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I re-read that because I really don’t have nice eyes. My eyes are globs of slung mud and gravel on two cracked plates, yellowed by age and exposure. In fact, I’ve been asked many times before to stop staring – it’s gross, it’s weird, it’s scaring the children. I’ve never been complimented on my eyes before.

Usually on MONSTR, they mention the hook, because of course they do. It’s my best feature. It’s sharpened every night, carefully oiled, and well-maintained. I take pride in it, and it shows.

But on MONSTR, it’s usually the same B.S.:

But this message seems strangely sweet and sincere, and it’s been a while since I’ve had anything sincere, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve had anything sweet. There’s no profile pic, but I’m not surprised, half of these assholes never put one up. However, the profile details catch me off-guard.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was human, a young human, and maybe he is. I’ve been caught by that before. Werewolf wannabes that swear they’ll change the next month, it’s just been an off-month or the moon isn’t really full yet. Fuckin’ normies. I’ve got no time, interest, or energy for them.

I have to look up what pokemon are since I’d been in the institution for a while and I’ve never been one to strike up a conversation if I didn’t have to.

Oh…they’re cute animals.

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I’m baffled. Baffled but a little intrigued. I mean, he called me out, right?

This better not be some dumb kid trying to screw around with monsters. But if it’s legit…sure, whatever. I’ve heard of imps, but never met one. I’ve never really considered them for a date, but I’ve got nothing against them. I assume one monster cock is the same as any other, and I’ve had my fair share of monster cocks.

The funny thing is that I was actually considering taking a break from all this. At first, when I got out the institution and wandered back into the world as a “rehabilitated” man after twelve years, the changes were overwhelming. It was like everything had shifted overnight when I had been sleeping. Before I went in, phones were phones, cameras were cameras, and porn took thirty minutes to fully download and buffer.

I felt so young and so old at the same time, navigating through a different world, trying to catch up. Both terrified and inquisitive, I made up for lost time.

And when I first learned about apps, about how trusting people are now, I thought, ‘How easy! How brilliant!’. I started using the apps first as bait. There are some idiots that will meet anywhere without a second thought – abandoned hospitals, forgotten cemeteries, the middle of the damn woods where there’s no cell reception! It was such easy pickings…

But that’s when I fell into MONSTR, an app for the evil, twisted and monstrous, developed by the evil, twisted and monstrous. And I fell into it deep for months after discovering it, ecstatic that there was a platform for me. I wasn’t alone. And after the years of therapy, I could accept what I wanted and who I wanted.

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And I’ll admit the random hook-ups with six-pack lagoon monsters, “physically-enhanced” lab experiments and all the multitude of were-animals was, at first, amazing. Night after night, just meeting other twisted souls for a good lay and slay was like heaven. And, yeah, sure, I had been tricked a few times by normies or by other crazed killers looking to add another notch to their machetes, but I’m good with my gut and even better with my hook.

So, it was a blast. It was hedonistic and it was fun. And it was Heaven…

Until it wasn’t.

Until I realized that I still went home alone at night and ate cold raviolis from the can in an overwhelming silence so deep and profound, I could barely swallow the congealed pasta. The thrill of it dissipated into the need for contact, for touch, for connection. As shitty as the institution was, there was always people, always chatter, always some new and young psychologist trying to be the one to break-through to the stoic killer. And everyone thought it was impossible…until one impossibly did it…

And I hate to admit that a part of me misses the connection and interaction…

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I hear my phone chime and I’m surprised to see he replied so quickly.

Embarrassingly, that’s how I got my start, but I don’t want to say that and come off as a stereotypical asshole. I mean, teen-killers are a dime a dozen with serials. I’ve moved on, I’ve grown past that.

I try to even remember the last song I heard. It’s been so long. And I’m not talking WAP blaring from Geana’s side of the duplex. Real music. Music that felt real and genuine.

And it goes on like this for a while. I actually set down my cold can of ravioli. I actually turn off the rerun of The Munsters, even though I never saw this episode before. But I don’t mind.

In fact, I enjoy myself.

***

After two weeks of chatting almost every day, it got brought up that we should meet. I can’t remember if it was by him or me, but the other agreed quickly, maybe too quickly.

