The Monster Hunter Read online

  There was the tatta tat tat of the clock above the large oak desk. Mrs. Moldune’s nails, as if on cue, tatta tat tatted with the ticking timepiece. Long red daggers on wrinkled fingers, offset only by the large sparkly rings that engulfed them.

  “You see Mrs. Applegate, what I am talking about, and this is not the first time.”

  Althea’s mother, Mrs. Applegate sat in a rickety chair on the other side of the desk. There was a stack of papers in her hands. She frowned slightly as she flipped through them, stopping only to brush aside the strands of curly hair that had escaped the messy bun atop her head. She held one of the pages up to the light, squinting so she could see it better.

  From her own seat, Althea recognized the long blue crayon lines that shaped the arm of the creature she had drawn two days ago in Mr. Thompson’s art class.

  “Shocking aren’t they?” Mrs. Moldune pursed her lips, causing the lines on her face to deepen.

  “. . . Well. . . . “ Althea’s mother said softly as she continued to examine one of the drawings, “I wouldn’t exactly say shocking is a good choice of words. . . “

  “Hmmph,” She smacked her lips disprovingly. “There are many others . . .” The nails thrummed on the table again, and she seemed somewhat impatient. “Surly Mrs. Applegate you can see that your daughter is. . . shall we say. . . somewhat disturbed.”

  Mrs. Applegate looked up, strands of curly brown hair dancing erratically around her face, she looked tired, weary even. “Disturbed is a rather strong choice of words Mrs. Moldune. Althea has somewhat of an exceptional imagination.” Mrs. Applegate gave her daughter a reassuring look.

  “Imagination!” Mrs. Moldune’s diamonique ring glittered as she raised her finger and pointed it disapprovingly. “She,” the red fingernail swiped at Althea, “is a VERY strange child!” The old principle glowered at her mother. “You have been too lenient with your daughter and the results are,” she swung the finger to point at the stack of papers still in Mrs. Applegate’s hands, “disastrous!”

  Althea hunched low in her seat. A little girl, even for her age, the chair seemed to swallow her. She fidgeted for a moment with the two yellow ribbons that were tied on each long red braid that hung over her shoulders. Then she moved to the three yellow buttons on the front of her dress, but the old lady’s words hung in the air like a Vookarile’s whisper.

  Mr. Thompson, her art teacher, had told them to draw anything they wanted as long as it was colorful and expressive. He had further told them that all forms of expression were art and that all art was important.

  Her little fingers clutched the cool cotton fabric of the blue dress her mother had made. She glanced down at her feet and took comfort in the whimsical shapes on her yellow bobby socks.

  Her mother set the stack of papers on the desk. From where Althea sat she could see the waxy blue color of the Galograth arm she had drawn, and then the green and red ooze pouring out of the stubby bottom. The picture under that was the one where it had turned completely and then exploded.

  Although she thought it a fairly good likeness, Mrs. Moldune did not seem to agree, that much she had been able to decipher from the throaty cacklings. She tried hard not to listen. She used the trick, where if bad things were coming to think of other things, like the pretty white lace peeking out beneath the hem of her dress, or the ice cream cones on her bobby socks.

  “She needs help!” Mrs. Moldune continued to croak. “This is a fine institution Mrs. Applegate, and if your daughter is to remain here, you must see that she receives some kind of counseling.” She picked up the stack of drawings. “Some of these are simply awful, very disturbing and well. . . abnormal.” She looked at Althea who was still hunched in her chair. “She” the finger slashed through the air, is an abnormal child.”

  “Mrs. Moldune,” Althea’s mother protested, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,”

  “Well I would!” the old lady snapped, “I would go further and say that your daughter is quite odd, NOT a normal child AT ALL,” she practically shouted the last words, “and I demand you seek professional help for her, or she shall not be allowed to continue to attend Cathebies School for Fine Ladies!”

