Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
1

 

 

 

Stephen Huff’s 
Kendrick’s 
Monster 
 
(December 2002 – March 2003) 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
2
KENDRICK’S MONSTER 
Contents 
 
Page    Word Count 

His Apical Sin    1    2,951 
 
A Mysteriously Shaped Thing  15    3,877 
 
The One Percent Man   32    3,896 
 
“…Darkness Was Upon the Face 47    6,370 
 Of the Deep…” 
 
The Disease That Rots the World 81    3,585 
 
The Road to Texas   95    3,907 
 
Justice     117    4,476 
 
“…The Nightly Terror of Terrors 136    2,543 
 That Come In the Night…” 
 
Unspeakable Rewards   148    4,356 
 
Empty Vessels    167    5,082 
 
A New Pall of Doom   189    4,966 
 
‘O’      211    4,948 
 
Fifty Dollars a Day    233    4,929 
 
Boundaries of Depravity   254    5,433 
 
Anonymity     278    3,433 
 
Imaginary Friend    292    1,571 
 
      300    66,323 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
3
 
-|- 

Author’s Note: 

Though Kendrick’s Monster is a work of fiction, it is not pure fabrication.  All the crimes 
described within have a firm foundation in factual modern experience.  Consider: 
 
- At the age of three, Theodore Bundy awakened his caregiver when he disturbed 
her while stashing large knives under her mattress.  He killed for the first time 
when he was fourteen, at which time a local neighborhood girl disappeared to her 
death.  Bundy often wandered the streets at night, playing with ‘imaginary 
friends’, which activity quickly developed into criminal voyeurism. 
 
- Jesse Pomeroy regularly tortured and killed animals as a young child.  He 
brutally murdered two young boys when he was only fourteen years of age.  
While the evidence against him was instantly damning (they found the 
mummified corpse of one young girl in the basement of his home), and despite his 
many confessions, Pomeroy eventually claimed he was innocent, because ‘a voice 
in [his] head’ told him to say so. 
 
- As early as the age of eight, Arthur Shawcross developed ‘imaginary’ friends, 
with which he would speak using ‘strange voices’.  By his early teens, he spent 
hours walking in the woods yelling at inanimate objects and beating the 
undergrowth with a stick, as if in torment from unseen demons. 
 
- David Berkowitz said of his crimes, “The demons never stopped.  I couldn't 
sleep.  I had no strength to fight.  I could barely drive.  Coming home from work 
one night, I almost killed myself in the car.  I needed to sleep….  The demons 
wouldn’t give me any peace.” 
 
While these are merely anecdotal illustrations of a murderous psyche’s development, they 
nonetheless beg a central question; are these individuals evil and what is the true nature of this 
evil.   
 
Perhaps these are real, tangible demons born of an unknown, nether world.  Worse still, perhaps 
they are fantastic, intangible demons, born of a tormented mind, fashioned from the fabric of the 
human nature, which is the fabric that binds us all.  For, this latter condition being the case, we 
must doubt our own futures, and fear the voices that whisper within our thoughts. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
4

 

 

 
 
