The Good Monster

Present Day

The old, dimly lit bar was nearly empty—just us in the farthest corner, and a couple of stragglers. Gunnar lifted his heavy glass of dark beer high. “Here’s to us, my friends,” his deep voice rumbled. “To our luck, and to victory.” Dagmar, Josef, Silver, Tiit, Kaia, and Vilja followed his lead. I was the last to raise my glass. The soft chime of glass against glass rang out, quickly swallowed by the silence. I took a small sip of pear cider and set it back down. Could a group as small as ours really stand against an entire pack of werewolves? What were the chances any of us would survive? And would we even manage to find the ones we sought? The age gap made me feel out of place with most of them—except perhaps Tiit. Tonight, while the others were caught up in anticipation, buzzing with grim excitement, I wanted nothing more than to back out, run far away, and hide. Yes, I wanted revenge for my parents. I had promised them. I wanted to look the monster in the eye. But I didn’t want to die. And yet, there was a strange comfort in being among these people. For once, no one here thought anyone else was insane. Every one of us had seen a werewolf with our own eyes. Every one of us had our reasons for vengeance. Dagmar was fifty-three, though if not for his greying beard and bald head, his fit, broad-shouldered frame could have made him pass for younger. He knew more about werewolves than any of us—he had spent years gathering information about them. It was Dagmar who had found Liam, the Swede, who in turn knew where to find their village. The village where, quite possibly, my parents’ killer still lived... For the last several decades—perhaps longer—most werewolves of continental Europe had gathered in the north. Estonia once had five packs roaming its forests, as well as a few loners, but the constant threats—from humans, rival packs, even vampires—had forced them to band together, to migrate. According to Dagmar, the Baltic states were now nearly empty of them. The creatures had moved to Sweden and Norway. At least one large pack had taken root in Iceland. Dagmar had lost his wife, his son, and his brother to werewolves. He himself had survived by sheer luck. Josef and Silver—the dark-haired, brown-eyed twins—wanted revenge for friends murdered fourteen years ago. They had been just eighteen, camping by a lake with girlfriends, when the monster emerged from the woods. The brothers had survived, two friends died, one girl went mad. They never spoke about the fate of the others. Kaia, thirty-five, was the least likely warrior among us. Slender, with a sharp blonde bob and a refined, perpetually disinterested expression, she looked more like an office worker's wife than someone hell-bent on avenging her sister’s death at the hands of myth. She rarely spoke of her life, never mentioned children. All we knew: she was here for vengeance. Vilja, her contemporary, was Kaia’s opposite. Broad-shouldered, coarse, and fierce, she intimidated me in ways I couldn’t explain. Like me, she hunted for her father’s killer—a werewolf he had encountered on a hunt. I despised hunting, the senseless killing for sport. But that did nothing to absolve the monster who had slaughtered him. Tiit was closest to me in age, just three years older, twenty-six now. And… I liked him. Not love, perhaps, but a pull, an attraction. How could I not? He was gentle, thoughtful, quietly handsome. And, more importantly, he believed me. Unlike Juhan—my ex—who had left because of this very obsession. He had called it childish, delusional, told me to let go of my parents after fifteen years. I had tried. God knows I had tried. But I couldn’t. Tiit, too, was still wounded. He had lost his little sister five years ago. His parents had survived, but their grief hollowed them into shadows of who they once were. He was adrift, as I was. Only Gunnar fought without personal loss. Thirty-four, stocky, loud, his hatred was inherited—fed by the stories of his uncle and grandfather. He had glimpsed a werewolf once, from afar, and it was enough. He despised them with every fiber of his being. “Werewolves need to die. Every last one,” Gunnar growled, staring straight ahead. “We can’t share a world with them. To them, we’re nothing but food. We have souls. They don’t.” Everyone except Tiit and me nodded in grim agreement. “They’re devil-spawn,” Dagmar muttered, stroking his beard. “They shouldn’t exist. Nor should vampires.” “You believe in vampires?” Vilja’s voice dripped with scorn. “Seriously?” I almost smiled silently. Strange, how people could believe in werewolves but scoff at vampires. “If werewolves exist, then so must the blood-drinkers,” Josef argued. “Utter nonsense,” Vilja shook her head sharply. “And where’s your proof they don’t?” Dagmar countered. The pointless debate dragged on. Tiit buried himself in his phone. I withdrew into myself, cold dread crawling in my chest. How long would my life last from here? “Time to wrap up,” Gunnar barked, calling us back. “Let’s go over the plan one last time.” Vilja groaned. “We’ve done this a hundred times already.” But Gunnar ignored her. “The goal is to kill as many as possible, without losing ourselves. Gather evidence. Hard proof. Enough to convince others—maybe even governments—to rise against them. To wipe them all out.” He spread his arms wide. Was it possible? For centuries, no one had managed to stop them. And now, seventeen humans with guns and knives thought they could determine the fate of an entire race—one as cunning as us, but infinitely stronger? I kept my doubts to myself. “Don’t let them get close,” Dagmar warned. “If they do—you’re dead. Shoot from a distance. Aim for the heart.” “Keep silver blades ready!” Gunnar slammed his fists together. “If one charges—strike. Heart, always the heart.” I was terrified. More than I had ever been. But I had been waiting for this my whole life. My world revolved around this mission—gathering knowledge, seeking allies, hunting the monster that had destroyed my family. This was my truth, my vengeance, my justice. Too late to turn back now. If not this, then what? “The ferry leaves tomorrow at eleven thirty p.m. sharp,” Gunnar reminded us. “Boarding closes half an hour before,” Josef added. Our eyes met briefly. I nodded. “Monika,” Josef suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes, “are you truly ready?” “Yes. Just… scared.” “We all are,” Kaia murmured. “But it’s our duty,” Vilja said firmly. “We must.” “If not us, then who?” Gunnar thrust a fist into the air. “Fate chose us. We will cleanse the world of these hell-born creatures!” “And we will avenge them,” Vilja’s eyes burned with savage fire. “Avenge them,” I whispered, staring at the table. And in the grain of the wood, I saw again that night—the night that had destroyed everything.

