The Full Monty

Humans like to call me monster. When I think of a monster, I think of a mindless brute. I am a troll, but that does not make me a monster. Demonizing me does not serve any of us, and it is inaccurate. I had trolls for parents and, they weren’t monsters either. I did have to kill them and eat them, but there’s a reason for that.

You see, trolls go mad once they reach a certain age. The bloodlust takes over and it afflicts the mind with an overwhelming desire to kill. In the initial stages the troll has episodes of madness, going berserk, before returning to awareness. When a troll goes mad, it is inevitable that someone kills them, or they kill someone, and they awaken covered in blood and guts. If the troll has a well-developed conscience, regret inevitably follows. As the troll ages, the malady worsens with every passing day, until one day the troll fails to return at all. Once the disease has taken hold, a small act of violence can incite a bloody rampage.

The day I killed my Mother she came home covered in blood from the humans she had slaughtered. In the throes of her madness, she went on a killing spree against a group of travelers crossing our territory. Hunting the occasional human traveling alone was normal. But that day my Mother ripped off heads and tore off limbs for no reason at all, and she made the fatal mistake of leaving one alive.

My Mother was more far gone than my Father, but he was on his way too, and he would have tried to protect her if I raised my hands against her in front of him. In his state of emotional and mental degradation, he would not have listened to reason.

That night, we were in our cave resting when the scent of sulfur wafted in. We sensed the torches long before we heard the dogs barking. A canopy of vegetation hid the entrance of our cave, but the mongrels had senses even more acute than our own, they would soon find us. My Father grabbed his club, and my Mother, and made for the woods. I followed them, but I grabbed a sword, which was my preference. Before joining them, I looked back. The humans had yet to arrive, but the yelping was growing nearer. I looked at our cave and said goodbye, knowing that I would never see my prized possessions again.

The mob had come looking for my Mother. Her actions had put us all in danger. The three of us together could have killed a dozen humans, but we wouldn’t come out of it unscathed, and even we could not kill an entire mob. We made for the bog, knowing that even the mongrels could not trace us in the muck.

“Growy,” said my Father. I looked at him and nodded. It was the name of a small cave that we lived in when I was a child. The cave was large enough for two grown trolls, but once I came of age, we had to move.

We reached the swamp. Its waters were as black as the night. My parents jumped in, but I stopped to think. I was forgetting something. I listened to the water squelching, and the insects chirping. I knew it was dangerous to go back, but I needed to see the mob, to know what we were up against, in case they managed to find us.

I ran back to our cave but stopped just close enough to see. I hunkered down behind a tree. From there I saw the row of advancing flames and long purplish shadows cast against the escarpment. The mob was a hodgepodge of soldiers and farmers. Some were knights, wearing heavy armor and carrying broad swords, others were peasants carrying picks, and axes. I couldn’t count them all, but there was at least two dozen men, all of them with their brows furrowed into a knot. The dogs barked and lunged against their collars, they chopped at the bit at the entrance of our cave. The armored men went in first. When they discovered that we were gone, they would come out and search the area. I backed away as quietly as I could, but I bumped my head on a branch and caused a loud rustling noise. Luckily, the yapping and yelling of the mob drowned it out. As I ran back to the swamp, I was relieved that we managed to escape, but I was angry. I imagined the mob gleefully burning my books, my drawings, my collections. They would burn everything to the ground in their search for us.

I got to Growy about an hour later. By then my parents were already asleep. A fire crackled in the center of our old cave. They were laying on the ground, covered in filth. My Father was laying on his back with his hands on his belly, my Mother snored peacefully on her side. She used her green puffy hands as pillows. I noticed the bog had washed away the blood from her fingernails. She used those hands to pet my head when I was little. She was always the gentlest of our family. It was hard to believe that she had savagely torn those humans apart with those hands. I looked around at the stone walls around us. Though faded, I could still see the red paint on my wall. A barn owl in flight, with that distinguishing nose-like beak. I used to stare at that owl and imagine heroic stories about it and the other animals of the forest. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes. I felt weary, and full of nostalgia. But I knew what I had to do.