His Apical Sin 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
5
-|- 

Kendrick Sutherland lay beside her on his back, his fingers laced behind his head, his 
gaze fixed on the water-stained, crumbling ceiling.  ‘When,’ he wondered.  ‘When did it 
happen.  How did it happen.  Why did it happen to me.’ 
 His closely cropped hair bristling across the palms of his hands, he turned his head gently 
to the left, and gazed into her deep, mocha eyes.  Wide, liquid, and silently brooding, her gaze 
reflected his. 
 ‘Some day,’ he sighed, rolling his eyes to their whites and returning his stare to the 
ceiling, ‘Some day they’re going to ask themselves the same questions.  Some day they’ll ask 
‘Why.’’  He chuckled wickedly to himself.  ‘As they have asked so often in the past.  The 
frustration of such a question lies in the fact that it has no adequate answer, except perhaps to 
conclude simply ‘Because’ or ‘Why not.’ 
 ‘One thing is certain,’ he considered, dreaming of his future in bold, lurid headlines, ‘I 
am immortal in it.  Every time they ask, for they cannot help but ask, they must remember me.  
They must remember what I have done… what I will do… what I might do. 
‘Once they consider my crimes, they will question my motives.  What would they say if I 
could tell them that THEY are my motives.  Then, now, and then again. 
‘For they, that ephemeral oligarchy of whispering voices, shadowed brows, and pointing 
fingers, torment me, as they have ever tormented me, as they must always torment me.  I long for 
them and I hate them.  I would live forever in their thoughts by swimming in their blood.’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
6
His breast heaved and his thoughts seethed, while his brain boiled.  Thrust straight 
alongside his nude and quivering body, his arms went rigid and white.  His knuckles shone bare 
through the skin that covered them, as he gripped the blanket into pinched bunches and his spine 
arched.  Rage raced his heart and filled his gut with bitter bile.  Icy liquid energy burned his 
muscles hot and tensely corded.  He tasted polished copper and sour acid at the back of his 
tongue. 
‘They made me what I am.  They mold me today.  Tomorrow, they are the record of my 
existence.  I have been.  I am.  I was.  Undeniably.  Without question.  Unlike the teeming 
billions, they will remember me.  For, she is obvious, unforgettable, irrefutable evidence of my 
existence.’ 
At once, sudden as it came, all his anxiety passed.  He relaxed, and exhaled an explosive, 
long held breath. 
When Kendrick calmed enough to speak evenly, he said, “You’re lucky, you know.  It 
might have been someone else.  Anyone else.  Anyone but you.  Except, it WAS you.  It IS you.  
Because of it, because of me, you, too, will be immortal.” 
He sucked a dusty breath, and smiled to ponder marquees yet to be lighted.  “At the same 
time, you are the cause of it, the reason for it.  Without you, it is impossible.  So, I don’t think it 
really could have been anybody else.  Do you understand.”  She remained silent, and he sensed 
confusion.  “I mean, it MUST have been you, after all.  It HAD to be you.  It has always BEEN 
you.  Because it IS you. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
7
“You were born to it.  To me.  To now.  You suffered every heartbeat, every breath, 
every thought to be here with me at this moment.  Think of it.”  His smile broadened, and he felt 
the calming cool of aftermath spread a lazy drug throughout his wasted flesh.  “We are one in 
our shared act.  We validate each other with it.” 
His hair bristled against his palms, again, as he turned to gaze into her dark eyes.  “Do 
you understand.” 
Lifeless and dulled, those impenetrable orbs remained half-focused on his for many long, 
all but unbearable seconds.  Finally, she rolled her dilated pupils behind her eyelids, and 
shrugged, her purple-tinted lips twisted into a cruel smirk. 
“I’m glad it was so memorable for you,” she rasped, rising to a sitting position to put her 
left foot through her panties, which dangled from her right ankle, before she pulled them up.  She 
arched her body to set the thong properly at the small of her back, before she shimmied her short 
skirt down around her hips.  “I just get paid.  Since it was so nice, maybe you wanna sweeten the 
deal with a nice, big tip, mister.” 
Something about the way she said the words ‘big tip’ made Kendrick’s loins tingle 
magically.  Her lips were full, and the dark paint rendered them morbid.  How they glistened!  
Her wet, pink tongue wriggled enticingly within her foul mouth to shape her words. 
He propped himself on his elbows to watch her push her breasts back into her skimpy 
top.  From below, he admired her buttocks, when she stood to finish her effect, and put all her 
parts back into their proper place. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
8
As she worked, she drawled, “Especially since I came all the way out here to do it in 
this… god-awful shit hole.”  Expertly, she gazed into a tiny compact and applied another coat of 
