Why, why Magda had to bring me here instead of letting me go with the rest of the villagers and their dogs in search of the goats and the monster. Then the inevitable would’ve been at least delayed.

I cringed under my father’s eye. I wished he believed me when I told about the monster, I wished he believed I did my best to stop it. But he never would, because it was always my fault. Sometimes I even believed it myself, but not today. Today, the blame was on the monster, and the monster was out there, no doubt gorging itself on the goat meat.

“Useless scum…” my father growled, grasping me by the arm hard enough to leave bruises. “Let’s see if some good flogging will teach you how to work like a man!”

Against my reasoning, I tried to struggle free, shutting my eyes against the hot pinpricks of tears threatening to get out. I feared and loathed floggings, the pain and humiliation of them, more than any other punishment my father inflicted on me. It was only worse now, when the fault wasn’t mine.

“Please, father, no! I didn’t lose the goats!” I pleaded. “You must believe me, the monster WAS there!”

“Don’t lie to me, whelp!” A harsh slap on my already hurt lips made me hiss in pain. “Not only can’t you work like a man, you can’t even accept your faults like one! I’m ashamed to be your father, Hector. Ashamed!”

He grabbed a leather belt from a wall and threw me stomach-down on the table. His firm hand pushed my bruised cheek into the polished wood. Like a panicked animal, I tried to grab and claw at it until another one didn’t catch my wrists and pinned them to my back.

After this, my father let go of my head, but I still could only uselessly wriggle, helplessly pinned to the furniture. This was enough to enrage him, though.

“Stop squirming like a worm! Keep still!” My father barked at me, slapping the back of my head, right where I had a bump from yesterday. I yelped, but went still, dazzled with the pain spreading through my head. Then, a hand pulled my trousers down, and I began to wriggle all over again, with double the strength.

There was nothing in my left to stop the tears that appeared in my eyes from flowing freely. A rush of cold air flowed over my bare buttocks, only to be replaced with a harsh sting of the leather. I whimpered, biting on my abused lip to not cry out loud, as the fire-hot pain spread over my skin.

“I! Said! Keep! Still!” Each word was punctuated with another slap. “You maggot! You won’t be able to sit for a month after I’m done with you! What sin did I commit that the gods sent me such a useless son like you?”

I cried and whimpered in pain, stopping just short from pleading for my father to stop. He never did, and he only grew angrier when I spoke, so I pleaded to myself and to gods instead. ‘Please, please, let this stop! Please, please, take me away from here!..’ But nobody came. Nobody ever did. Even other villagers—other villagers that were all away now, searching for the monster—didn’t intervene, because I was my father’s son, my father’s son to raise and discipline.

I didn’t know for how long did this punishment continue when suddenly, something changed. Some new noise maybe, or a gust of wind on my aching bottom, but it returned my attention from where it holed up in prayers to the present again.

“…and never, never tell me again that— What is that?!”

My hands were suddenly free. I’ve never heard my father’s voice like this—so panicked and fearful. Without thinking, I turned my head to look at him, and what I saw made me freeze, made me unable to get up even though I was free to.

It was the monster. His deadly spike was less than a palm away from my father’s gut, held away by my father’s muscular arms that just held me in a similar way.

“Get away from me!” my father shouted, pushing the creature farther away. The monster bared its teeth, and for a moment I had a wild hope that my father would win, because as awful as he was, he was still a father, and fathers protected their children and won—

Then, the monster grabbed a stone knife from his belt with its left hand and and slashed at my father. Blood sprayed the monster’s snout, and both I and my father stared at it in silence for a moment, as if unable to believe what happened.

In the next moment, some wild survival instinct overtook me, and without looking back anymore, I rolled down from the table and crawled on all fours, my trousers still half-down and all, towards the cellar. Behind me, sounds of struggle continued, only to fall short with one last gurgle—the same one I heard from a goat when the monster’s spike pierced its throat.

By that time, I reached the cellar. My shaking hands lifted the heavy lid, and I almost fell down the stairs. I pushed the lid shut behind me and closed the deadbolt that was put there just in case of something attacking the village. The monster was only a step away from the lid when I did that.

I lied, curled in a ball, in the pitch blackness of the cellar, my mind free of any thought, as several loud bangs came from the cellar’s lid. Then, silence resumed for a long time, until I heard people’s voices. Only then, with much effort, did I stand up and opened the lid.

There was not a trace of my father besides the blood, not even his clothes. Other things were missing, too: a bag, some more clothes, some food, my father’s stash of money, and more. Magda was killed by the monster too, and her house robbed as well. I was told that now someone will go to the city to post a notice about the monster, but it was too late.

I was my own man now. But I would have to make do.