So, here I am and I’m nervous. I have my best, least-stained trench coat on, and even though it’s May, there’s still a cold wind that feels like Fall. It smells like disturbed earth and rain. It feels like a set-up. But here I am at midnight in Antwortet Park with friggin’ pack of pokemon stickers in my sweaty hand. Here I am like a goddamned idiot with his best trench on and hoping for the best, which I try not to make a habit. I even tried using beard oil, like a dirty hipster…

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And why am I so damn nervous? This is nothing. It’s a stupid date that means nothing. And if it is a set-up, then who cares? I’ll just kill him and keep trying, I guess. Or maybe not. But maybe it’s not a catfish. Maybe this is real and there could be something to this. But maybe it’s not-

“Tony?” I hear a hesitant voice behind me in the shadows. He’s good, very good, at blending into the darkness. I don’t even see him at all.

“Jenglet?” I ask, in a general direction.

“Jenglot,” he softly corrects and steps into the light. He is small. Small and timid, or maybe just cautious. His skin is as black as jet and refuses to reflect an atom of moonlight. His body is short, lithe, looks hairless. Pointed ears, a grim little mouth with fangs that slightly poke out, and dark but curious eyes. His spiked little tail weaves nervously behind him. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans that he must have fitted for him.

“Hi,” I say, awkwardly, taking him in.

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“Hey,” he replies just awkward, but laughs. “You’re taller than I thought.”

“You’re smaller than I thought,” I admit, but this bristles him.

“Is that a deal-breaker?” He asks, guarded, like he’s going to dash back into the shadows.

“Not really,” I say, “I’ve never met an imp before.”

“Oh,” he softens, “Actually all my brothers are bigger. Most imps are. I’m a bit of a runt.”

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“I killed my mom,” I blurt out, and realize that maybe wasn’t the best thing to say.

“Oh, sorry? Or…congratulations?” He’s tentative.

“I mean, I was so big as a baby. I guess…I guess I just killed her. So, maybe being tall ain’t so good?”

Things are so much easier when the other monster doesn’t speak any human language, or when it’s just a quick tugjob behind an old, abandoned haunted house. I am not good at this. The talking, the being talked at. I wince under my beard.

But he smiles, laughs once, baring his white sharp teeth. “Yeah, maybe so.”

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“I found these,” I stick out the stickers as an offering, but then realize my mistake, “I mean, I got them. I bought them. At a store.”

Gingerly, he takes them and beams. “You bought these for me?”

“I guess. I mean. Sure. Probably.”

I need to re-read the Dale Carnegie book that I stole from the asylum. But, in fairness, it’s not my fault that half the pages have the scribbled ramblings of the other patients. But in this moment, I acutely realize that I should be better at this.

“Thanks,” he says, tosses them into the air and, in a wisp of black smoke, they’re gone. He kindly explains, “I teleported them home.”

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“You’re not an imp kid, are you?”

He looks to the side, an almost human move. “No, I get that a lot, though. I look young for my age. I’m two hundred forty-two. That’s about…twenty-two in your years, I think?”

“Still young. I’m thirty-four. But to be honest, I feel like half my life was taken away.”

“You wanna walk through the park some? You can tell me about it if you want…?”

“Am I…?” I gesture to my dirty coat, to my hook, and my long ugly mug. “You’re good with this? Or is this a friendship thing, or…? I usually just hook up, so I don’t know how dates work.”

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“This is…your first date?” He asks and his astonishment embarrasses me.

“I’ll be honest, I got out an asylum a few months back and before that…I wasn’t ready for this,” I shrug, “I wasn’t ready to accept this…for myself. But…I got some good help and I feel ready now, I guess.”

“You don’t mind me being so small?”

“You don’t mind that this is my cleanest trench coat?”

His eyes sparkle with delight before we both hear an ear-piercing scream rip through the silence. Turning, we see a young woman. All long hair and long legs. Tight waist and yoga pants. She’s spotted us and had the audacity and gall to scream out. Some people, man…

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She starts to run away and I charge towards her instinctively, matching her pace easily, as we run along the path of the park. The thrill of the chase isn’t lost on me. It’s freeing. It’s intoxicating.

Helpless, gasping, crying, she trips and crashes to the ground a few feet in front of me. And seriously, I don’t even know how she did it. I mean, she’s wearing sneakers, for Christ’s sake. What the hell did she even trip on? The concrete is level and smooth… But here we are and here she is on the ground, crawling and sobbing.