lipstick by dim moonlight, without skipping a syllable.  “You’re lucky I’m such a pro, honey.  
Lots of girls would have freaked out long before you even got them out here.  What is it, baby, 
some kind of hardware fetish.”  She smacked her lips together, and he trembled. 
After she tucked the compact back into her little beaded purse, she cocked her hip and 
placed a fist there.  She surveyed the property with a slow turn of her coiffed head. 
Around her, festooned in rotted canvass tarps and tattered plastic sheeting, the hulks of 
rusted press-drills, lathes and band saws obscured the interior of a well-weathered and 
vandalized single-room office.  Its window storefront had been shattered long ago.  She could 
see through to a chaotic asphalt lot beyond, which added various shrouded lumps of ruined 
industrial equipment to the general clutter.  A high chain-link fence topped with razor wire 
encircled the little compound.  Across the far side, a distance of perhaps a hundred yards, she 
noticed a light burning in a single window of a squalid, squatting little building. 
“That your boss, working over there.” she wondered cockily.  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll 
get fired.” 
He rolled over at last, when her expression waxed impatient, to pull up his own 
underwear and jerk his legs into his uniform pants.  Standing unsteadily, he wiggled them up to 
his waist, snapped and zipped them.  He searched for and found his shirt and socks and boots, 
gathering them into his arms. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
9
Kendrick lied, since he didn’t know who might be working beneath those distant, yellow 
lights, “No, not really.  He’s probably in there whacking off with the ‘net, anyway.” 
She grunted, and couldn’t really care less.  She glanced at a cheap little wristwatch on her 
left forearm.  “I need to get back, John.”  His face wrinkled.  “Oh,” she offered sharply, “Don’t 
think it wasn’t nice.  I like to get kinky, too, but a girl wants a bit more than a musty army 
surplus blanket and a cold, gritty concrete floor.  Or she wants to be compensated.” 
He smiled ruefully, and pulled up his socks.  “It’s not a fetish.” 
“No.  Then why not the backseat of your car, like everybody else.”  She snorted and 
flipped her hair sassily.  “The way you had me bent over that… that whatever-it-is over there, 
honey, I thought you was a machine, your own damned self.” 
His face wrinkled again, when she cursed.  His left foot dropped into the high collar of 
his boot, and he laced it up.  “Sometimes, I pretend I am a machine.  Sometimes, I pretend I’m a 
pump working on a gusher.” 
She laughed, scoffing.  “Sweetie, THAT is a fetish.” 
He frowned, and dropped his right foot into its boot, which he laced up with sharp, angry 
movements.  His face burned bright red in the pale light of the moon.  “I don’t have hang-ups 
like that.” 
“Okay, baby, whatever you say.  But a backseat is easier on the knees, don’t you think.” 
“Maybe,” he grunted, standing stiffly to jerk his arms through his uniform shirt.  “Maybe 
I didn’t want your nasty pussy dripping all over my upholstery.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
10
Now her face dropped a bit.  “You didn’t mind when I was smearing this ‘nasty pussy’ in 
your face!” 
In that instant, she reminded him of something, of someone, most unpleasant.  In that 
single, flashbulb-lurid instant, at the sound of a single word, she became someone else.  HE 
became someone else. 
From the corner of his eye, he noticed how his shadow lay sprawled beneath him.  Its 
sable feet mocked his own, as he crossed the cluttered, crumbling floor with graveled strides.  
His shadow’s midnight arms stretched in a twisted mirror’s reflection of his own.  How his 
stretching virtual fingers loomed before him to resemble the webbed umbra of bare fall foliage. 
His eyes averted from hers, intent on his moonlit shadow, Kendrick watched the tenuous 
thin roots of his clutching fingers merge with a reach into her inky, shaded soil.  He kept his eyes 
fixed on their cavorting shades, as they danced about, for he was watching… waiting… for it to 
appear. 
There!  At his back! 
A demon’s form, sharp and angular with bony joints and horny projections, swelled up 
from the obsidian hulk of his shadow.  As a horrid entity borne of a crumpled chrysalis, it 
emerged from his back to spread its benighted wings wide beneath the moon’s oblivious glow. 
How it screeched and bellowed!  How it roared!  With its long, black arms, and its 
cruelly pointed talons, it throttled him from behind.  It clung tenaciously to his back, despite his 
violent struggles, and it would not let go of his neck.  His throat constricted painfully beneath its 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
11
throttle, his eyes bulged, and his face purpled.  His vision swam with brilliant, flashing, streaking 
stars, even as it faded to black around a single pinpoint of light. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
12
-|- 

