The family monster

90s supernatural horror. It's the last summer before high school and 11-year-old Lillie just wants to have fun. But an ancient family secret has other plans.

Lillie gave the family monster her very best pencil when she was seven years old. She watched as the lead snapped like a spine, followed by a crunch. Wooden shreds shot from the beast’s mouth, landing in two identical piles. She examined them with a critical detachment, aware of a tiny sense of loss. 

That was the first sacrifice. 

The second came two years later; a charm bracelet given to her by a school friend, a silver plastic heart attached to a red string. Lillie could have had her pick of any of the diamond bracelets, broaches and necklaces in her mother’s jewellery collection. But there was something special about the charm. Her friend bought one for every girl in her class, probably because her mother told her to, yet when she gave Lillie hers, she made a slight smile, as if to say, I wanted to give this to you.

The heart landed on the monster’s tongue with a soft pop. It didn’t break, but rather melted.

At the age of ten, Lillie was tired of giving up her possessions. So when the call came for the third time, she fixed her mind upon what another might treasure; an apple, stolen from the family orchard. The gardener predicted a poor harvest, save for one solitary fruit ripening on a branch.

As Lillie shimmed up the tree and reached for her prize, she realised her mistake. The stem snapped in her twisting hand, and she plummeted to the earth, cracking her left wrist. Still, she had gotten off relatively lightly. While it was awkward feeding the creature with one arm nestled in a makeshift sling, the beast snapped it up with one sharp bite. 

Lillie ascended the stairs, confident that she had tricked the monster. But when she saw her mother holding a fragment of broken branch, she knew the truth. The true sacrifice was about to be felt.

There would be no summer holiday for Lillie. No friends, no TV, and worst of all, no birthday party. She was to spend her days confined to the house, watching the August heat rise through the large bay window in her bedroom. 

Another child would have argued, cried, called it unfair. But Lillie understood the price she must pay. Better a little misery and boredom now than a lifetime of smallness.

You’re a special girl, Lillie. Our family is different. Never forget that.

During the long hours of boredom, Lillie lay on her bed with a sketchbook, trying to remember what the monster looked like. It could only be captured in snatches: a yellow eye, a coiling tongue. The glimpse of a tail, scaly and whip thin. It was easier to draw idly, head cocked, mind drifting in mist. If you concentrated, the image leaked away, spirals of ink that flowed from your fingers.

The monster makes our family strong. It’s a blessing.

After four dull weeks, the blessing finally came. Lillie’s parents ended the grounding two weeks early, and she burst from her hibernation with renewed vigour, desperate to make the most of the little holiday she had left. 

None of her friends believed her grounding story; no parent, in their view, would be that strict. They all had different theories about her absence: a sudden addiction to lacrosse, an embarrassing stint swatting for the upcoming year at summer school, a secret affair with a prefect at the local grammar. This last theory was the most popular, and they took it in turns to imitate his loving overtones in a posh falsetto.

She accepted their teasing with good grace, understanding it was part of the rite of reacceptance.

They settled into the routine of visiting the shopping centre every day, sipping huge glasses of milkshake and discussing the finer points of their lives: which boys they liked, which girls they didn’t, make-up tips, boy band gossip, the latest movies. Beneath the noise, high school beckoned, a whisper of promise and trepidation.

After a while, Lillie grew tired of the ritual. She had a full summer to cram into a week and a half, and the daily dose of milkshakes, teasing and idle gossip could not sustain her. A flash of monster claw crept into the corner of her vision, but whenever she turned her head, it vanished.

Too soon, she thought. It should be another year at least before she fed the creature again, on a substance greater than a fractured wrist and a lost summer. 

Lillie examined the faces of her friends and wondered whether it was truly worth it. Did all this sacrifice really make her special? Or was she just one among many, an eleven-year-old sitting amongst other eleven-year-olds, fiddling with their wispy bangs and pretending to be sophisticated? 

The sensation was discomforting. All her life, the monster’s blessing had been an immutable fact, like gravity or school. She’d known it since she was small, when her grandmother sat her on her knee and told her the tale of the creature which blessed their family, providing fortune, luck and good health to all of their blood. It only asked for a little from all who bore that blood. Of some, less was asked, others more, but the benefits were reaped by all. The important thing to remember, her grandmother had warned, leaning in so close Lillie could see her bristly nose hairs, was that when the call came, you should not say no.