Backing up from me, still on the concrete, she puts her hands out defensively. In a high pitch, she screeches, “Please no! Please! I’ll give you money! Just let me go!”

This is kind of my favorite part because she’ll soon figure out that there is no reprieve, no good knight in white armor. This is her death and I am her destroyer, and she will accept that in her final moments because there’s nothing left for her to do but accept that.

I lumber closer, hook raised and glistening in the moonlight. My heart’s pounding and I hope Jenglot’s watching. I hope he’s enjoying the show.

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She’s still crying out. “Please, no! Please! Stop! Plea-”

And then suddenly, with a guttural splatter, her throat gushes open. It splays apart like a snapped trap of torn flesh and ruptured muscles. Blood spurts forth like a fountain head, wild and uncontrollable. She tries to gasp and just squirts the blood farther, getting all over my “nice” trench coat.

Her hands reach for her throat, then reach for nothing, held helpless and twisted in the air. She foams and gurgles, eyes bulged and pleading until they slowly glaze over. The little jerks of a sudden death ripple throughout her body, long legs twitching against the gravel.

I stare, uncertain of what happened, at what’s going to happen…

Just standing here, blinking, in shock.

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She almost falls back, but is stiffly caught from behind. Dark claws reach out from behind her back and embrace her body. Jutting from her throat I recognize the thick spike of a tail poking through her still seeping neck before it slips away.

Her body collapses slowly onto him, and I realized that he has her body propped against his small frame. His dark face partially peers from behind her long, blood-spattered hair to look at me. His eyes are still curious and nervous, and a soft pink tongue slips from his mouth to lick his lips. My breath catches in my throat.

“Was that a dealbreaker?” he asks me, quietly, almost a hiss, “That I stole your kill?”

I laugh, full-bellied, and he quirks his little head.

“Nah, maybe some years back…But I’m a different man now. I used to kill…well, for a lot of reasons. Maybe some I still don’t even know yet. But now,” I shrug my heavy shoulders and smile despite myself, “Now I kill for me. I kill for fun. So, no. That doesn’t bother me. The chase was fun.”

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He smiles, too, eyes gleaming in delight before he leans to her and bites down into her flesh, tearing the meat there. I crouch where I’m standing, closer on his level and he watches me as he chews, blood dripping down his jaws.

“Hey, can we do this again sometime?” I ask. “I’d like to see you again.”

He grins, full white teeth, now pink from the blood and bits of flesh clinging there. And it’s the most fucking adorable thing I’ve ever seen. If he was a pokemon, he’d be my favorite.

“I’d really like that, Tony,” he says and leans back down for another bite.

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When not ravaging through the wilds of Detroit with Jellybeans the Cat, J.M. Brannyk (a.k.a. Boxhuman) reviews mostly supernatural and slasher films from the 70's-90's and is dubiously HauntedMTL's Voice of Reason. Aside from writing, Brannyk dips into the podcasts, and is the composer of many of HauntedMTL's podcast themes.

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2 Comments

2 Comments

  1. VoodooPriestess

    March 24, 2021 at 2:35 pm

    I actually have a jenglot woodcarving XD so I be happy.

  2. Jennifer Weigel

    March 25, 2021 at 8:04 pm

    Ah spring, when the scent of love hangs heavy in the air…

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Original Series

Nightmarish Nature: Horrifying Humans

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So we’re going out on a limb here in this segment of Nightmarish Nature and exploring one of the most terrifying, most dangerous, most impactful species to walk this planet. I’m talking about us of course. Sure, as humans, we may not seem all that horrific to ourselves, but to many other creatures we have been a force of nightmares.

Humans male as drawn by Jennifer Weigel
Humans male as drawn by Jennifer Weigel

Why are we terrifying?

Humans are among those species that engage in massive modifications to our environment to serve our needs, like beavers who dam rivers, elephants who eat all of the new growth scrub to keep the savannahs tree-free, and so on. Yeah, all creatures have some impact on their surroundings, but some take it up a notch, and we do so at an order of magnitude higher still. And we have gotten so good at it that we have managed to exist and thrive in places that would otherwise be inhospitable. We are outwardly adaptive and opportunistic to the point of being exploitative. We are the apex predators now.