***

Rest would have been wise, but sleep would not come to me. As it turned out, I wasn’t the only one. “Hi,” I said with a faint but genuine smile as Tiit sat down across from me. At night, only one small café in the lounge area remained open, perhaps a restaurant too, though most passengers were asleep in their cabins. A little further off, a young couple sat at a table, the boy holding the girl’s hand as they spoke in low voices, gazing into each other’s eyes. Romantic. Perhaps they were headed for an exciting trip to Stockholm, a vacation, or simply a weekend escape. Or maybe they were Swedes returning home after a stroll through Tallinn. “Can’t sleep either?” Tiit asked. He really was handsome. Pleasant. I wanted to believe he would survive this, that he would learn to live again after losing his little sister—that maybe he could still find peace and happiness. Maybe we could even try together. We could help and support each other; after all, we had endured the same nightmare. “You’ll fall asleep right here,” I teased softly. Then, more serious: “Do you ever doubt our mission?” “No.” His answer was curt, eyes fixed on nothing. The hand resting on the table clenched into a fist. “I mean, I don’t doubt the cause either, and I’m not planning to turn back, but… sometimes thoughts creep in. About our chances. About whether we can actually succeed. Do you think your hand won’t tremble, when the time comes to shoot?” “It won’t.” “And if… it happens to be in human form?” “It won’t.” “I see…” “She was only six, Monika. Just six.” His voice was flat, drained of all color. “If werewolves are half human, half beast, then where was the human part of the thing that ripped her open and ate her heart?” The image made nausea rise in my throat. What had happened to my parents had been horrific too, but not like this. Until that moment, I thought I could understand Tiit’s pain, since I too had lost my closest loved ones, had witnessed their murder. But now… “My parents were by the boat,” he went on, lost again in the horror of memory. “And I saw it all. Every moment.” I reached across the table and gently laid my hand on his, giving it a soft squeeze. But Tiit pulled away at once. Awkward. “Do you think they’re all really like that?” I asked quietly. “All of them—soulless beasts, deserving nothing but death?” His gaze finally locked on mine. “All I’ve seen points to yes. And no one has ever given me proof of the opposite.”

