"Mysterious Ways" by Gwenivere Stephan

The bride was the only one who was truly happy during her wedding. Her parents, of course, were unhappy because she married a poor foreigner and not the rich man they had wanted her to (the rich man was very relieved because he was secretly a homosexual and didn’t feel like explaining it to the parents at all). The groom’s parents were both dead, and he had no other relatives, but his singular friend was there, and he was very unhappy about it. He knew that this was a mistake, but he could not talk his friend out of it. The groom himself knew it was a mistake, really, but he loved the bride and couldn’t help but want to have her for his own.

Everyone else had there reasons, but they were not important (except perhaps the priest’s, for he was pondering the strange confession of a homosexual man who thought he might have to marry a woman). The most important was the groom, for he smiled at his sweet bride with only his mouth, and she noticed.

When the ceremony was over, she took him aside to talk.

"Is something bothering you, husband dear?" she asked, liking the way it sounded on her tongue. She smoothed his brown hair against his forehead, straightening his collar.

"Nothing," he replied in his thick accent that made her want to hug him tightly and never let him go.

"Please tell me. Maybe I can make it better," she said.

"No, it’s all right, I’m just a little worried," he said.

"Do you think this was a bad idea?" she asked, her eyes widening and her mouth folding into a pout without her thinking about it.

"No, no. Marrying you is about the best idea I have ever had, really," he said, and leaned down to kiss her gently. She smiled up at him and went back to her party without giving it another thought.

That night she laid in bed, watching her husband pace in the darkness. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away. He wasn’t happy with her, she knew it. She turned her face into her pillow and tried to fall asleep.

He heard her breathing slow down and left the room without glancing back. Out the front door, making sure to lock it behind him, and down the street at a very fast pace. He knocked on a door at the end of the road, which swung open immediately and let him in.

Six months later his wife gave birth to their first child (which scandalized her parents who thought, of course, that she was premature until the doctor assured them otherwise). It was a baby girl, which relieved the father very much. He kissed his beautiful women, and for the first time in a while he was almost completely happy. Almost. He stroked the messy, large, bruised head that was covered in fine blonde fuzz, and smiled at his wife with his mouth.

That night he slipped away down the road again near midnight. His wife slept soundly in the hospital, unaware that her husband has left. He did not return again until morning, and his wife never knew the difference.

By the time the child was three years old the couple was thinking about divorce.

"You can’t LIE to me, James," she yelled, blocking his way out of the door. He groaned covering his face.

"Just let me out, Chris, please," he said, pulling on her arm.

"Is there another woman? Are you doing something illegal? Just TELL me, James, please," she cried, blinking back tears angrily.

"Nothing like that, really. I am just going to a friend’s house," he replied. He saw his wife’s eyes drift away from him, and turned to see his daughter standing there, staring at them with big eyes. His wife’s stomach was bulging with another child (one that neither of them particularly wanted) and her eyes were bloodshot. He was standing fully dressed, his hair rumpled in frustration.

"I’m tired," the little girl told them.

"Go to bed," her mother said, closing her eyes.

But before either of them could do anything, the man let out a cry of pain, and fell to his knees. The child began to scream, and the mother gasped, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Another cry of anguish burst from his lips and he shoved her away.

She gasped as he turned his face to her. He was changing, rapidly. His eyes were bright yellow, with slits for pupils. His skin appeared to be ripping off, exposing dark green flesh underneath. His body began to grow as he got to his feet, moaning in pain.

"J-james?" she whispered, pressing her back against the door.

"Not exactly," the beast said, as dark, thick fingernails grew in place of the clean, short ones that James had. With another road, which sent his child running from the room, a row of spikes burst from his back, tearing his shirt. His shoes burst at the seams, his feet elongating and grow long nails.

"James!" she screamed, tears running down her face.

"No."

"What are you?" she cried, her eyes wide.

"I am H, and I am your husband," the monster said, with a large grin that showed sharp, yellowed teeth. Then the thing sprang forward, jaws closing swiftly around her throat.

The child hid behind the couch, snuffling softly. She clutched a cushion with both hands, her tiny fists clenched so hard it hurt.

Her father loomed into the room swaggering slightly as though drunk. Dark blood dripped on his lips, staining the tattered remains of his shirt that hung loosely against his extremely muscled and green body.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the voice said, sounding not much like her father. The child pressed her face against the couch, peering out with one eye.

"I can smell you," he told her, taking a step into the room. "I can taste your fear. Don’t you love your daddy?" Suddenly his face was right in front of her.

Screaming, she ran away, but his huge hand grabbed her around the waist. She screamed again, trying to wriggle her way out.

"Don’t you love your father, little girl? Your mommy loves your daddy, you should love your daddy too," he cackled, and opened his mouth so wide she knew he could swallow her whole. Her face contorted with fear, her mouth hanging open, suddenly silent.

