in Lucien’s head as he watched Prince’s hands. “Fair deal?” Prince cooed, his voice turning sickeningly sweet. Lucien’s gaze snapped back up to meet the man’s. He couldn’t pick up a glimmer of remorse, mischief or anything beyond a shallow glint of brutal truth in those dark, pitch black eyes.
Oh. The knife slipped from Lucien’s trembling fingers. Lucien was reminded of vultures, tigers and venomous snakes. With a bone deep certainty, Lucien realized something about the man in front of him. This man is hunting.
Prince took a step forward.
Lucien took a step back – and ran.
The wooden door to the side room swung open and Lucien ran through the musty, rarely used basement. He heard the low sound of the man’s laugh from the basement. Lucien’s feet pounded against the old, uneven, wooden stairs. Just as Prince’s polished shoes passed the threshold of the doorway, Lucien ran out of the door to the basement and into the kitchen. He slammed the white, paint chipped door shut behind him. He scrambled with the old sliding lock, messily shoving it into place.
He took a step back, panting. His house was dark, nearly pitch black and only the silvery blue moonlight crept into his partially closed curtains. The first step at the bottom of the stairs creaked. “That’s not far enough, Lucien.” Prince said, his voice muffled by the door. He sounded like he was at the bottom of the stairs. “You’ll have to go further than that. I said to try getting to your phone, didn’t I?” Prince said. His voice was now somewhere near the middle of the stairs. “So get running, Lucien. I’d hate to accidentally get rid of that snake’s bastard.” The last word came out like a low snarl through the old wooden door.
Lucien bolted. The sound of the basement door jingling felt too loud in the silent house. Lucien turned the corner, a chill racing up his spine. He sped past the living room, photos of his family and brothers blurry in his peripheral. The tv was playing an old horror movie that it must have switched to while he’d been downstairs. The fireplace was put out but the cloying, remnant smell of smoke burned Lucien’s lungs regardless.
Thud, thud, thud. Lucien jolted at the loud crunch that followed as he heard the wood of his basement door splinter and snap. What the fuck had he let into his house?
He ran up the stairs to the second floor, his heart beating heavy and fast in his chest. He kept his phone in his room when he was working and the phone in the kitchen didn’t work. Lucien kicked off his heavy, loud shoes. He heard them clatter down the steps in sync with his heartbeat. He ran into his room, closing the door as quietly but quickly as he could and locked it.
Downstairs, the volume of the tv grew obnoxiously loud until it made Lucien’s head throb with pain. He couldn’t hear Prince anymore. He couldn’t hear him, he couldn’t hear him, he couldn’t hear him-
Lucien scrambled towards his bedside table, grabbed his phone and tucked himself into the too small, wooden closet. Every brush of his shirts and sweaters hung inside made him jump. He tucked his knees in so close that they dug into his ribcage. He shut the doors carefully and completely, surrounding himself in pitch darkness.
Lucien pressed the on button of his phone while he used his other hand to cover his mouth. His breaths were ragged and Lucien struggled to keep himself quiet as his hands shook. His phone light blinked to life, lighting up the dark closet.
3%. He felt sick. He tapped the phone icon and quickly swiped through the list of useless names.
Kazui Ferri blinked back at him as he pressed the call sign. He brought it up to his ear, begging any gods that existed that the ring of his phone wasn’t as loud as he thought it was and that the tv noise from downstairs would cover up his ragged breathing.
The obnoxious, loud noise of the tv suddenly cut off. Ring. The sudden silence felt deafening rather than comforting. Tears beaded along Lucien’s eyelashes and he wondered if this was his repayment for the people he’d killed. How was he supposed to know who that man was, that he wasn’t just another person on trails he shouldn’t be at night-
Prince had been facing the opposite direction of where most hikers were headed at that hour. Ring. He’d had a bag with him that Lucien had left behind when he’d decided to make the man his next victim. There’s a monster in the woods, Lucien remembered having been told by his father. His father was as sly as a fox and as slippery as a snake with a hand in things Lucien wouldn’t dig up at gun point. I’m the monster in the woods, Lucien had thought back then. Lucien was new to the area, he’d moved in six months ago.
Ring.
The third ring of his phone echoed loud and volatile in the room.
Prince had known his father’s name. He knew his half brother, was related to his half brother. Lucien’s father knew Prince. Kenny had warned him about a monster in the woods. Lucien recognized his father was a monster afraid to be eaten by something worse.
Lucien remembered the lock on his door was broken.
The closet door opened.
Lucien met the monster in the woods.
This piece was publish in the Manatee, a literately journal run by Southern New Hampshire University in spring of 2025.
“A Bird and a Garden”
Gods don’t love men.