Sabertooth cowering as drawn by Jennifer Weigel
Sabertooth cowering as drawn by Jennifer Weigel

We have forced many creatures into extinction, intentionally and not, and have sped up these effects enormously. The National Audobon Society chose the egret as its symbol after it made a comeback from being hunted to near extinction, and it was one of the lucky ones. Many weren’t so lucky, especially if they came in direct conflict with humans, such as wolves and the big cats who were in direct competition, or those who were really specialized in really specific niche circumstances that we pushed out of the way. And this is in only a very very limited scope of our earth’s history, and has since been even more ramped up with industrialization.

Humans female as drawn by Jennifer Weigel
Humans female as drawn by Jennifer Weigel

But humans aren’t all bad are we?

Depends on who you ask… We have created all sorts of incredible opportunities for some species too. Take mice for example. And coyotes. And kudzu. And a whole host of animals whom we’ve domesticated, some of whom wouldn’t have continued to exist otherwise or certainly wouldn’t exist in anything resembling their current forms. And the most massive extinctions occurred long before our arrival, when the earth was still forming and underwent rapid catastrophic changes and swings, decimating critters as they were trying to get a foothold. Nothing is constant except for change; that has always been true.

Wolf begging for cheezborger drawn by Jennifer Weigel
Wolf begging for cheezborger drawn by Jennifer Weigel

So it isn’t my goal to get all eco-con​scious and environmentalist here. Just that I feel if we are going to explore some of the more terrifying aspects of nature, we need to look in the mirror. Because if a consensus were taken right here, right now of all living beings globally as to what is among the most terrifying creatures among us, I’m sure we’d appear on that list.

If you enjoyed this closer-than-kissing-cousins segment of Nightmarish Nature on Horrifying Humans, please check out past segments:

Vampires Among Us

Perilous Parenting

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Freaky Fungus

Worrisome Wasps

Cannibalism

Terrifying Tardigrades

Reindeer Give Pause

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Komodo Dragons

Zombie Snails

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Original Creations

Werewolf-ing It Well, Part 3 by Jennifer Weigel

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Continuing our junkyard dawg werewolf story from the previous two St. Patrick’s Days… Here are Part 1 from 2022 and Part 2 from 2023 if you want to catch up.


Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel

So apparently it really was my lucky day at that suburban gas mart last St. Patrick’s Day. I got the mother lode of all Scratchers. I hit it big time. I had no real idea of what that meant, but it looked promising. Maybe I could get a Cadillac to tour Route 66 AND a cabin in the woods… But who was gonna drive?

Now apparently you can’t just cash these things in at the register. You have to mail them in or something. Why does life have to be so complicated? Anything involving those good for nothing mailmen has to be rigged or part of some larger conspiracy, I’m sure. But I pocketed my prize and made some plans. I couldn’t rely on old Sal not to just pocket my prize for himself; he wasn’t the sort that would let me have my dream. Or even understood that I had dreams beyond just chasing rabbits (though those are the best).

The next full moon I whined and howled at Sal to take me in to work with him. Sal just patted me on the head. Didn’t even offer a treat or nothing. Seriously, I had to get out of there, this suburban situation was the pits. I couldn’t do another year of it, watching my life tick away. So, when that didn’t work, I gently grabbed my Scratchers ticket like I was retrieving a very important slipper and slunk over and hid in his truck under that ratty blanket he kept in the back.

I managed to creep into the junkyard office and hide there while Sal was sleeping on the job. Those mastiffs nearly ratted me out, but fortunately they were chained up, and they weren’t all that bright anyway. Just growled a string of profanities at my cur form, like I hadn’t heard that before. Anyway, I waited it out and before long I heard Monty’s car pull up, rattling like the dilapidated Honda Civic held together with duct tape that it was. Sal’s truck pulled off, spitting gravel and exhaust in its wake as always.

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Dusk was setting in and I could feel the change starting. Nothing to do for it, guess I’d just have to run with it then. Monty had settled in as usual, watching bad porn and staring off into nothing. He still smelled like day old jelly donuts (the kind you can get a whole bag for $1) and coffee, as usual. Good boy Monty, how I’ve missed you and the occasional stale donut, even if it wasn’t a cookie. I approached him from behind and coughed.