 Kendrick lay alone in his apartment on the mussed sheets of his queen-size bed, his 
fingers laced behind his head, his eyes open and fixed on the textured ceiling.  The world spun 
beneath him.  He felt the mechanical movements of the planet rumble beneath his back. 
 The world jerked along, second by second.  A noon sun burned bright and fierce outside 
his heavily shaded windows. 
 Its light chased away his sleep.  Its heat broiled his dreams black and crisp. 
 ‘Gary Gilmore reportedly had an I.Q. of one hundred thirty.  The man was no genius, but 
he was intelligent.  He was sane.  He knew right from wrong.  Because of the way he grew up, it 
was no wonder that he became a notorious killer, yet, at the same time, his eventual fate was all 
the more puzzling, considering his potential.  He might have done anything with his mind.  His 
youngest brother became a writer.  He was a respectable poet, himself.’ 
 Outside his window, a car revved its too loud motor at the curb.  Again and again, the 
sounds of it surged him lucid, before its driver shifted gears and sputtered away.  Restless, he 
followed its movements with his hearing. 
 The world spun crazily.  Helpless, he spun with it, until he felt fixed to its face by his feet 
like a slowly spinning hour hand.  Time crawled in a sick spiral about his head. 
 ‘Once, when Gary was a young boy, his mother, Bessie, woke at the sensation of a vile 
touch to find an inhuman creature leering over her bed.  Startled, she leapt up, only to see her 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
13
husband’s invalid mother, a self-professed medium, tottering across the floor, warning her to 
flee, claiming, ‘Get out now!  The beast knows who you are!’  Moments later, Bessie found the 
same monster leaning over Gary in his own bed, its form hideous and demonic, its intentions 
twisted and malformed.  It stared into the boy’s eyes, and the boy stared back. 
 ‘Who can say what was exchanged during that silent intercourse.’ 
 Kendrick could guess, but he could not know.  Nobody could know, save for perhaps the 
killer, himself, and his secret demon.  Unfortunately, Gary Gilmore was gone, shot through the 
heart years ago, rendering the point moot, the question unanswered. 
 The light beyond his shaded windows dimmed and flared, as clouds passed over the 
flaming face of the sun with a whisper crawl.  He listened to them scrape along the ceiling of the 
earth, cotton smooth. 
 Abruptly, intensely, his stomach rolled sickly.  His pulse raced.  His heart surged.  “Oh 
God,” he moaned, “I don’t want to die.” 
 From the afternoon shadows that lurked behind his shaded windows, his own private 
demon whispered, ‘But you must die.  Everyone dies.  One day sooner than later, you must rot 
and fester in the eternal darkness of death.  It comes to claim you, nearer and nearer with every 
dawn.’ 
 He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes tightly shut.  With his elbows, he folded his 
pillow around his head to cover his ears. 
 ‘What will they care, when you have gone.  Will they remember your name.  Will they 
celebrate what you have done.’  His monster snorted and chuckled derisively.  ‘No.  You are 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
14
scant seconds.  You are a moment’s ponder, an instant’s consideration.  You are an infinitesimal 
speck of dust amid a wide world of dirt.  When you are gone, you are, at best, a stone to weather 
the wind and rain for a time, before you are nothing at all.  No one will miss you.  No one will 
mourn your absence.  No one will care to know who you were.’ 
 Breathing tortuously through broadly flared nostrils, he choked on impotent rage.  “I 
won’t listen!  I won’t listen!  I won’t listen!” 
 ‘You,’ hissed the devil, ‘Are forgetfulness.  While I… I am history walking.’ 
 “YOU!” Kendrick raged, his voice muffled by the folds of his pillow, “Are NOTHING!  
You are a figment of my imagination!” 