  “Mrs. Moldune, please consider,”

  “I do realize,” the old lady interrupted, “that your family has fallen on some . . . er . . . difficult times, which is why your daughter was awarded a charitable scholarship to attend our school.” The red nails began to thrum again. “Her academics do remain excellent, however these other . . . disturbing attributes. . .?

  Your mother-in-law, Lady Faldoon, who is the generous benefactor of your daughter’s scholarship, will not be pleased.” The finger swooshed again, this time pointing at Mrs. Applegate. “We simply cannot have this breach of etiquette in our halls.”

  “I am sure that I can work with Althea,”

  “Dr. McCarson,” she spat, “will work with her. He is a well known child psychiatrist and a dear” Ruby red lips wrinkled unattractively, “Friend of mine.” The creases on her nose deepened as she inhaled, and over puffed white hair swished as she moved her head.

  “I have personally contacted Lady Faldoon who has been, if I forgot to mention, a patron of our school for years, and perhaps the only reason I am willing to overlook these. . . . abnormalities.” Mrs. Moldune’s eyes were piercing as she stared at Althea. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I shall ask Dr. McCarson to take your daughter under his wing, and see that this,” her finger swooshed at the stack of drawings “type of thing does not occur in the future.”

  Mrs. Applegate looked weary, meekly nodding her head as she gathered her briefcase into her lap. A thick packet of papers jutted out of the side pocket along with a red scarf and an old paper sack. She tried to organize the cluttered case as Mrs. Moldune scratched Dr. McCarson’s phone number onto a piece of paper.

  “I shall let him know that you will be calling.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Applegate slung the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder and reached for Althea’s hand. “I do apologize,” she said softly, “things have been hard since I lost my husband, and with my new job, and . . . “

  “Things,” Mrs. Moldune pursed her lips in what appeared to be more of a pucker, “are difficult for us all Mrs. Applegate, that is no excuse to fail in the tutelage of your child.” She used her apple red nail to slide the slip of paper across the desk.

  “As long as your daughter is here,” eyes peered over the rims of her bedazzledly gaudy glasses at little Althea, “she will reflect the very HIGH standards of our establishment.” The finger swooshed again, dismissing them. Mrs. Applegate took her daughter’s hand and made a hasty retreat.

  It was a long quiet car ride home. Althea’s mother tried to console her, explaining, as she had so many times before how important it was to appease their newly acquired grandmother. “She has been very kind to us Althy,” she soothed, “Arranging a place for us to live, and paying for you and Davy’s education. We have to do whatever we can to please her.”

  Althea looked out the window at the rows and rows of houses. Some of them were so close together that they seemed to be one long house with many different colors.

  Lady Faldoon, had previously never been a part of their lives, except for an occasional letter informing her father of his many faults and the equally numerous reasons why he had been cut out of her will. One such reason was his decision, shortly after college, to embark on a career in the military, rather than the position he should have held with the Faldoon Shipping Company. His mother’s fury, however, reached its apex the year he’d decided to change his last name, marry a lowly secretary, and move as far away from the Faldoon Fortune as possible.

  He had bought a little house in South Carolina, which was
close to his military base. An officer and a soldier, he was not a businessman; at least that is what he had told his wife, not long before being deployed overseas.

  Her mother pulled the car into the narrow driveway in front of the dilapidated old House that was fast becoming their home. Althea followed her up the stairs to the front door. A bit of plaster fell from one of the holes in the kitchen wall as they came through.

  “Oh dear,” her mother said, “I will have to see about patching that.”

  Althea grabbed her little stool and drug it over to the kitchen sink, climbing up to wash her hands. Even though she had turned seven a while ago, she was still small for her age and couldn’t reach the faucet without a stool.

  When she was done, she took some plates out of the cupboard and began setting the table for dinner. Her mother had gone across the street to their neighbor Margaret’s house. Margaret ran a small daycare there during the week, where Davy, Althea’s little brother, stayed while Mrs. Applegate was at work.

  Davy was asleep when her mother came home. She carefully extracted his little arms from around her neck, and gently set him on the couch to continue his nap. Dinner turned out to be soggy spaghetti. Mrs. Applegate barely looked at her food; her eyes remained glued to the open file folders she’d brought to the table.