Monty nearly leapt out of his skin. He blanched as if he’d seen a ghost before he managed to find his voice. “Shit, that wasn’t a dream,” he stammered, pointing. As he realized I meant him no harm, he regained his composure and even offered me a day-old jelly donut, which I accepted gratefully. I think he could tell that my tail would have been wagging if I’d still had one at that time.

“Lucky, what in all of hell are you doing here?” he asked, eyes still wide as saucers. “And for Christ’s sake, put on some pants.” He offered up the spare uniform that still just hung from the hook behind the door. I guess in my fervor to talk to him I’d forgotten to dress. Oops.

Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel

“Monty, old friend, I need a favor,” I barked. I handed him the Scratchers. His eyes grew wider.

“Shit, where’d you get this?” That’s a lot of money,” Monty exclaimed. “They’ve been looking for the winner of this one…”

“I’d stashed it in my hidey spot under the place where the carpet peels up after I got it… It’s our ticket out of here,” I retorted. “You don’t think I want to spend the rest of my days laying around suburbia with tightwad treat-skimping Sal do you?”

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“I suppose not,” Monty quipped. “But what’d you have in mind?”

“You and me, we could get a cabin in the woods, live off the land. Get out of this shit-hole. Hell, you could even get a real car, one of those big-boat Cadillacs with the wide tongue-lolling windows…”

“Um, you could do a lot more than that with this, but I catch your drift. And I want out of this hellhole too. But, like…? I mean, you aren’t gonna bite me or anything, or get all weird.” Monty fidgeted like he did when he was nervous. “I guess I knew but didn’t want to admit it – dude you’re a freak show.”

“Gee thanks. Trust me, being a dog is better any day except that you can’t drive or get your own treats and crap,” I retorted. “And if was gonna bite you I’d have done so a long time ago. It doesn’t work that way, anyway. Seriously, you don’t believe all that werewolf mumbo jumbo on Netflix too, do you?”

Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel

Monty shook his head tentatively. “I don’t really know what to believe. I mean, I guess I always knew you were like this, but I didn’t let it sink in.”

“Well, get over it and help me get my dream cabin,” I snipped. “Seriously don’t just stand there gawking all night; I put on clothes and everything. I only have tonight.”

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“You mean before you turn back into a dog?” Monty asked.

I nodded, still licking the jelly off my lips.

“But I thought werewolf changes happened every full moon,” Monty asked.

“I do, but these Scratchers change like the wind. We gotta cash in quick,” I growled. “And if you try to turn on me, I’ll hunt you down. That’s OUR ticket outta here.”

“No, no, I get it,” Monty said. “I’ll make good on it, I promise. I can follow up on the ticket first thing tomorrow; it says to mail it in or go to the courthouse or something. I’ll figure it out… I guess you can stay with me until we get it sorted, but you have to be really quiet about it. I’m not supposed to have pets in that crap apartment for all that a little dog hair would be an improvement.”

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Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

Check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s writing here at Jennifer Weigel Words.

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Lighter than Dark

LTD: The Firing Squad

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So you’ve just gotten the pink slip.

Work is letting you go. Amidst all of the layoffs, you just didn’t make the cut. Well, I’m sorry to say, but it behooves you to go quietly. And quickly. Because you don’t want to stick around for the Firing Squad…

In fact, if your HR department is outsourced to one of those Eldritch contractors like so many are nowadays, get outta dodge NOW. Like seriously. Leave the lunch you brought in the fridge; leave the personal items in and on and around your desk. Hell, leave your coat and purse if you are not near them. You can get new ones. Maybe one of your ex-coworkers can help you retrieve your stuff later. Because you need to get out while the getting is still good.

The Firing Squad is coming.

And if they so much as see a pink slip anywhere in your immediate vicinity, it is complete and total annihilation…

Ready Aim Fire...  The Firing Squad appears digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Ready Aim Fire… The Firing Squad appears
Wing Shot...  The Firing Squad takes aim digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Wing Shot… The Firing Squad takes aim
Sharp Shooter...  You're a goner! digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Sharp Shooter… You’re a goner!

I warned you… Those Eldritch contractor HR departments mean business… It’s like going to the Library. Or making Jell-O.

Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

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