***

In Sweden, Liam was waiting for us—a sturdy man with a medium-length beard. He drove us to a large country house where the rest of the group had already gathered: men and women not only from Sweden, but from other countries as well. Altogether, there were seventeen of us. Seventeen people, armed with firearms loaded with silver bullets, and with silver blades and daggers, against a pack of impossibly strong, massive, furious werewolves. Preparation lasted three days. The first day was devoted to lessons in shooting and survival techniques—anything that might keep us alive long enough to kill the creatures. The second day we practiced more, listened to theory from those who knew better, refined our plan, worked through the last details. The third day was for rest and readiness: we slept, ate nourishing meals, reviewed the plan once more, and spoke briefly with one another. I didn’t feel much like bonding with strangers. I shared a room with Kaia, Vilja, and a Swedish woman named Ingrid, who immediately befriended Vilja and tended to cling either to Kaia or Tiit during group activities. Liam turned out to be a good host and an excellent instructor. I liked him as a person. As a man, he wasn’t bad either—though he seemed close to forty, too old for me, and besides, he appeared to be involved with someone already. He treated each of us with care, provided everything we needed, ensured the house was well stocked with food. At first, when he met us off the ferry, his eyes had unsettled me—something dark seemed hidden there, lifeless almost. It repelled me. But perhaps Liam too had suffered much; grief leaves its mark on a person’s gaze. Three days of this strange, almost scout-like camp passed quickly. The day of reckoning came. Dressed almost as if for a hiking trip, armed with dried aconite, bird-call whistles for signaling, silver blades, and pistols or rifles, we set out. Some were also tasked with cameras, to gather proof. The werewolf village lay deep in the forest, not far from the Norwegian border. We left the cars in the nearest town, ate a quick meal, and entered the woods. The weather was overcast and cool. Dreary. Unwelcoming. The air smelled of damp earth, leaves, and moss; a peaceful stillness hung all around, and yet my heart was restless. Fear pressed down on me. Tears burned behind my eyes. I wanted to abandon it all, run home, return to the warmth and safety of my parents: to my mother pouring hot tea, setting out my favorite cookies, draping a blanket across my shoulders, my father sitting beside me telling funny stories. I missed them so much. I longed for warmth, for love, for something good and kind. Since the monster had taken them from me, I had known only loneliness, grief, emptiness—and the thirst for revenge. There was no home to return to. No parents waiting. Only the path forward, toward the beast. Toward vengeance. I would not allow it to rob anyone else of their family. Our group of seventeen split into three smaller units, keeping some distance between but never too far apart. I ended up with Tiit, Vilja, Gunnar, a Swede named Karl, and an American, Corey. We were the second group. The road ahead would be long, and I could only hope we would find the village at all. My eyes followed Tiit’s back as he walked ahead along the winding path between bushes and trees. Was our fate truly sealed? Was there really no other way? Unexpectedly, Gunnar, who of course had been leading, said something to Vilja, then slowed his pace until he was beside me. I gave him a questioning glance; he smiled at once and laid his large hand on my shoulder. “So, how are you, Monika?” he asked. I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, and physical closeness was never my thing. I wanted to shrug off his hand, but restrained myself. When we first met, Gunnar had shaken my hand. An ordinary handshake, brief, but I hadn’t liked the feel of it. Nothing obvious—yet something had been off: the strength, the temperature of his skin, a faint dampness, the odd texture of his fingers. I respected Gunnar as a leader—he had the qualities for it. But I preferred to keep my distance. Strangely enough, he seemed to like me. He often tried to invite me somewhere, never missed a chance to touch me lightly, “accidentally.” “I’m fine,” I answered with a weak smile. “And you?” “Perfect,” Gunnar declared enthusiastically. “Ready to cleanse our world of these devil-spawn! And you? Are you ready? I’ve noticed you seemed down these past days. Are you alright, Monika?” So he had noticed. A good leader indeed. His tone even sounded genuinely kind. Still—I wished he’d move his hand. “Yes… I’m fine. Just… a little scared, that’s all,” I said. No point in baring my soul to him. With Tiit—or even Liam—maybe I could. But not with Gunnar. Not because he was bad, no. Just because he wouldn’t understand. Gunnar was consumed entirely by his cause, while his emotional intelligence—his empathy—was sorely lacking. I had realized that long ago. “It’s natural to feel fear in times like this. After all, you’re still a young woman. But you’re brave, Monika. Few would have come this far. You’ve shown endurance, determination, strength of will. You’re extraordinary, you know that?” He squeezed my shoulder more firmly. “Thank you,” I replied, somewhat flustered. We spoke a little longer, then Gunnar returned to the head of our small column. Ahead, I could see the last figure of the first group. The distance between us was not too great. The ground beneath our feet was damp, our shoes slipping now and then on stones. Branches cracked underfoot. I couldn’t shake the feeling that monsters lurked behind every bush. No—the forest was not for me. I wanted to go home. Drawing the dagger from its sheath at my belt, I gripped it tightly, though we still had far to walk before the village. It simply gave me a small sense of protection, of calm.