The Monster’s Corner: Stories Through Inhuman Eyes

an old lover and wound it round herself. His arms stayed as they were, stone stretched out toward her. At some point, she was sure, there had been a dagger in his hand, but that was long gone, lost in the underground caves where she stored all the other useless weapons her lovers brought with them. She paused to look at him, something she hadn’t done in a long time, and a memory of flesh and skin and blond hair flashed behind her eyes. He had been handsome once, she recalled, even with his mouth fixed forever wide. This one had sung right up until the moment his breath had stopped. She had been fond of him, and he had sung to her for years, much longer than some of the rest. How could she have forgotten? She leaned forward and ran her tongue down his smooth face before leaving him where he stood.

The sun was barely in the sky, and she frowned. She was not normally up so early. She peered out beyond the walls of her derelict palace and to the sparkling crystal of the ocean beyond. The snakes hissed, woken from their slumber, as her heart thumped. She hadn’t woken naturally. Something had roused her — sounds not heard for such a long, long time. Sounds that she ached to hear with every passing day. The creak of oars, the cry of voices. They were distant, but real. This time, it wasn’t her fevered imagination torturing her with a promise of company only to leave her raging in disappointment for weeks. This time there truly was a brown fleck in the blue — a boat filled with human warmth. She moaned slightly. They were coming. They always came, the beautiful brave men. Her heart raced and heat rushed to her loins. She had to hurry. The boat was still hours away, but she had preparations to make.

By the time she was done, her rough body was thick with sweat and the snakes were writhing and twisting and hissing, unable to settle and fueled by her excitement. She pushed them out of her shining eyes and smiled. Food and wine were laid out on the rocks on the cove where the ship would land. The sun was getting hotter, and she wanted her guests to be comfortable. Heat and wine while they sent their hero to her, that was what they needed. There was only ever one from every boat that climbed the steep cliffs to reach her. None ever followed. Not once the song started. She drained a glass of red, heady wine. It was nearly time for the seduction to start. Her mouth watered in anticipation, thick strands of saliva running through the crevices on either side of her mouth. She wiped them away.

From the beach so far below, hearty cries drifted toward her as the sailors weighed anchor and sent a small rowing boat to her shores. She hurried down to the gloomy atrium on the ground floor of her ancient home. It was cool here, and her breath was wet and hard as she settled onto the chaise lounge hidden in the far shadows. She waited.

It’s hot on the island, but wading from the boat to the shore has cooled his skin. He feels energized and ready for the task ahead. His life has been waiting for this moment of destiny. The journey was uneventful and the water clear. This is fate. His heart pounds as his strong legs lead him to where his men are rifling through the plates of food and jugs of wine they’ve found on the rocks. He can feel the fear that sings clearly from their faces as they glance up at the palace built on the cliff tops, its shadow reaching down to clutch at them.

He’s not afraid. He is barely twenty-five and full of adventure and has always known that he is destined for greatness. It’s not arrogance — merely a lifetime of being the strongest and most handsome. With his easy charm and quick skills, he has always been picked out as special. He’s come to believe that he must be. The whole kingdom can’t be wrong. He thinks of the girl waiting for him. She is the prize — the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. She is his destiny and he loves her. He will marry her and they will rule the kingdom when her father is gone. There is just this one thing to do. Bring back the head. Many have tried and failed, but he knows that he’s different. He can see it in the faces of those around him. His armor gleams in the sunshine. He smiles at his men and then starts to climb.

The once-opulent chair was now covered in dust, and as she stretched along the full length she could feel the grains settling into the pockmarks on her rough, dark skin. Too many years had passed since she’d lain here, and she never came to the atrium unless receiving visitors. Where the dust came from, she couldn’t tell. The ceiling perhaps, or maybe carried down through the levels of her home on a curious breeze. She didn’t much care. It was never her furniture they looked at, after all.

Finally, when her pounding heart could barely take any more anticipation, the huge doors at the far end, rusty on their unused hinges, creaked open. The sun flooded in first, stretching almost halfway toward where she was residing in the shadows, and then she heard quick footsteps as leather sandals ran to the nearest pillars. It was like a dance, this game they always played. Her at one end, him at the other; slowly, slowly getting closer until at last their eyes met.

She was sure she could almost hear his heart beating as he paused to weigh up his best approach, and she didn’t hush the snakes but let their hungry hisses echo around the marble like a siren song. Here I am, they whispered. Seduce me.

The atrium was well laid out, with many of her former lovers there to greet their newest member, and hide him on his approach. In the space closest to her, however, they were spread farther apart, and this was invariably where the bravest and cleverest succumbed to her charms. They just couldn’t help themselves. They had to look. Men always did.

More footsteps rang out, and as he ran between the statues she caught flashes of strong tanned arms and legs. His hair was dark and glossy, pulled back tight on his head. She could change that later. She preferred them with their hair down. She liked to run her fingers through it while they sang. She slid down the chaise lounge and brought herself into view. Sometimes she had more patience for the wooing game, but not this time; she had been too long alone. It was time for him to start his song to her.

The palace is a wreck, and as he runs behind the pillar he nearly gags on the thick scent of rotting flesh that hits him like a wave. He closes his mouth and breathes through his nose. Behind him sunlight pours through the open doors, and he waits for it to bring some fresh air, but if it does, the awful stench overpowers it. He presses his back against the cold, damp stone and closes his eyes for a second, trying to regain the excited sense of purpose and adventure that he’d had on the voyage over. Now that he is alone, he’s finding it hard to maintain. Behind him, snakes rattle and hiss, far too loudly for ordinary grass adders, and as his stomach chills he knows that he’s not alone — SHE is here. He grips his sword tightly, but his palm is sweaty despite the cool.

The sunshine outside looks inviting. It also looks like it exists in a different world; a world of the ship, and the men, and his sense of being special, and the girl. His mind stops when he thinks of the girl. He can’t go back a coward. He left with such great promises to her that if he turns around now, he might as well throw himself from the cliff as climb down it. This is no time to change his mind. He takes a deep breath of the foul air and, because he is a hero after all, calms his pounding heart and studies the layout of the room. Eventually, he runs forward. He keeps his eyes down. He can do this. He can. He can.

He hides behind a statue and pretends not to know what it once was. That’s an impossible task, though, with every gray inch of the figure showing how it had once lived and breathed and thought it could kill a monster, just like him. He glances up. The face, now stone, is stretched wide in a final scream. He wonders, for a brief second, whether the man had managed to release that scream before the stone claimed him. The hissing is much closer, and stretched across the filthy marble he can see the shadow of her hideous form. The serpents at her head dance in the dark floor, and his stomach lurches. She is so much more than he had been expecting. Forward. He must go forward.

He starts to run. He’s so close now. His sword is held high, ready to swing at her neck. He doesn’t care how many attempts it will take and how bloody it becomes, he just wants her head. Someone has to take it — why NOT him? His heart pounds. He lunges forward. He musn’t look up. He musn’t look up.

He musn’t —

And their eyes met. For a moment, the surprise on his face was almost matched by hers. The snakes stilled and stared, for she couldn’t remember such a handsome suitor. Then, as the realization of his fate dawned on him, his mouth opened wide and he began to sing. The first songs were always the best. They were fresh and full of energy. She settled back on her chair and fought the urge to touch him. There would be plenty of time for that. He would still be warm and soft for such a long time.

They expected it to be sudden — that’s what she always saw on the young, handsome faces in that minute after finding their eyes catching hers. They thought it would be over in an instant, and their naivete never failed to make her smile. To turn flesh to stone was a tricky business. It could take many long, long years to work its way