I stabbed the stronger, my Father, first. Straight through the heart. He jerked up in his sleep, his eyes bulging. He looked up at me with anger, then shock, then he sighed, and his head fell back. The sound of the sword striking woke my Mother. When I turned to look at her, she was looking right at me. I had startled her. The adrenaline cleared the cobwebs from her mind because she looked at me with bright, lucid eyes. Her hair was still damp, it cascaded down her shoulders and back. She looked radiant in the glow of the fire. I walked over to her, and she did not get up to fight. Instead, she looked up at me with pity. I lifted my arm, but my sword felt heavy. I felt as though I had lifted an anvil. "I have no choice," I thought. Then I jabbed her in the heart. She fell back instantly. I flung the sword into the fire and staggered out of the cave. I felt like a diseased animal, abandoned by the pack, and left to die. I walked for hours, and before long, the sun rose. It was as bright as ever, but it had lost its innocence. It was more red than yellow because of the brown smoke that veiled the sky.

This is not a confession. I’m just explaining why I killed my parents, lest you judge me without understanding the context. The same goes for eating them. I prefer not to eat human flesh because humans are troll-like, but I had to eat my parents. You see, it is our deeply ingrained belief that we must eat our beloved dead, to allow them to live on in us. My parents ate their parents, and so on, for generations. The only thing left behind is the bones. Like humans, we ceremoniously bury them in the ground.

I know what you’re thinking. What madness is this? How does a troll even know how to write? Well, that’s easy to explain. You see, I kept the books that my human prey carried. I often targeted monks for that reason. By the time the mob forced us to leave our cave I had assembled a library. That, and I was born gifted, you might even call me intelligent, for a troll. It wasn’t easy learning how to read on my own, and my fingers are quite large, so I often tore the pages. But I managed. (Though, I freely admit, my penmanship needs work).

As I recall all of this now, my parents have been dead for decades. I buried them near Growy, and I lived there for a while. But I knew the humans would come looking for me eventually, so I had to relocate.

Unfortunately, over the years, the wood grew smaller and smaller. Humans multiplied like rabbits and took over the land. They built castles, villages, and farmland. My hunting grounds shrunk until I had no choice but to turn to eating more humans. From the human perspective, my meals were victims, and so the legend of the monster in the woods was born. And so human kings sent their hunting parties after me. They eventually found me, and cornered me, and cast their nets on me, capturing me alive, despite my best efforts to die fighting. They put me in a cage. Because cages are for those that are too strong and too dangerous to be set free. But I don’t blame my captors. I would fear me also if I were them.

Earlier, around midnight, I had a moment of clarity. I was in the dark contemplating my fate. The only light in the dungeon was a faint stream of light that slipped through the window. The dungeon was quiet, except for the echoes of water droplets and scampering rodents. That’s when a voice disrupted my thoughts.

“Psst. Beast,” said the voice in the dark. At first, I thought it was one of my imaginings, taunting me. But then I heard it again.

“Beast, can you hear me?”

“Ghragh,” I responded.

“Can you speak?”

“I khaan grrrite,” I said, forming vowels the best I could.

“You can write?”

“Ghaai”

“Very well.”

My caller was the human prisoner in the next cell. I was in the cell farthest from the exit. So, I had a stone wall on one side of me and the man speaking to me on the other. Thick iron bars separated us. But he had to have done something truly despicable because they jailed him so perilously close to me.

“Okay, here,” he said as he tossed me a piece of coal and paper. The guard had given it to him earlier so he could write his last testament. He tossed them at my feet because he dared not hand it to me and risk having his hand torn off.

“Beast. I know you understand but have trouble speaking. Do me a favor and just listen to me. Nod your head if you understand?”

I looked at him and nodded.

“Beast, my name is Francois.” He bowed his head courteously.

“I am here unjustly. You see, in the human world, a wayfarer like me is not permitted to bed women of the upper class. Especially if they are spoken for, like the Duke’s wife. Anyway, that is my crime. And, unfortunately, it is a capital crime, so I am to hang in the morning.”

“Arrgh,” I said in acknowledgement.

“I believe we may be able to help each other.”

“Gogh Ahnn,” I said.

“Nicely done. I understood that.”

I nodded again, proudly.