Lillie let the memory drift to the back of her mind. Best not to think about it. Best to ignore what was happening, not tempt fate by questioning. If she could put it off a little longer…

Sharp pain flared in her left wrist. It spiked up her arm, white hot and searing, then slowing as it snaked through her shoulder. The stabbing sensation crawled across her collar bone before finally settling in the base of her throat, crouching there like an animal.

Lillie sat very still. At first, it seemed as if the pain might subside, but it was only shifting, finding a new foothold. It clawed its way up her throat, as if the beast was scratching its way out her windpipe. The taste of blood filled her mouth.

No. Please. Stop.

The beast scratched harder and deeper, and they were all looking at her, her friends, like she was mad. She became aware that she was bent over the table, wheezing.

Lillie forced her face into a smile. Sat upright again. Said nothing. They turned away.

The pain was still present, but it was gradually easing. Maybe it was all in her head. Maybe her anxiety about the sacrifices was coming out in a twisted way. Because sacrifices weren’t like this. They came slowly, in symbols, as half remembered dreams.

Her body relaxed a little, and she forced herself to focus on her friends’ conversation. They were talking about what to do tonight. No one wanted to go home, but they didn’t have the cash to do anything, because they were too young to get jobs, and their parents wouldn’t give them any money. The situation sucked.

‘Why don’t we go to my house?’ Lillie said.

The words came from somewhere outside her control, entirely unintended. She had never invited anyone over before; her parents had expressly forbidden it. The ban added an air of mystique to Lillie’s home life, turning her home into a beautiful fantasy, a magical manor inhabited by rich and mysterious people. She spun a tale rich in exquisite detail, describing elegant spiral staircases; magnificent bedrooms with satin sheeted four posters; lavish, sprawling gardens; a huge library lined wall to wall in leather bound tomes. 

The truth, of course, was far duller. Yes, their house was much larger than average, her parents wealthier than average, but the place was old, and her parents miserly. She never told her friends about the broken floorboards, the constant smell of musty damp, the lack of central heating, the absence of a TV or a microwave, the basement. 

She really didn’t want to talk about the basement.

Everyone was looking at her. She became aware that a long time had passed, that she hadn’t said anything, that was just sitting there.

‘My parents are out all weekend,’ she stammered, putting her hands underneath the table so no one could see them trembling.

Please God. Let them think it’s lame and weird. Let them come up with something else.

It was to no avail. Of course they should go to Lillie’s house, stay over until Sunday. It was the perfect thing.

As her friends discussed what they’d be wearing, Lillie frantically considered the implications. It was true that her parents were out for work, and wouldn’t be back till Sunday afternoon. Her older brother would be in the house, but he was a moody sixteen-year-old who confined himself to his room for 23 hours out of 24. 

It would be easy. So terribly easy.

Something sharp dug into Lillie’s windpipe. The taste of blood filled her mouth. Pain spiked in her wrist bone.

There was still time to prevent this. She could back out, make some excuse. She could call her parents, beg them to come back early.

Lillie did none of these things. She was waiting by the front door when the girls arrived, their shapes distorted by frosted glass. In her hand was a key, which she turned round and round, embedding shapes into her palm. Her wrist spiked with a pain so sharp that her vision blurred, just for a second. 

One by one, her friends trooped up to the large, old-fashioned house. They’d co-ordinated their wardrobes for the occasion, and a parade of pale washed denim shorts and crop tops passed her. Lillie flushed red, acutely conscious of her poor choice of outfit: a maroon party dress with puffy sleeves and a skirt that ended halfway down her shins. Her makeupless skin felt raw and pale compared to these beauties, her pink pumps childish next to their sophisticated white leather boots.

Her friends raised their eyebrows at her outdated attire, but to her great relief didn’t comment.

Instead, they twittered about the house, marvelling at the spiral staircase and the huge crystal chandelier. Despite her fears, Lillie’s heart swelled at the praise. Perhaps their compliments were a good sign, and tonight could be what it seemed on the surface; a fine, sophisticated occasion with she as grown up host.

