The Monster of Elendhaven

by Jennifer Giesbrecht

Johann had always thought himself an exceptional reader of people. You can learn a lot about someone’s inner life if allowed to examine them the way their shadow does—close enough to breathe down their neck, but unnoticed, unremarked upon, invisible. But Florian watched back; he learned, adjusted, and could predict Johann’s movements and moods now. A strange thing, to be studied like a pinned moth. Acceptable only because Florian was not quite human, either, was he? Something inside him burned brighter. A curiosity, he had called himself before, in a glass jar. If only he knew how true that was. Johann could not help but look at him with eyes coated in glass—curious and shining, refracted endlessly into split images of light. Was this what it meant to know something else’s name?

No reason to be afraid, Johann thought. Death is kind. It’s only life that holds suffering.

She slid in like a fold in paper. There was a fragility about her that bled mourning from every gesture, as she smiled politely at each man in turn.

He choked her until her vision went wide, until he saw that animalistic, euphoric frequency reflected back at him in her shuddering sclera; the chasm that howled in the space between life and death, where creatures lost their names.