I love Dan Wells. I think he is a terrific author, who writes in a captivating and involved manner. During the year, I was assigned a task in which I had to write in the style of one of my favourite authors. I chose Dan Wells.
I wrote a short story, using his characters and his style of writing…
The Monster Inside
Sometimes it scares me to think what would happen if I listened to the little voice in my head. For most people, it is easy to block out that little voice- to dismiss the ideas it whispers as crazy. But for me, it takes everything I have to restrain myself. That little voice stirs when I see Brooke walk past my bedroom window, her skinny legs and blonde hair grabbing my attention like they always manage to. The monster inside me stirs. Go on, it says, just go out there and steal her. No one will see; no one will know she is missing for at least a few hours. That’s enough time to dispose of a body. I screw my eyes shut tight and desperately try to think of something other than the beautiful girl walking past my house. I can’t do it. Whether my eyes are open or closed doesn’t make a difference-the monster inside me is just too strong. It is not easy to shut out the little voice when a large part of me actually wants to do what it says. With a start I realise that Brooke has not walked past my house but that she is actually walking up my driveway. This will not help my case.
I hear her knock on the door, the sound echoing off the polished wooden floor in the living room. The bangles she wears on her wrist jingle. I edge my way downstairs, fighting furiously with my inner voice, which is demanding I bring her inside to keep forever. As I open the door I force a smile. I’ve learnt over the years that most social interactions should begin with a smile. It makes them think that you want a friendly conversation, rather than a few hours alone with them to pull out their organs.
“Hi Brooke,” I say confidently.
“Hey John!” she responds, “I was just wondering if it was still alright for me to get a lift to school tomorrow morning?”
Just grab her now, the voice says.
“Yeah that’s no problem,” I say.
“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow morning then!”
And just like that she is gone; unaware of the disruption she has caused in my head. The voice has become louder, more demanding, and something must be done to quench its lust for violence. At a jog, I run out to the backyard and search hard with my eyes for any sizable insects. A grasshopper jumps over my foot and I almost sigh with relief. It is always more satisfying with a larger insect. I bend over and pick up the creature. The monster inside me warms, showing it approves of what I am doing. Slowly, carefully, I pull a limb off the wriggling insect. It is desperate to escape, but I will not let it. The monster inside my head is enjoying the show.
Pull another leg off! It demands. So I pull another leg off, then another, until all I hold in my hand is a small torso. The monster chuckles, pleased with the small act of violence, and retreats to the darker corners of my mind, content for the time being. I have broken one of my rules which I abide by to prevent destructive behaviour. The rule clearly states: “I will not hurt animals.” But there was nothing else to be done. Sometimes a brief breaking of the rules is what I need to restrain the darker side of me. Because the last time I let it take me over was the last time I killed someone.
After locking away the violent inner voice for the time being, I felt it necessary to plan the car trip which would occur tomorrow morning. Usually I make a detailed plan before the car rides, to avoid any awkward silences, or any hints that I was a sociopathic psycho. Of the thirty five car rides I had given Brooke to school throughout the year, I had managed to keep the awkward silence count to just four. These four silences came down to a simple lack of planning before the trip. So, like always, I took out a piece of paper and pen and began the list of conversation starters which would hold the conversation afloat for the fifteen minutes I had with her in the car. What a thrill it is to be socially incapable.