My father's not a monster

My father is not a monster. But he’s not like other dads. He’s cool. He lets me play video games for as long as I want. But there’s one condition though. I have to show him I’ve completed my homework. This way, he’s sure that I never lag behind in school. We have our own little rituals that I don’t talk to anyone about. I’ll tell you about them. 

But first, you have to understand how my father really is, as a person. Being a single dad, my father has never let me feel the absence of my mother for even a single moment. He plays both parts, and does it perfectly. He cooks, cleans, goes to work, comes home and asks me about school. 

I never knew my mother, and I don’t know how she died. My father doesn’t want to speak about that. It’s okay. I get it. 

My father’s not a monster. But sometimes, I feel like he could slay any monster that tries to harm me. He’s strong with big arms. I’m not as strong as him. I doubt I’ll ever be. Even now, he can pick me up with one arm. He doesn’t though. Not usually. But he does, when I misbehave or don’t listen to him. My father’s old school. These days, fathers don’t beat their sons to discipline them. But my father isn’t like that. If I misbehave in public, or throw a tantrum, he usually lets me know I shouldn’t be doing something by smacking me across the back or cheek. Those hurt, but I deserve them. They’re rare, but totally something I deserve. Each such thrashing reminds me of what not to do. He doesn’t get angry, usually. He’s cool, like I said. But he’s also old school in matters of discipline. He’s the best of both worlds and I’m lucky to get a father like him. 

My father’s not a monster. But once a month, he drinks with me. That’s so cool, right? Who can say that their father drinks with their 15 year old? But my dad allows me to drink. We sit at the table. He pours me the same drink he has, whiskey, and we both drink and talk about school, his work, etc. I always pass out after drinking too much, and he says it’s because I haven’t built up tolerance yet, and soon, when I’m older, I’ll be able to drink much more without passing out. This is the ritual I was talking about earlier, and it started when I was like 11 or 12. Now, I know, you’re judging my dad, but trust me, it’s nothing like that. It’s just one day a month, every month. He doesn’t drink every day, and neither does he let me. Just one day, we let loose, father and son, and we drink whiskey together. That’s the good life. I know none of my friends have a secret ritual with their father like this. They’d be so jealous if they knew. At least, that’s what I thought until I told my friend, Sam, about this. 

My father’s not a monster. But when I told my friend, Sam, about this, he said it’s weird. He asked me weird questions. He asked whether I’m sure my father wasn’t getting me drunk and raping me. Sam said he had heard stories like this. But I said he was just jealous his father wasn’t as cool as mine. He accepted that. But I’ve been thinking. I see my father sprinkling a white powder over my glasses, when he pours me my drink, but he doesn’t pour the white powder over his glasses. Once, when I asked him what that powder was, he said it’s something to make my whiskey milder. I believed him. Until I found out what that powder really was.

My father’s not a monster. But every month, for just one day, he sits down and tells me to drink with him. Last month, when I said I didn’t want to, he got angry. He was almost about to get the belt, when I really resisted. I know it wasn’t wise to say no to my father. But that morning, I had snooped around in his room and found out what that powder was. Those were crushed sleeping pills, and I found the bottle of pills in his cabinet. It seems like my father wanted me to sleep. I wasn’t passing out. I was being forced to drink alcohol laced with sleeping pills.

My father’s not a monster. But two months ago, I tried spitting out most of the alcohol into the plant under our table when he wasn’t looking. I didn’t think it worked, because I still had to drink most of it. But I pretended to be drunk and asleep when I wasn’t sufficiently drunk. When my father was sure that I had passed out, I felt him picking me up, and taking me to the basement, opening the basement door that stays always locked, and dragging me inside. Unfortunately, that’s when I passed out. I guess whatever I drank was enough to knock me out by then. But now I knew that something wasn’t right.

My father’s not a monster. But last month, we were supposed to drink again. I changed the pills with sugar pills this time. I was still getting drunk, but wasn’t at all feeling sleepy. I still feigned being asleep. When he was confident that I was asleep, he started dragging me down to the basement. Opening the door, he turned on the lights to show a room that had nothing in it other than large chains shackled to the walls.

I was drunk but I wasn’t sleepy. But still, I don’t remember what happened after that. One moment I was trying to be asleep, trying to see what else was there in the basement, the next moment I had no idea what was happening. It was all a blur, and all I remember was a flash of moonlight hitting my face.

My father’s not a monster. Because I am.

When I woke up, my father was dead. His limbs were torn apart. His face was hanging from his skull. Blood was everywhere, and most of it was on my hands and mouth.

It wasn’t until last week that I truly grasped what I did. Last week on a full-moon night, I realized who I was. I changed again, into the monster that I was always destined to be. My father wasn’t there to chain me down anymore. Three people disappeared from the town that night.

This is only the beginning.

I am a monster. A beast that is superior to anything that man can dream of. A beast that is known in popular culture as a “werewolf”. Ever since I killed my father, I realized what he was doing. The drinking ritual on full moon nights was his way of protecting me from the truth. I guess he failed miserably in that pursuit. 

Over the last month, I’ve discovered others like me. They tell me they can find my real father. I believe them. 

We’re all out there, in the darkness of the night, hunting, preying on pathetic humans like you. Every full moon, your kind will disappear. 

No one’s safe. You can hide, but you can’t outrun us all. We’re coming for you.