The Whisper Man

by Alex North

It’s not going to be easy, and I need to start with an apology. Because over the years I’ve told you many times that there’s no such thing as monsters. I’m sorry that I lied.

Bad thoughts find empty heads.

Courage requires fear.

The monster, as always, was taking his time to arrive.

It always ends where it starts.

We weren’t father and son. We weren’t enemies. We were nothing.

He deserved hatred—he was more than aware of that—but hatred had to be earned.

Conversations mingled around you if you let them, becoming an impenetrable background hum, but if you focused you could pull one out and follow it easily. All it required was concentration, like delicately tuning a radio until the static disappeared and you were left with a clear signal.

How long does it take, and how much does a person have to change, before the person you hated is gone, replaced by someone new?

“I told you,” she said. “I’m good at finding things out.”