And then, their eyes met, one pair yellow and the other blue, and the beast closed its mouth. The eyes softened, and the hand relaxed. She pulled away, running into a corner where she sat, shaking and crying.

A struggle began in the beast, where the man inside fought to be outside again. He pressed against the thick green skin, trying to fill it up and push out of it. The beast fought back, shoving him into the dark recesses of his own mind. But the man persisted. He would not let his daughter be hurt, certainly not by himself.

In the kitchen a woman crawled, blood dripping from her neck, her shoulders, and her scalp. Tears flowed down her cheek, on hand desperately pressed to her stomach. The other hand swept the top of the counter, reaching for the phone. It fell into her lap, dangling from its cord.

She pressed the familiar three buttons, leaning heavily against the counter. It was so hard to move, so hard to breath. The receiver beeped, and the ringing began.

"911, what is your emergency?" the voice said, sounding very far away. The woman tried to speak, but could not.

"911, what is your emergency?" the voice said again. Suddenly a loud scream came from the other room, muffled with sobs. "Where is your location? Hello?"

The woman closed her eyes, drifting away. She was so tired… so tired. She could not stay awake. I am sorry, Angie, she thought weakly.

The child watched as the beast began to change, the skin becoming pale again, then roar as the green pushed back at the human flesh. The eyes watered, the pupils trying to become round. The fingernails sank into the palms of the beast, wanting to become human nails again.

"Daddy!" the child screamed, terrified. Where was he, why wasn’t he protecting her?

The beast fell to its knees, huge flakes of green skin peeling off, then reforming. With a gasp, the beast opened its eyes, which were suddenly blue again. It ripped at its arms, tearing away the green skin and roaring in pain.

And slowly the roar became softer moans, and the skin became pale and pink with pinpoints of blood. Then the man that was her father sat before her, panting and sobbing and wiping at his mouth.

"Daddy," she whispered, and ran from the room.

"God help me," he said, brushing at his tears. "God help me."

The police arrived soon afterward, to find the woman lying in the kitchen, her daughter clutching her shirt. The man was in the living room, naked and covered in blood. The officers called for the ambulance, and tried to help the woman struggling with life on the kitchen floor.

The man slipped out of the house while they focused on his wife, slunked down the street to his friend’s house. He knocked on the door, and when his friend answered, they could only stare at each other for a moment.

"Kill me, please," the man whispered.

"Dear God," his friend replied, and burst from his house, down the street. The man moaned, falling to his knees on the porch.

"Kill me!" he cried, covering his eyes with his hands. "Don’t let me live with this beast any longer!"

The next morning the little girl watched the scenery roll past as her grandmother drove her away from the hospital. The girl had stopped crying, and speaking for that matter. Her grandmother was still crying a little, and kept stroking the girl’s hair with one hand.

"It’ll be all right," she said.

When they reached the house, the grandmother took her husband aside to talk.

"She lost the child, of course, and they found James dead down the street. Killed himself. The girl is in shock, she keeps talking about a monster of some sort. They think that James might have done it," she said, trying to be cold but feeling the tears run hotly down her face.

Her husband took her in his arms, holding her cheek against his. "We will work through this. Pray to God that she lives, for Angel."

"I know, that is all we can do," she nodded, and smiled weakly at her husband.

Angel stood at the window, wishing she were home again. She didn’t fully understand what was going on, but she knew it was bad, and every time she closed her eyes she saw the monster looming over her.

"I miss Mommy," she said in a soft voice that no one heard.

Her mother awoke briefly, and asked the nurse one questions immediately.

"Baby/" she whispered hoarsely. It barely came out, and it was amazing that it did at all.

"I’m sorry," the nurse said, touching her cheek. The woman fell back asleep, and the nurse left the room.

"Is she all right?" a man asked. He was dressed nicely with his hair combed flat. His eyes were very tired, though, and red.

"She is good for now. You are?"

"Friend of the family. May I ask… what was her baby?" the man rocked back on his heels and put his hands in his pockets.

"As in boy or girl? Boy," the nurse said. "If you don’t mind…"

"No, that’s all I wanted to know. Thank you," the man replied with a smile. It was a weak smile, but he was actually happy. A boy.

God works in mysterious ways, he thought, leaving the hospital. He had worked with James, his patient and his friend, for many years. The disease, amazingly rare, had been passed down through fathers for years. Most of the men were either killed or committed suicide, but something always compelled them to get married or have children first. The man did not know if it was part of the disease or not.

When his friend had gotten married, he had worried. When he had his first child, the man had worried. But it had been a girl, and the marriage had not been built to last. He had been very worried with the second child, but now it was not a problem.

Mysterious ways indeed, the man nodded and smiled.