  Althea picked at the noodles with her fork, locating the buried meatballs. She stacked them on top of each other and made two little meatball snowmen, positioning them so they were facing one another on the plate. “You,” she mimicked under her breath, “are an abnormal meatball.” She took a spoonful of Parmesan cheese and made it snow.

  “Althea!” Her mother lifted her head from the folders and gave her a look. Althea promptly popped the head of one of the snowmen into her mouth, a deed that seemed to placate Mrs. Applegate.

  After dinner she took some crayons and paper from the drawer under the tall TV cabinet in the living room and carried them to the winding staircase that led to the second floor.

  “Althy,” her mother called out, head still buried in paperwork, “remember what your principal said today. She looked up and gave her daughter a worried smile, “Draw some nice things, flowers and rainbows and such,”

  “All right,” She said quietly.

  She balanced the box of crayons with the other hand and made her way upstairs. The upstairs hallway was covered with large yellow flowered wallpaper. A hideous pattern whose age was marked by the peeling seams and missing corner pieces. She still hadn’t gotten used to the dilapidated old house. Unlike their home in South Carolina, this one had creaky stairs, broken plaster, leaky sink pipes, and broken windows through which you rarely caught a glimpse of the fog smothered sun.

  Lady Faldoon owned the house, of course, and agreed to rent it to Mrs. Applegate for a “reasonable rate”. Built in the 1920’s, its last occupant had been one of her cargo managers who had been fired for stealing.

  Althea reached her room and promptly set up shop on the thick camouflage print rug. The smooth white walls, and nice hard wood floors of her room strangely defied the houses ancient ambiance. The corner closet was so large that it was practically like another room, and had an entire wall of modern shelving that they’d used to store some of her father’s military gear. Some of the windows in other rooms of the house had boards nailed over them, as time had cracked out one or two of the panes. Not in Althea’s room, however. Her windows had double paned glass and modern latches.

  She thought perhaps her grandmother had secretly made sure that she and Davy’s rooms were rehabilitated, as his room also lacked familiar flaws. But that thought was promptly shaken away, as Lady Faldoon did not seem the considerate type.

  Althea turned her attention to the jumbo box of crayons in front of her, and began to scan the bazillion colors under the lid. She finally decided upon the plain dark blue one. She scratched her head and frowned for a moment before using the crayon to recreate the long line of the blue arm she had drawn in Mr. Thompson’s art class.

  “There has to be something I am missing,” she muttered to herself, “Something that I just didn’t see.” She switched to a different color and went over and over the lines.

  Finally, after some time and more than a little frustration, she gave up, crumpling the paper and tossing it into the trash. Before she put the crayons away, she made sure to draw a new picture, one with a big rainbow and a smiley face. She put the new drawing in an obvious place on her little wooden desk and then got ready for bed.

  It wasn’t long after she had climbed under the covers that the door to her room opened and closed. She caught a whiff of her mother’s perfume, then felt a little kiss on her forehead. The lights flickered off and Althea drifted to sleep.

  It was still dark when she awoke. Her eyes blinked in the darkness and she was only half awake when she heard a noise. At first very faint, she thought she was dreaming, but it grew increasingly louder and she realized it was coming from somewhere outside of sleep. She sat up.

  There were footsteps padding down the hallway, then Davy’s voice - he sounded upset. “No no no no,” he whined, “I wanna sweep wif you.” He sniffled and sniveled in the hallway.

  Althea fumbled on her nightstand for the light and then slipped out of bed. She cracked her door and could see her mother in the hallway bent over Davy. She smoothed his ruffled brown hair and wiped what looked like tears from his chubby cheek.

  “There there sweetheart, I’m sure it is nothing.” She took his hand. “Here, let’s go and see.” They moved over to the door of Davy’s room. Her mother looked up suddenly and saw Althea through the partially open doorway. She gestured toward her “You come too Althy, we will show you Davy, there is nothing to be scared of.”