But then she caught her friends examining the threadbare carpets; the bannister so ancient that if you touched it, you were guaranteed a splinter; the constant, ever present scent of damp that no amount of scrubbing could remove. 

She hurried them all into the book-covered living room, squishing them together on uncomfortable settees. The old grandfather clock in the hallway ticked interminably. Her friends kept looking at her, as if expecting some kind of plan, and still she did nothing. 

If I wait here, if I do nothing, it might all be over.

It was still August, the heat was stifling, but someone suggested ghost stories and the idea spread like wildfire. The closing of the heavy drapes cast shadows across the high walls, casting a new air about the dying house. This was what an old manor house was meant to be; half left to the imagination, face softened by shadow.

The stories, whispered around the circle, were well worn. Lillie knew the scares before they came, and yet she jumped with the rest of them when Bloody Mary appeared in the mirror or the man in the mask emerged from the dark. At one point, Lillie’s brother stomped past on his way to the kitchen, and everyone screamed. Their bodies seemed thin and vulnerable, so easily snapped.

The sharpness in Lillie’s throat was so fierce now, it was hard to speak. Her salvia tasted mostly of blood, and she saw the beast’s claws everywhere; behind the sofa, around their necks, curved against their mouths. No one seemed to notice her agony; perhaps they thought she was just spooked by the storytelling.

It was almost her turn. The girl next to her passed the torch, the symbol of the teller, which cast yellow light across Lillie’s narrow face. She didn’t want to take it. She didn’t want to say a word.

She looked down. The large black claw curved around her throat, pressing against her velvet choker necklace. The one her mother had given her after her first sacrifice.

Remember who you are, Lillie. You’re part of this family. That comes before everything.

‘I wish you were here, Mummy,’ she whispered under her breath.

We’re strong. We don’t flinch. We do what has to be done.

Lillie took a breath. All the eyes were on her, expectant, greedy.

‘I don’t have a story,’ she said at last. ‘But I do have a monster in my basement.’

Eyes widened. Scoffs of false scepticism met eagerness and fear. Because terror and excitement come from a similar part of the brain; her brother had told her that.

She got to her feet, still holding the torch. She felt tremendous power, coupled with total lack of control.

It’s not my fault. Whatever happens, it’s not my fault.

They went down the dark corridor, through the ill-used dining room, its long table hidden beneath a dustcloth, to finally arrive at a little door. The key dug into the lock, and it took all Lillie’s strength to turn it. Before them lay a long line of concrete steps, descending into total blackness.

The basement ought to be familiar; she’d been there three times before. And yet the void seemed totally unknown, alive somehow, as if the dark might swallow her feet if she descended.

Something nudged her shoulder. They thought she was backing out, denying them the promised scare. That she was a fake, her shine as faded and false as this house.

Lillie took the first step, then the second. Slowly they followed, the echo of boots on concrete at her back, a slow sort of falling. They twittered like birds, her flock, voices taut and stretched. The air grew steadily chiller as they descended, darkness swallowing until only the little circle of electric light remained. Lillie trod in something slippery and almost tumbled down beyond the torchlight. Her breath caught.

She pressed on.

At last, the stairs ended. Lillie’s friends stood around her with frightened half-lit faces, eyes wide and glinting. The basement felt so much bigger than she remembered. The ink expanded into nothing, and she remembered stories about the deep sea, a vast yawning cavern that descended forever.

Yet things lived down there, in the darkness. They always do.

Lillie stretched out her hand. The torch extended her arm, an angler fish lure winking in the impossible deep. The others followed the light with their eyes, desperate, craving. She could feel their bodies huddled against her, sharp, shallow breaths betraying real terror. One girl trembled so hard, Lillie thought she might snap out of her own bones.

At first, there was nothing. Then came two eyes: yellow as a cat’s, but with square pupils. A snatch of tail curled around them, whiplike and spiked. Sharp teeth formed from smoke.

Lillie gripped the torch. It took all her effort to speak.

‘I’m here. As you asked.’

Out of the lipless unseen mouth came the liver coloured tongue, snakelike, dripping. A voice from somewhere far deeper than a basement hissed in her skull.