 His demon laughed wickedly, as its voice crawled about the room.  The beast was a vile 
liquid to wash the walls gloomy, and slosh the corners inky.  A well of darkness, it settled 
momentarily beneath his bed, so he could hear its voice clearly from the gap between his 
mattress and the wall, despite his useless pillow. 
 ‘I am so much more than a figment, foolish boy,’ gloated Kendrick’s monster.  ‘I am that 
you longed for.  I am that you craved.  I am immortality, for I am infamy.  I am freedom in 
absolute lust.’ 
 “You are the inevitable end of me.” 
 ‘I am the last of you, for I am what they will remember.’ 
 “I will be reviled forever.” 
 ‘Better ignominy than anonymity.’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
15
 Kendrick sighed.  This was an ancient dialectic, and was without solution.  He relaxed his 
arms, and let the pillow unfold so it lay flat beneath him.  He listened to the monster’s scaly 
movements, as it slithered across the floor beneath his bed.  He felt its talons through the 
mattress, where it prodded his back mischievously. 
 “I’ll get caught,” he moaned softly. 
 ‘Perhaps.  Perhaps not.’  The demon slid through the shade, until it spoke from the foot of 
his bed.  Kendrick imagined it crouched there in the gloom behind his footboard, regarding him 
with a goggled, lecherous gaze that could not directly see.  ‘Not all are caught, you know.’ 
 “Yeah,” breathed Kendrick, blowing the word out with a long, husky breath.  “They 
never caught the ‘Green River Killer’.  Not all of them, any way.  And they never caught the 
‘Zodiac’.” 
 ‘Indeed,’ sniggered the beast (covering its fangs with taloned fingers, no doubt),  ‘All 
good men, and true.  Their black specters will overcast the end of human time, though their 
names can never be known.’ 
 “Still,” hedged Kendrick, turning to his side and rolling into a fetal curl, “Most are 
caught.  They caught Ted Bundy…  John Wayne Gacy…  Jeffery Dahmer...  Ed Gein…” 
 The beast scoffed angrily.  ‘That last one was not of our kind.  He was simply disturbed.’  
Then it sighed wistfully, and washed across the floor in a cold gush, until its presence thinly 
rimmed the room with the baseboards.  ‘The others…’ it hedged in a stretched whisper, ‘Wanted 
to get caught.’ 
 “Why.” wondered Kendrick. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
16
 ‘Because,’ insisted the demon, ‘They must be known to be properly remembered, child.  
They were of our kind, after all,’ it teased.  ‘Do you understand.’ 
 “I don’t want to understand!” shouted Kendrick suddenly, his body jerking spasmodically 
with the words.  “And I don’t want to get caught!” 
 His monster stewed with the silence, and bubbled with the second hand of the clock on 
his wall.  In a swirling drain, it circled the room, slowly at first, then faster, faster, faster.  Soon it 
was a cyclone of darkness that spun about his bed and washed his walls blackly. 
 ‘Yes,’ insisted the monster, ‘You do.’ 
 “NO!” raged Kendrick, clutching his head within his arms, “I don’t!  And I don’t want to 
do it again!  Never again!” 
 These words brought the beast to a sudden halt.  With a flurry of silent contrast, it settled 
into a wad in one corner of his ceiling.  There, it stared down at him, its eyes crimson and 
unfathomable, its face pinched into bizarre and unobvious highlights. 
 ‘But you will.  You will.’ 
 Kendrick quivered and sobbed silently.  Teeth painfully clenched and eyes smashed 
tightly shut, he screamed into the muffle of his breast and thrashed his head.  “No!  No!  No!  I 
won’t!  You can’t make me!” 
 Outside his window, the sun turned across the sky, and its yellow glow rolled across his 
shades, causing the shadows to slither across his floors.  Eventually, after the sullen beast had 
fallen still and quiet, Kendrick slept to dream of cold, crushing depths that swam with countless 
pale corpses… his own among them. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
17