“The guards are too afraid of you. So, they won’t get near you. But I can get one to come into my cell.”

“Arrgh.”

“Now, the plan is, I will lure the guard, persuade him to get near to you. You grab him and dispose of him. I will take the keys and set us free.”

I laughed aloud after hearing his plan.

“What say you?”

I took the scrap of paper and wrote: “agreed.” I walked over to his cell and stretched my hand through the bars to hand it to him. He approached carefully and snatched the paper from my fingers. He strained to read it. When he finally understood my scrawling, he looked up at me and brandished a diabolical smile.

“If I am to release you, you must do me no harm,” he said.

“Arrgh.”

He put the plan into motion immediately.

“Guard!” he yelled. “GUARD!!”

But there was no movement.

“ARRRGGGHH!” I roared with all my might. My roar reverberated, causing the mud caked on the wall to crumble to the floor.

That caught the Guard’s attention. We heard the echoes of footsteps, clanging keys, and slamming doors.

“Shut up monsta!” shouted the Guard as he made his way down the corridor.

“Guard, please, come at once!”

“Shut up you filth! You’re worse than the monsta!”

The Guard came within sight. He looked like a freshly steamed shellfish; red-cheeked, with doughy flesh protruding out of his armor. He held a torch with his left hand and placed his right hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Oh, thank heavens! Guard, please feed this beast. I think he means to eat me. He’s been chewing away at the bars that separate our cells.”

“I said shut up!”

“Look sir there’s a bit missing.”

My Co-conspirator pointed at the bars between us. Before the guard had approached, Francois had smothered his waste on the bar and so the waste had obscured it in the dark.

“That’s not possible you twat, he has no tools!”

The Guard tried to bring his torch closer to the bars, but he couldn’t make it out from that far.

“He doesn’t need tools. He used his teeth! I heard it said that their jaws can crush bone. I didn’t know they could eat through iron!”

“I can’t see anything.”

“There. There’s an entire segment missing there,” said Francois, pointing at the feces on the bars.

The Guard peered in to look but he couldn’t see from that far away. He let out an exasperated sigh and tilted his head towards the ceiling.

“Back the fuck up! Go to the back of your cell, now!” The Guard took out his sword and pointed it at Francois. Francois kept up with his act and backed away slowly. The Guard took out his ring of keys and unlocked the door. He walked in carefully, his sword raised at Francois.

“Back up!” He yelled as he side-stepped into the cell.

He approached my cell. I stood quietly waiting for the right moment. I could smell the Guard’s sweat, it smelled like buttered lobster, or shrimp. Francois’s excrement masked the scent, so I couldn’t quite place it.

“Do you see it? Where the bar is missing?”

“Shut up and stay back.”

The Guard approached the bars carefully, he lowered the torch. As he leaned in to get a closer look, Francois rushed at him. I also made my move. The Guard saw me coming, but not Francois. Francois shoved him against the bars. I reached in and grabbed the Guard’s neck. I squeezed tightly. He flailed his sword helplessly, like a crab flipped on its back, helplessly clawing at the air as a seagull devoured its innards. I squeezed tighter and tighter until he snapped. I let go and his lifeless body fell to the ground under the weight of his armor. Francois quickly rummaged through the Guard’s pockets and found the keys. Francois’s face looked wild and impish in the torch light. He grabbed the sword and sheath and hurriedly wrapped it around his waist. He then picked up the torch and rushed to my cell door.

“Nicely done old beast,” he said. “With these keys, and your brute strength, we can make it out of here.”

He fumbled through the keys trying each one until one finally turned. The door swung open. Humans made the cell for other humans, so I had to duck my head to walk through.

I could try to blame Francois for calling me a beast repeatedly, but it was the bloodlust that made me grab his neck. Francois looked up at me incredulously. I liked him, but he had failed to consider that killing the Guard would ignite my bloodlust. I lifted him until his feet dangled off the ground, he looked at me in shock and horror, it was a bitter betrayal, after he had so nearly escaped. Looking at his contorted face, I experienced what Francois‘s compatriots call déjà vu. It was as if I had lived that moment before. A second later a sharp pang filed my belly. I was hungry, but it was not that. The sword went through me with such force that only the hilt colliding against my rib stopped it.

