Monsters

Chapter 1: A Visitor in the Park

Chapter 1: Mel

Central Park

New York City, United States of America

March 16, 2014

12:59pm

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I hate book jackets and although I admit that I’m being a little dramatic, the fact remains the same. Reading has always been my escape from the real world, a means for me to forget the stress of upcoming exams and fast-approaching due dates that surround my day to day life. I want to be able to grab a book and read as much as I possibly can as fast as possible, but that becomes a challenge when every time you open the book, its jacket wants to slide right off. Books are not hookers, so is it too much to ask to keep them tightly dressed in their covers. Eventually I give up trying to pick it up constantly and end up placing the book jacket to my right as I read, glancing at it every few minutes to ensure it was still there. 

Typically the book jacket was perfectly content sitting beside me, but there was the odd day I was forced to chase it down. Last week while reading a copy of Midnight’s Mansion I almost lost the cover to a fountain, but today I was reading another book with another book jacket and when I looked down at it and saw small droplets of water scrawled across the underlined letters of its title. 

If I were any kind of normal I would have picked up the book, slid the book jacket back on and found shelter against the brewing storm, but I knew well enough that wasn’t the case. I shuffled over across the bench to the other side and looked up satisfied at the stretched out branches that now blocked the rain. I wasn’t about to miss a chance to read in central park without the sound of tourists and their accompanying cameras, a rare opportunity in mid-march or I guess any time of the year in New York. I opened my book again and continued to marvel at the adventures of Cameron Collins hunting the beasts and monsters of small town Mayfields, Alabama, before being rudely interrupted by some guy in a navy blue hoodie. 

“Why are you out in the rain?” 

I stared up angrily at the inquiring stranger, “I’m reading,” I replied, lifting my book hoping to point out that I was in the middle of something, but he stood silent for a second staring at the worn out cover. His eyes were covered with rogue strands of black hair and the clearly well loved cotton-polyester sweater hood and his mouth bent to the shape of a worried frown. 

He reached his hands from his pockets to the spine of the book before I pulled it back from him, “Hey! What’s your problem? I’m sort of reading it right now.”

I turned my head back towards the novel and continued to read. He would leave if I ignored him long enough. At least that’s what logic would dictate, but turns out my ignorance towards him convinced him to do the exact opposite. 

“Twilight’s Tempest. Interesting book choice,” he mused, moving the resting book jacket from beside me to sit.

“The one and only,” I grumbled, “300 pages of Cameron Collins that I would really like to be able to read right now.”

“You mean 300 pages of monsters,” he replied.

“Yes. 300 pages of monsters. 300 pages of fiction,” I explained annoyed.

“You mean fact,” he added, a hint of pride lingering in his words. 

I stared at him intensely, his concealed gaze coming face to face with mine. You have got to be kidding. First this guy randomly walks up and sits beside me, but now he insists monsters are real? This has got to be some weird nightmare out of a bad movie. Biting my lip nervously, I turned away from our staring contest and began to realign the book with its jacket. This was a bad idea to come here, I should really start thinking twice about being alone in New York City during a storm. I got up to walk away before he stood up to block my path. His arm grasped my shoulders and I pushed nervously at his chest.

 His head came up next to my ear and whispered ever so slightly, “Don’t say nobody ever warned you. They’re real and you better get used to it, because I’m coming for you, all of you and I’m not coming alone.”

I scoffed, “What are you going to do? Send a rabid dog after me? Sure,” I stared into his eyes, “that’s effective. I can see the headlines now.... Clifford kills girl! What a joke!”

“You’d be surprised, although he prefers the name Cerberus,” he replied slyly.

I kicked his shin hard and freed myself from his grasp before sprinting out to the closest traffic intersection and pulling out my phone, “Jane? Can you pick me up from Central Park? It’s an emergency.”