 

 

 
 
A Mysteriously Shaped Thing 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
18
-|- 

He watched her blue-gray image move among the aisles.  She was shapely.  Young.  He 
noticed a tattoo on her left shoulder exposed by the drooping collar of her sweater.  Though the 
monitor corrupted color, he guessed she would be blonde.  She wore her hair cropped short.  Her 
lips were dark on her pale face.  She painted them heavily, as she did her eyes. 
When she moved off-frame, he thumbed a toggle, and the camera followed.  From the 
elbow of her rail thin right arm, a large, gaping shopping bag dangled. 
It was empty, when she came in.  Now it was full. 
“How is she going to clear the tags.” he wondered aloud to himself, as he was alone.  
The security booth was empty.  It was Tuesday, ten in the morning.  Business was slow.  Since 
she had stopped to examine a circular rack of designer dresses, he sat back in his chair, which 
creaked and protested shrilly.  He laced his fingers behind his head.  “She must see them!”  Yet, 
he had already watched her drop a dozen pricey garments into her hold, without even attempting 
to remove the telltale devices.  “Maybe she’s just a dumb bitch.” 
Then he noticed something strange about her right hand.  He leaned forward again and 
peered into the flickering monitor intently.  He zoomed its focus.  She wore a pair of elastic 
loops over her index and middle fingers.  Concealed in her palm, he saw what could only be a 
cut down decoder, which she passed over the tags with fluid, easy movements, as she pretended 
to finger the material or check the cut of the clothing.  Once she had cleared half a dozen articles, 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
19
she simply scooped them into her fist by their hangers, and thrust them into her bag, as she 
passed around to the far side of the rack. 
He smiled.  She was smooth.  That sweet, innocent face helped, no doubt. 
He stood, and hurried to the door of the booth, when she seemed intent on heading for the 
department store’s exits.  After a quick jog through the dimly lit and most secret areas of the 
huge building, he arrived at the south doors, just as she passed through the security gates. 
She noticed his breathless entrance from the corners of her eyes, but she played it cool.  
He was impressed, as he hurried to catch her. 
Once she was safely through the inner doors of the exit, she dropped her bag, and dashed 
through an outer door.  From there, she turned sharply right, and ran for the landscaping that 
lined the outer edge of the expansive parking lot. 
She was fast.  Long legs and a girlish frame made running easy for her. 
Bursting through the glass doors, he hurried to catch her, his boots heavy on his feet.  She 
wove through the few cars in the lot like a canny animal gone to ground.  She ducked low, and 
disappeared for a time. 
He only ran faster.  He knew where she was going.  He circled around the little knot of 
vehicles in time to see her dart out of a far row, bound, as he had guessed she would be, for the 
far side of the lot.  Her face clouded and bunched when she saw him.  She was worried a bit now, 
but not afraid. 
The shoplifter ran faster.  He chased after her. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
20
By the time she achieved the far side of the lot, she had gained twenty yards on him.  She 
knew a high privacy fence circled the lot, so she would need the distance. 
Without pausing or breaking stride, she leapt against the wall, extending her right foot 
and both her arms.  Her hands caught the upper edge of the eight foot barricade, and her 
momentum helped her heave her weight up and over with a nimble jerk. 
Though less agile and graceful, the security officer’s strong arms flung him over the top 
after her.  This side of the wall concealed a narrow strip of undeveloped land, which was 
overgrown with weeds and low, scrubby trees.  He knew its trails and paths well, having chased 