‘What do you bring me?’

Lillie glanced back. Her friends were staring ahead, eyes so wide they might roll clean out their heads. She turned back to face the monster.

‘Them.’

She shut her eyes. At first, there was silence. Her friends were frozen, unable to understand. And then, a scream.

Lillie had never heard such a sound. It might fracture mirrors, snap crystal glass. It might send help running, men leaping into burning fires, women diving into lakes. It was the cry of terror, of children, the last sound you make before they find you in the morning.

Huge white teeth glistened in the dark. The yellow eyes narrowed.

‘Not enough.’

Like a carpet rolled back, the tongue vanished. The white teeth, still glistening, snapped shut.

For the first time, Lillie began to tremble. Childhood tales of those who tried to cheat the monster flashed through her mind. They never ended prettily, the stories of those fools.

Were those teeth getting closer? Was that a claw resting against her chest? A tail, wrapping tighter and tighter around her throat?

Lillie was shaking her bones out. The little breath inside her plumeing as smoke.

The jaws swung open. The tongue scraped against her face. She felt raw and vulnerable and soft and oh God, those teeth, those eyes, wide now, smiling.

‘Poor child. I will enjoy eating you.’

***

Lillie opened her eyes.

She lay on a concrete floor. A single bulb swung above her, its severed head tied to a long white noose. The floor was damp beneath her and her legs felt wet and hot. The air stank.

Where was everyone, she wondered, pulse rising. Had they left her? Or had the monster changed its mind and taken her friends after all?

Something appeared above, blocking the light of the bulb. A familiar face. A face she used to smile at, whisper gossip to, drink milkshakes with. A face she’d seen bug eyed with fear.

‘Thank God.’ Lillie sagged into the floor with relief. ‘Where are the others?’

More faces appeared. There was something odd about the way they looked at her. Like carrion eaters over prey.

Her face flushed hot. She tried to cross her legs, hide the liquid under the skirt of her dress but it was impossible. The other girls smirked at her sight of her embarrassment, their lipglossed mouths hardening with their cruel smiles. One of them must have started the laughter, but it felt as if it began in sync. It stabbed into Lillie, hotter than the pain in her wrist, sharper than the claw in her throat. She tried to get up, but more pee involuntarily trickled out of her knickers.

The other girls recoiled, shrieking with mirth. One crossed her legs and made a face of fake relief, as mascara tears ran down her face. The others aped her, hopping about and twisting their faces with mock agony.

Swallowing the shameful lump in her throat, Lillie forced herself to speak. ‘The monster,’ she said, voice rasping. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to hurt you. You have to believe me.’

The girls stopped hopping about and stared at her for a moment, mouths gaping.

‘Oh my God,’ someone said. ‘She thought the monster was real!’

Cackles echoed round the concrete walls of the basement. Lillie’s friends couldn’t get over this one. Did the monster scare baby so bad she peed herself, they taunted. Maybe they could find a nappy for the ickle wickle baby, get precious Mummy to kiss it all better?

Lillie swirled in the soup of their mockery. She’d dealt with their teasing before, but this was something else. It was vicious, spiteful, mean. And there was no escape from it.

Did they really hate her this much, she wondered desperately, looking from face to face. Weren’t they supposed to be her friends?

She must have said that last part aloud, because they only laughed harder.

‘We never liked you. You were always such a snobby bitch.’

The girls’ teeth seemed whiter, sharper, their tongues snakelike. Yellow flashed in their eyes. 

She could have fought back. Got to her feet, sprung at them, smashed their faces into the floor. But she did nothing. She only lay there, taking it all.

In the end, the girls grew tired of it. They ascended the stairs, one after the other, and as the final one reached the top, she looked down at Lillie with a smile as wide as any monster’s.

‘Sleep tight, little one,’ she said, as she flicked the switch and slammed the basement door shut.

The darkness was instant. It flooded the room, covering Lillie in its soft, velvet embrace. Kind, gentle darkness, that hid the stinking pool beneath her, her itching legs and ruined dress, the cheeks waxed over tightly with drying tears. Lillie sank into the concrete floor, unable to move, knowing full well that this was only the beginning.

In the dark, the monster lay waiting. Smiling. Satisfied.