Tiger, Tiger

By Eva-Joy Schönhaar

I don’t sleep anymore.

My apartment is cramped, little more than a closet. Space enough for a few childhood mementos and some clothes, nothing more. No bed.

I was ten years old when I woke one morning to a blazing house and my parents burning alive and myself unscathed in the middle of it all. I never slept again.

“It’s a miracle the boy survived,” they said. But it was no miracle that saved me, only the monster suddenly awakened within. That was fifteen years ago. I don’t trust myself to sleep anymore, not with the monster raging, always raging.

Time to hunt.

I dress in black. The clothing is heat resistant as well, although I don’t require that.

The monster never harms me.

I leave my apartment by the fire escape. There is a certain irony in that, I think.

The monster’s wrath grows as I head deeper into the city. Soon there will be no room in my mind for anything else. I can control the rage, the need to burn, for now. But I will have to find a target soon if I don’t want to lose myself completely.

No moon tonight. That’s not a problem for me. My vision glows red, a sure sign the monster’s grip will soon tighten and force me to burn. At least I’m always given that warning.

Cigarette smoke hangs heavy in the air. I don’t cough. I’m used to smoke.

I search the alleys, ranging far in my hunt for someone who deserves the monster’s wrath. But no one stands out among the dealers and junkies, pimps, and prostitutes.

“Come on,” I mutter. Rage builds inside me, tightening my chest, but I push it down. For a short time, I will be able to keep it at bay. After that—

“Help! Please!”

I whirl and run in the direction of the cry. My vision blurs, heat waves radiating from deep inside me.

No, I tell the monster. Not yet.

I burst into the alley. Two men grapple in the dark.

No, not two men. A man and a boy. Twelve, maybe thirteen. Tall for his age, but still a boy. A young woman sprawls on the ground a short distance from them, blood pooled beneath her head.

“You can’t sell her!” the boy shouts.

“She’s my daughter,” the man spits, smirking. Moonlight catches on the knife in his hand. “I can do whatever I want.”

“No!” The boy tries and fails to twist out of the man’s grip.

There’s a rushing in my ears. My vision pulses. Red anger turns white hot.

With two quick strides, I’m at the man’s side. He doesn’t see me yet, but the boy does. His eyes widen. With shock. With fright. Maybe both. I don’t blame him. Once the monster takes hold, it’s enough to terrify anyone.

The man glances behind and sees me. He screams. The knife falls from his hand.

“You will leave this boy alone. You will leave your daughter alone.” The words leave my mouth with a growl and a hiss, like lava sliding down a volcano’s side. “Forever.”

Fire blazes, kindling in my eyes. The reflection of the flames flickers off the man’s terrified face.

I feel no pain.

Only heat.

Only rage.

Only the monster.

Twin beams of fire shoot from my eyes. I am uncontrolled. Uncontrollable.

I can see the scorching flame. Smell the smoke. Hear the fire’s roar.

Come morning, there won’t be enough left of the man for the authorities to identify. They will mark the death down as another killing committed by a particularly vicious serial killer.

Maybe they’re right.

As my anger abates, so do the flames. The monster has been sated, for a time. I am left staring at a charred corpse and a frightened boy kneeling over the girl, shielding her with his body. I can’t tell whether she is dead or only unconscious.

It doesn’t matter. I never stick around after a burning.

The boy shrugs out of his jacket and presses it to the bloody wound on the girl’s head. She groans.

“Shhhh,” he says. “It’s all right. You’re safe. I’ll take care of you now.”

I swallow against the sudden ache in my throat. I see the worst of humanity each day. Sometimes it seems as though we’re all the same. All horrors. But this boy is different, and I can’t look away.

My head aches. My mouth is dry. As usual. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

The boy straightens, then stands. “Elmer would’ve sold Chloe on the streets. I couldn’t let him do it. She’s my sister. But I couldn’t stop him. And then you did.” A touch of awe enters his voice. “Thank you, sir.”

I take a step back. What I’ve done tonight is nothing to be proud of. The monster’s rage needed a vent. I chose the man because, if I hadn’t, the flames would have targeted the person nearest me—whomever it might have been.

I cannot have any more innocent deaths on my conscience. But that doesn’t change the fact that I killed a man tonight. Or that I will kill again.

The boy struggles to his feet, Chloe cradled in his arms. “I’ve got to get her to a hospital.”

I speak before I can think of all the reasons I should simply walk away.

I may not deserve kindness. But I can extend it.

“Do you… need help?”

I watch from the hallway window as a nurse cleans the blood off Chloe’s face. The boy—Alex—holds out his hand and, with the nurse’s approval, takes the cloth and washes away the blood himself.

I slip away before they notice me. Safer for them if they never see me again.

Because the rage within is already growing again. The need to burn.

It will be a long night.

I don’t sleep anymore.

But maybe, because of what I do, people like Alex and Chloe will be able to.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eva-Joy Schönhaar has been writing since she was thirteen. While westerns are her happy place, she enjoys experimenting with and writing in a variety of genres. Eva-Joy lives with her family in snowy Alberta, Canada. When not writing, she loves to read all the books, watch old movies, and drink copious amounts of coffee.

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