Monster
Air,salt, wind, strong wind. Irk, irk, chill, irk irk, cold, salty strong wind. Irk irk, a 
naked lightbulb, itís cord disappearing into some unknown abode of darkness overhead swung 
back and forth, back and forth, illuminating a naked, damp metal floor glistening in the 
pale, yellowish light. Back and forth, mesmerizing him with itís cold glow, he stared 
blankly. He was alone, utterly deserted in the wet metal cavern. Feelings, senses flooded 
his synapses with information, staggering in clarity and strenght. Smells seemed alive 
somehow, as if he easily could make out the physical appearance of things unseen. The 
scents painted colourful images in his mind making him feel as if he had been equiped with 
an extra sense of seeing, stretching its limits outside the visual range, to which he had 
hitherto been restricted. He could see the shapes walking steadily above him in the 
darkness, he could see their fear and loathing painted in their scent trail. Their fright 
set of something within him, the fear sung to him in a strange, inhuman way, lifting him on 
light wings, singing in a chorus of alien voices, engulfing him, carressing his soul like 
sweet nectar, filling him with joy. 

Back and forth, back and forth. The bulb reflected in a puddle at his feet, perfectly 
mirroring itís movements. A wave crashed hard against the battered steel hull, sending a 
shiver and ripples through the flowing black surface. The storm howled through rig and 
tackle with infernal anger, screaming at the frail humans that had dared confront the rage 
of nature head on, assailing the rusting hull of the ancient cargo liner with sharp fingers 
of rain and jaws of freezing atlantic waves, wanting more than anything else to crush and 
destroy the little safety the humans had. A latch brok somewhere above him and a few 
moments later he was drowned in salt, icy, watermaking him splutter and cough in shock and 
surprise. The light had gone out. He was so cold, so cold and lonely alone in the dark, 
murky entrails of the ship, heíd been here a long time now. Nobody had come to visit him, 
nobody cared that he was lonely and scared in this frightening place. Heíd tried shouting, 
screaming for aid, for somebody to come and take him away from his miserable position, but 
yo no avail. The metal bulkhead remained firmly shut. Rain poured in through the gaping 
hole in the ceiling. Drip drip, drops falling on his nose, drip drip, pouring down into the 
growing puddle on the floor. He had to do something. Drip drip, water finding itís way down 
his back. In a single stride he was at the bars surrounding him, the looked frail enough, 
almost non-existant clasped in his strong hand. He tried them tentativelly. They didnít 
budge. Again more firmly. A strange something was boiling up inside him, as if his body was 
mobilizing reserves he was unaware of, a warmth spread through his body, turning hotter and 
hotter, an uncontrollable rage.

He stood in the remains of the ruined cage staring down at what was in front of him, the 
taste of victory in his mouth, beneath him the water slowly mixed with red. The heap of 
ragged, torn clothing at his feet lay still, very, very still. The new sweet taste filled 
his mouth makin saliva flow in abundance, watering his mouth like sprinklers watering a 
thirsty lawn. He smiled down at the heap in front of him and the heap smiled back with 
blind, staring, agonized eyes. He hadnít had a chance. 
He tried to remember how he had got here, why he was here, but as soon as the thought 
formed it blacked out leaving nothing but an empty void of instinct inside his head. He 
tried again, the world seemed to move as if submerged in thick syrup, his temples throbbed 
and his eyes ached from the effort, again and again his concentration shattered in front of 
a huge, unsurmountable wall, blocking him from his memories. He couldnít even remember his 
own name. The thought confused him inutterably, he knew he had a name, of course he had, it 
wasÖ Blank, nothing, an inpenetrable cloud making him want to bang his head against the 
bulkhead in a vain effort to shatter the fogs, trying to beat the knowledge out of his 
uncooperative mind. But somehow he knew it wouldnít help. He rose from his  crouching  
position and navigated the periliously slippery floor, heaving in the storm, towards the 
now open bulkhead. The narrow corridor outside was brightly and mercilessly lit, shdow 
pitch black in the white light. He had only the vaugest of ideas of where he was going or 
why, all conscious thought was utterly impossible, restrained and repressed by a rising 
instinct, the only option left was to surrender to the whiffs of his uncouncious mind, 
which he could netither understand or control. He stalked down the empty corridor. The 
light seemed intolerably bright, the smell of grease and wet metal was almost as 
overwhelming with itís noxious fumes, and in his belly a strange desire was making itself 
heard, a strange wonderful taste still lingering in his mouth had triggered it, he needed 
more. Silently he made his way down the hall. The bulkhead opened and a roar of cold wind 
swept through the recently opened gash in the shipís side. The deck was lit by large 
floodlights and heaved in large strokes from side to side, flushed by waves marching 
towards the defenseless vessel in long lines. Rain fell with a smatter, all but drowned by 
the raging sea, gutters overflowing with icy water. He only had fifty or perhaps sixty 
meters to the next oor, across the heaving deck, but that proved more than enough, forty 
meters and a new wave hit, making the ship shudder like a wounded bird, ending him crashing 
into a nearby structure, he couldnít have been out for more than a couple of seconds, but 
it almost proved too long. He woke, gasping for air, clung to the shipís railing. The ship 
swung over to his side, dangling him above a dark boiling abyss as a new wave rose above 
the deck. In an isntant he was over the railing and running for the door, his head ached 
and he had probably twisted his ankle quite badly in the fall, but he got to the door just 
as the new wave hit. The door swung shut behind him with a boom that threatened to waken 
the dead. The corridor was warmer here, better lit and smelling of some strange but 
tasteful food. Tiny pools of water formed around his feet, dark stains on the wooden floor, 
as he slowly crept forward.

