Beasts of the Town

There was only one rule: Don’t open the door. But I could hear the grotesque monsters inside. Their guttural snorts and shrieks of wicked laughter chilled me to the bone. Day after day, night after night, the sounds burrowed into my ears like silverfish. I knew what went on behind that closed door. Everyone in this godforsaken town did. And we all knew this evil could not continue. If anyone was going to save our town, it would have to be me.

I slammed that door open and threw the wooden cross I’d borrowed from Maddie next door. There was a roar of pain from one of the fleshy beasts, clutching its head, scarred by our savior’s thorns. In a hurricane of threadbare sheets, the fleshy creatures tried to hide from my righteous fury. A flurry of leathery pink and faded ink: a mermaid, tweety bird, and the ancient tribal symbols of the buttcrack tribe.

“Stop in the name of Jesus! This town don’t need any more of your devil spawn!”

“Goddamn it, Janey! Get out! We’re naked in here! And don’t talk about your brothers that way!”

I slammed the door closed on the beasts, running to play in the sun while they struggled to get their clothes back on, knocking into the trailer walls. I may not have ended their reign of terror, but I slowed it down. And sometimes, that’s all a hero can do.