  Althea trailed sleepily behind them. When she entered Davy’s room she saw them standing in front of his closet. Her mother flicked on the closet light. Rows of neatly hung sweaters were suddenly visible in the dark opening. “You see dear, there is nothing here. . . just your clothes.”

  Davy sobbed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It der, I seen it!” He looked over at Althea. “Der a munter in der Tia,” he snivled, “a big wun!” He sobbed again, “I’s skared.”

  “There there,” her mother hugged him. “There is no monster Davy, you see,” she pointed again to his sweaters hung in a neat little row. “Althea, tell your brother, there is no monster in his closet.”

  Althea moved closer. She saw Davy’s little hats and coats on the top shelf, the boxes of pictures from their trip last summer, she saw his new suit for the Sunday visits with their Grandmother. And she saw something more.

  “Tell him Althy, tell him there is no monster.” Her mother tried to mask her irritation.

  To the side of Davy’s new suit, in the deep dark shadow of the closet’s dusky corner, Althea could see one big blue foot peeking out. It had long toenails, and burbling warts near the knuckles. As she leaned in for a closer look, she saw one of the giant toes wiggle.

  “Althy!” Her mother was no longer disguising her annoyance. Tell your brother there is no monster!”

  Little Davy was clinging to his mother and he looked fearfully up at his sister.

  Suddenly the blue foot shuffled to the side and then retracted deeper into the closet. All that she could see then was the black shadow of the place where it had been.

  “Althy!”

  “I don’t see a monster Davy,” She told him plainly. “Just your clothes.” And indeed it was the truth, as the foot was no longer visible.

  “Bu I seen im Tia,” Davy whined, “He come outta de cwoset.” He sucked his thumb nervously. “I seen im!”

  “Well he’s not there now,” Althea told him matter of factly.

  “You see,” her mother looked relieved. “There’s nothing there. Now climb back into your bed and I will read you a little story.” Davy sniffed a little but did as his mother told him.

  Althea went back to her room and waited a while, until she heard his door close and her mother’s foo
tsteps padding down the hallway.

  She waited a few minutes more before sneaking back out. Her bare feet tiptoed down the hallway. Davey’s door creaked ever so slightly as she opened it. He let out a squeak.

  “Shhhhhhhh” she put her finger to her lips, and closed the door softly behind her.

  Davey was huddled in one corner of his bed, his sandy brown head barely visible above the fortress of pillows he had stacked in a semi circle around him. Althea moved some of them aside to crawl up next to him.

  “The munter’s cuming Tia,” he wimpered, trying to keep his voice quiet. He pointed to the closet which was now a dark and ominous opening against the wall.

  “I know,” she whispered, and set down the bottle she had been carrying. Davy stared at it for a moment, mesmerized by the thick green goo that sloshed inside of it.

  “I just can’t figure it out,” she told him as she pulled a plastic bag from the folds of her nightdress. “I have gone over it a million times, and I just can’t figure it out.”

  “The munter’s skay-wee Tia.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, opening the plastic bag to examine some of the ingredients she had brought. “It’s a Galograth Davy, of course it is scary.”

  “What a Gawagat?” He asked, looking fearfully at the closet.

  “Not a very complex monster, really,” she muttered as she took a pair of tweezers out of her pocket and started to pick through the ingredients. “A simpleton at best,” she picked up a pine needle from a Longleaf tree and examined it in the dim light of the room.”

  “I’s kared of the Gawagat,” Davy whispered, and he stacked another pillow on the pile in front of him.

  “Well,” said Althea, dropping the Longleaf needle back in the bag and picking up a green dragonfly wing with the tweezers. “That is why he can come out of the closet now,” She squinted and blew on it, watching the fibers move a little on the surface.

  “You not kared Tia?” Davy asked her, looking sheepishly up at her.

  “No Davy, I am not scared.” She dropped the dragonfly wing back into the bag. “I have defeated at least three or four of them.” She picked up the bottle she had set on the bed and held it up. “I just don’t understand why it isn’t working. It has worked on all of the others.”