Monster Hunters ch. 13
By quinn Ireland
Ben opened the door to the office and was immediately transported into an alternate world from what was expected. Headmaster Bwicket was nowhere to be seen. Instead of a clean, tidy office as the image that had been drawn up in Ben’s mind, a long, looming path stretched deep into a heavy forest. A rickety sign read in a dopey scrawl like a kindergartner’s chicken scratch;
DEMONS DRIVEWAY
He approached the entrance, staring up at the several hundred-foot trees that brushed the dark blue hue of a sky. It looked like the entrance to Narnia, a twisted and horrific Narnia. Ben made his way down the path, into the mouth of the dozen or so mammoth cedar trees that lead into the heart of the forest, the beginning to a hellish world. A sinister omen seemed to wrap itself around Ben, beckoning him into the forest. As he began his fearful journey, his shoulder brushed against the tree trunk of the first massive cedar standing there. It shockingly gave way and crashed down beside him barely missing his left leg, sending a rippling domino effect to the other dozen cedars. The sound was monstrous. It echoed around the cavernous surfaces, partially shattering Ben’s eardrums and driving his heartbeat into butterfly flutters. After a few moments, he somewhat pulled himself together, rose from the dirt, and started down the path, in fits of shaking. As Ben started down the gloomy path, he couldn’t help but fear for the worst. As he turned the sketchy corner from the entrance of the toppled cedars, he came face to face with a strange little elf. Ben screamed. So far Ben’s wilderness experience had not gotten off to a good start. The elf’s misshapen head and beady yellow eyes bored into his own. “Oh, pardon me, hello there, “spoke the elf in a high-pitched squeak. This was quite the opposite of the voice that Ben expected of creatures that inhabited a place such as this. This only made Ben scream louder, brushing the banshee volume range. “Oh, please do be quiet,” said the elf calmly with a look of sorrow, “Unless of course you wish to awaken Tyborwink himself.” Instead of screaming for a third consecutive time, Ben jumped back a couple of feet from the elf as if a spider had just climbed up his leg. “Do not worry, young human child,” the elf croaked, “I am merely a kind, plain old elf.” Ben remained still and extremely cautious. After a brief pause, Ben decided that the elf was no longer a threat. He pondered a question for a moment; “What are you doing here?” was all he could muster. “I have no choice, I like it here,” came the swift reply. As Ben went back to the drawing board of his brain for a reply he was cut off again rapidly; “Tyborwink has put an evil curse on me that forbids me to leave these dark woods.” Ben kept searching; he had always had slow internet back home and felt like his brain was a faulty router. The elf spoke; “Speaking of which, you should leave this place and never come back if you wish to retain your sanity.” “I can see that you have already lost yours,” whispered Ben in his own mind. The elf seemed to echo the voice of an old philosopher, but the kind of ancient, nutty philosopher that was fired for undertaking the career for too long. Ben turned toward the left side of the entrance of the trail where the hulking giants of trees lay in their resting place. “What’s with those trees?” Ben asked in wonder. Again, the elf was snappy with his answer paired with a calm demeanor; “Did you touch one?” “Well… my shoulder kind of scraped against one.” The elf spoke, “Those trees sense fear just as you or me. Everything that you would not expect to be alive senses fear in here, after all, these are the horror woods.” Ben’s face immediately flushed with shock; “Just like from Johnny’s story, it’s all true.” “Of course it is,” replied the elf, “dumb humans. They expect that this is all some fairy tale joke, welcome to my world,” he seemed to mutter under his odorous breath. Ben’s sense of confusion had seemed to tick off this mysterious elf and just as fast as he had appeared, he shot off into the darkness like a bullet seeming to reach unthinkable speeds. As Ben gaped, the little elf with the misshapen face called out in a bloodcurdling scream; “COME, TYBORWINK, YOUR FRESH MEAT AWAITS!!!” And he was gone. Before Ben could logically figure things out, the room suddenly transformed into a clean and organized office with walls and walls of books that seemed to stretch up to the sky. A frail, white bearded man perched in a chair with his hands folded neatly across a deep brown walnut desk. He sported a long red cloak with the MONSTERSCHOOL logo emblazoned on both shoulders. His spectacles clung to a pointy, stabbing nose that emerged from a sallow, wrinkled face. Ben had heard descriptions of Headmaster Bwicket before, a kind and calming man whose influence seemed to rub off on everyone who attended the school, students or staff. But at this moment, he seemed broken. Drained of color, staring at the floor. He finally glanced up at Ben muttering three haunting words that Ben would never expect such an educated, wise man to say; “So, you saw…” Ben stuttered. He shuttered, smothered with fear, slowly nodding. “Ben Vinkenhut, I have some news, and it’s unlike any story you would hear on the BBC back home…”
Epilogue
I wake up in a cold sweat. It couldn’t have happened. Sure, my imagination jumps at night and rattles in my brain but not this much. I chuck my layers of blankets with gusto and slip out of the sheets and onto the familiarly warm feeling of carpet which coats my room. I awkwardly slide into a hard wooden, bumping my shin in the process on the ancient wooden desk, entangled in dust, a happy home for colonies of spiders. Headmaster Bwicket’s words to Ben rattle in my head like marbles in a glass; “Tyborwink is coming.” His calm demeanor with folded hands and bent dimples were hard to take seriously. I lunged for a ballpoint pen and began to rapidly jot down ideas or questions about these strange happenings in my mind. How cliche is it to speak the words; “It’s just a dream,” aloud. As an author, it is more than important to get your thoughts down on paper. Failing to do so can result in forever banishment of that thought, no matter how important It is or not. Within the half-hour, I have most of the details of the story scratched out on various post it notes. But something is notably missing. Right before I have sprung so suddenly awake, Headmaster Bwicket spoke; “Tyborwink is coming,” and “Bam!” I wake up. No other little hint of a clue. I literally scratch my head and tap the pen on my bare knee to think, and then I hear it. A soft chuckle of a growl from outside the glass of my window. I have seemed to be pulled into what I thought was a bad dream, or an opportunity of a story. The unfinished words of Headmaster Bwicket thunder through my head; “Tyborwink is here…”