The man looked as if heíd been ripped in two, the twisted face looking up at him, begging 
for a mercy he was not allowed to give. The wonderful salty taste was back in his mouth and 
he savoured it with delight like a baby tasting candy for the first time. The taste was 
slowly replaced with a stronger craving, he had to have more, this wouldnít do at all, he 
needed it. Something was loosening inside him as his craving increased to an urge, an 
aching sickening feeling in his belly. Thought came easeier now, his head still trhobbed 
from its encounter with the winch, but he could think, memories from a part that seemed to 
scream at him, telling him that what he did was wrong, terribly wrong, yet he couldnít stop 
himself from doing it. Pictures, sounds, flashed by him, laughter, a smiling face, scents 
of flowers and of autumn, of newly grown grass and moist soil. A rush of emotion, like an 
oncoming train, almost knocking him of his feet. When the boiling and writhing in his mind 
foinally subsided only one word still remained, his name, he knew his name, Jacob. He tried 
it aloud,his voice sounding raspy and tired in his own ears. The name set of the rush of 
emotions once again, as if a switch had been thrown somewhere in his brain. And then again, 
everything was still and quiet once again. He remembered now, vaugely that he had seen the 
ship somewhere before, he knew it, instinctively. The outer hull was dark blue, turning 
into bright red at the waterline, her name was Luscinia. He blinked, he must have seen the 
ship from the outside sometime in a distant past. He began moving again, but now he knew 
where he had been headed all the time, due aft, the captains cabin. He couldnít help 
feeling a slight contempt at their feeble atempts at resistance, their screams and whi
mpers, hands raised protectively in front of horrified faces. He could taste and feel his 
power over them, he felt like the newly sharpened scythe, slashing through fresh grass. The 
road he walked was slowly painted in red.

The corridor ended in a large oak door, a gate to antother world, looking not a little 
anachronistic compared to the grey walls. The handle turned smoothly and shimmered 
beautifully as the door opened, soundless. The man behind the large desk had his back 
turned to him as he entered. The room was large, sparsely lit, looking more like the 
library in some expensive london club than a room in a battered old freighter. A thick 
green carpet covered a floor only occupied by a gigantic victorian desk and a large leather 
armchair. The wall behind the desk was covered almost in full by a single large window 
giving a panoramic view of the turmoiling waters. Bookcases lined the left wall, hundreds 
upon hundreds of identical volumes, staring blankly into the oposite wallís oil paintings, 
the eyes of great men shooting back with their best machiavellian stares. Only the ceiling 
betrayed the true location of the room, being constructed from a gray network of painted 
and bolted steel girders.
îSoo, you came at last.î The man turned slowly to face him. A friendly face, blue, bright 
eyes, greying hair, steel slowly replacing a darker, undefined colour in a battle of wills. 
Thin rimless spectacles crowning a noble nose, lean,perhaps fifty years old. îI have been 
waiting with much anticiaption for your arrival here.î A few thoughtful paces out from the 
desk towards him. îMy, my excellent work.î The blue eyes studied him closely, seemed to dig 
through his skin, excavating his innermost secrets. Jacob had stopped in his tracks as the 
man had turned around, he knew him! He knew himso well! Images, tiny pieces of inner film 
sprang to attention, but this man looked oleder, much older than he remembered. îJacob, I 
must say i am proud of you, you are my most succesful project.î With a snap the memories 
ended their ceaseless journey across the inner screen. The man was almost upon him by now, 
still smiling warmly towards him. îYou have done well, and you proved, beyond a doubt that 
the procedure works, however unwittingly, the instincts of a beast molded inside a human 
brain!î A large sweeping motion with his hand, encompassing everything around. îExcellent.î 
A pat on the shoulder. îBut as with all great experiments they must come to an end, 
goodnight Jacobî At the last pat his shoulder was stung with something, thousands of 
blasphemic, satanic fires scorched his bare skin and as the worldslowly turned darker and 
darker on him, first in shades of grey and later in warmer and warmer crimson he realized 
where he had seen this man before, his memories cleared and as he sank down onto the floor 
he uttered the two words forming the one question he had left. îFather, why?î
Per Sikora 1999