Francois looked at me with his piercing blue eyes. I imagined he had gazed at the Duke’s wife that way, while he penetrated her. I snapped his vertebrae, and he flopped down like a chicken with a rung neck. I feel regret recounting this now, my only consolation is knowing that if I had not helped him out of his cell, he would have died anyway. All I had done was expedite his sentence. Poor Francois, he deserved better than a wart-laden ogre as his last intimate partner.

I pulled the sword out of my gut to avoid jamming it on a doorway. A pocket of blood, green and viscous, oozed out of my wound. It was a deep wound, but not fatal if I treated it, and found a place to recover. Though, I felt a biting pain when I bent down to pick up the torch and keys.

After all the grunting and killing, the dungeon was quiet again. I don’t believe there were other prisoners down there, or they wisely remained silent. As I walked down the corridor, I felt the rats brushing past me to get to the shellfish and the chicken. When I reached the door, I went through the keys patiently. There were ten keys, but I found the right one on my third try. The next room had a chair and a small table. There was a pile of hay on the floor next to a bucket full of piss. His superiors had placed the Guard under specific instructions not to leave his post for any reason. Not even to go pee. A few steps further down was the flight of stairs. I looked up and at the top of the stairs was a wooden door with a barred window. I saw the stars through the window, I was close to my escape. With my long legs, I climbed up the stairs three steps at a time. The pain in my gut was excruciating, even for me. I left a trail of blood on every other step. But I made it to the door. I unlocked it and I was outside.

It was a moonless night. No one was walking about. There had only been one guard posted at midnight. The entire castle was asleep, and well into dreaming. I saw the drawbridge some two hundred odd feet away. It was open and probably guarded by sleeping buffoons. If I had wanted to escape it could not have been easier.

Alas, I was like a tiger that had at last tasted human flesh, I was hungry and possessed. The thought of humans sleeping soundly, mere feet away, erupted a volcanic bloodlust I could not contain nor explain. Trolls have long lifespans, but like humans we grow old and grey. The madness usually starts when the grey hairs outnumber the black. I had a full head of grey hair by then, and I was too far gone. Instead of running for safety, to recover from my wound in a secluded cave, I ran to the nearest dwelling.

It was a large rectangle log cabin. It had a wide front door and small windows on each side. A barn owl perched itself on the roof. I saw the outline of its rounded head and its nose-like beak. Its feathers appeared grey and brown in the night. I could see it turn its head to look at me. Its eyes glowed like cinders in the night sky. It was an omen, imploring me to turn back. Sadly, my bloodlust had narrowed my vision to the size of a pin prick, I had neither the foresight nor the volition to heed its warning. By then my wound had caused my legs to grow numb. I stumbled to the front door, and despite the pain, I kicked it open. I ducked into the door and searched for my prey.

A small man was standing near his bed holding a candle and a dagger. He was wearing a night gown. He was half asleep because it took him a moment to realize I was not a hallucination. I was a living nightmare. His shrill cries pierced my ears as I crumpled his face in like a cabbage. I devoured him until I could eat no more.

Not long after the alarm bells went off. Soldiers with lit arrows came running and they surrounded the cabin. They rightly assumed that the human was dead. They slung their arrows of outrageous fortune (I borrowed the line from the English playwright). They fell on the roof like hail or rain. The building slowly set ablaze. They trapped me again. Though, they dared not come in, the fire would do their work without risking their lives. That’s when a wave of pristine clarity swept through me. I stood in my fiery cage, and the notion of time returned to me. I was grateful for the awareness, and the time, however limited it might be.

The man I killed was wealthy, his ink and quill were of the finest quality. I sat at his study surrounded by smoke and embers. The fire would soon take me. As I wrote, tears streamed down my green cheeks. I wept not because I was to die, but because my life would be reduced to the grotesque caricature of the villain. In the eyes of all I would be an irredeemable monster.

But monsters do not write, and they do not have names. Over nine decades ago, my parents called me Monty. I had hoped that one day I would live on in my children. But I never had a partner, or progeny. In leu of that, now that I’ve bared it all, perhaps a part of me will live on in you.