Nori, a small woman with hair as black as night and large, bottomless eyes as dark as ink, stood in the hallway of the traditional house. They were far into the mountains and woods, hidden away like a prized bird. Her robes were heavy and covered with embroidery full of birds in flight and mountain creaks. It was dark. Every three meters had a well placed oil lamp which made the smooth, dark wood gleam like gold under the warm, liquid light.
The light didn’t reach far enough to warm the passengers of the hallway, it never did, never could. The manor housed detached traditionalist ideology, the design as cold as it was beautiful. Each wing of clay slates faced each cardinal direction. The people who passed by here were less human than snow and ice, so they fit in perfectly with their dark eyes and blacker hair.
The people who washed up on shore, foreigners who thought they could pretend to be lost, sometimes described the inhabitants as angels. Nori knew the truth though. Angels were ugly things and the creatures that wandered these halls were too beautiful to be anything so pure and detached. The foreigners always found that out the hard way.
Nori walked through the maze like hallways. No matter where she went, the walls all looked the same besides a differently placed plant. It didn’t feel lived in besides the faint wear along the wooden floor. She missed the open plains where she’d grown up with a mother who she thought must have been gentle. The woman’s face had blurred with time.
Six steps, twelve, three. She had tried once to rush out of one of the sliding doors when she’d first been forced into this hollow house. She hadn’t made it far. Her husband had grabbed her wrist so tight the bone had nearly splintered. Hell was out there, she had been told.
Hell was in here, she had thought bitterly.
Nori’s head tilted and she peered at down a long hallway that stretched for what felt like miles and warped at the ends. She used to pray to the gods until she met one.
Her tongue laid heavy in her mouth, an instrument she couldn’t play. Mute, a trait beloved by some and found tedious by others. She followed the warn fingerprints along the wall from a thousand too many hands touching the old, polished wood. She didn’t touch it, she didn’t want her fingertips worn into the old house which housed more suffering than any church.
If she wished hard enough, she could imagine that she’d fade into obscurity. She’d rather be forgotten than become another grave buried on clan land that she had no desire to be tied to. She wished for there to be nothing left to tether her to this place. Not even a corpse.
She turned left. Left, left, right. The old door slid open on well oiled hinges and she missed the creak of an old cottage door that used to make her teeth grate. This place was all too silent for a place that should have been filled with music and dance. She counted her steps as she walked. It was the same number each time in every room, from heel to toe. 1, 3, 6, 9. Each plank of wood was 34 hands long and to the 2nd knuckle wide.
Her hands were small.
Nori stepped into the dark, unfamiliar room. Everything was perfectly placed, just like Yasu kept everything. She walked further into the room, her light steps barely making a creak along the old floorboards. Most people would do this out of hate, but nori held no hate for Yasu. Yasu was not a kind woman and she hated her, but nori had no reason to resent the woman who’s dream had been snatched out from under her.
Yasu was a first wife, an arranged marriage – Nori was a girl distantly related to the bloodline, her father a scholar and a too weak grasp on power. Nori was a second wife to the devil.
Nori knelt before a well made dresser and slid the gleaming wooden panel open. It creaked and the shiver that crawled down her spine was gratifying. What happens when god hates someone? Nori knew. She knew because god was a tall man whose skin was the color of burnt umber wood with wavy, graying black hair that brushed his hips and phoenix eyes the color of the moon. Her spouse, her husband, both god and devil-
God loved her. Nori hated god.
Nori’s slender hands looked pale and sickly in the light of the moon which spilled in from the flower painted shoji door. Birds were painted on her own and she found a cruel irony in the symbolism for both of them. Yasu was a woman who should have been a respected first wife, who should have bloomed like the trees in the courtyard when the weather was warm. God had cut her roots instead.
The very same man had then painted her own door in birds when she could neither speak nor fly.
She picked up a round, brass container within the drawer and slid it open. The powder inside was as white as snow. Nori reached into the folds of her robe and retrieved a small vial. She felt cold sweat drip down her back but her expression was as indifferent as snow as she uncorked it. She hoped she could be more like the winter and less like spring. She sprinkled the contents of the vial into the white face powder. Poison. She placed the lid back on top and reached for the smaller bowl of rouge. The powder melted on the pinkish red of the paste inside. She considered licking it before thinking better of it. She didn’t want to leave her son behind, even if she ached for open skies.
She closed the container and placed it back in the drawer where she had found it. When she stood, she took one more glance back at the room of a woman who wished for her damnation.
Nori turned towards the door and walked towards it. The wooden door slid open under the soft touch of her hand and she stepped out of the room. She closed it quietly behind her and turned towards the door. She bowed low, her hair falling over her shoulder before slowly standing upright. The door was innocuous in the room of identical doors with near identical rooms. She turned away. Six steps, twelve, three. Six years, twelve days, three months.
Nori couldn’t kill god, but she could poison his garden.