many thieves back here.  Accordingly, he had chosen not to follow the girl directly.  Rather, he 
jumped the wall fifty yards away from her, hoping to catch her where he thought she might be. 
His anticipation proved accurate, when he dashed onto a dirt trail framed by chest-high 
foliage, only to collide with her.  His superior mass forced her off her feet, into the weeds.  They 
wrestled about.  She squealed with frustration, but refused to scream or cry. 
Finally, he seated himself atop her chest, and pinned her arms with his knees.  Her head 
thrashed between his legs for a few seconds, before she fell still. 
The thief glared at him defiantly, her cheeks flushed, her face pinched.  She gritted her 
teeth, and blew her breath through tightly pursed lips.  After a moment’s rest, she began rolling 
her hips and kicking her legs to buck him off.  He only sat back a bit further on her stomach, 
pressing her flat. 
Their eyes locked, they gasped for air and said nothing for a time.  When he caught his 
breath, he used his free hands to slowly slide the zipper of his trousers down to her chin. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
21
Her stare sparkled meanly.  She opened her mouth.  She stuck out her tongue. 
Breathless, once more, he hastened to extract his member from the flap of his boxer-style 
underwear.  Then he seemed to have a second thought.  His back straightened, and he leaned 
back. 
“How do I know you won’t bite it.” he asked. 
She could see up his bristling nares.  Retracting her tongue with a wet, pleasurable sound, 
she growled, “You don’t.”  She smiled carnally.  Her teeth were white and perfectly even. 
“But you won’t.”  It was a statement.  It was a question. 
“That depends.”  He felt her legs cross behind him, as she coyly attempted to make 
herself as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances.  “What’s in it for me.” 
He shrugged.  “Do a good job, and I’ll leave your bag behind the dumpsters tonight.  You 
can come back to get it, so the day won’t be a total waste.” 
 It was her turn to be suspicious.  “How do I know you won’t be waiting for me.” 
A mirror of her own smile spread across his face.  “You don’t.” 
She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, again.  This time, he was quick to lean 
forward and take his bribe. 
Finished with embarrassing suddenness, they rose and dusted the leaves from their 
clothing.  The knees of his slacks were filthy, as were her hips and shoulders. 
Panting softly, he swayed back and forth, refastening his zipper.  She dragged the back of 
her hand across her chin, and spat to one side. 
“Pig!” she hissed. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
22
Glutted, he returned, “Whore.” 
She pouted, and stumbled back to the trail to sit upon a discarded lump of reinforced 
concrete.  Scratches tracked her legs.  A tiny rivulet of blood ran from her right knee.  She 
soaked up the color of it with a thumb, and sniffled. 
He realized she was crying.  “Hey,” he drawled defensively, “You asked for it.  You put 
yourself into this position.”  He tried to grin lecherously, but failed miserably.  “It couldn’t have 
been so bad, after all.  Was it.” 
Her shoulders heaved once, twice, three times, then fell still.  She pinched her nostrils 
delicately, and squeezed tears from the corners of her eyes.  Miraculously, her mascara returned 
to mint condition. 
 “No, it was okay.  It was better than going to jail, anyway.”  She sniffled, and raised her 
face.  “Really.  Thanks.  Daddy would have been disappointed.” 
He relaxed a bit.  “Daddy.  Your father.  Or your sugar-daddy.” 
Now she chuckled around a last, wrenching sob.  Her eyes were bright with tears again.  
A cooling sense of dampness at her throat caused her to wipe at it reflexively, and her fingers 
came away sticky and thick with his moisture. 
“No, I mean my father.” 
“Good,” he sighed with exaggeration, “’Cause I was going to say he can’t be MUCH of a 
sugar-daddy, if you have to steal.” 
She shook her head, and pressed her mascara back into place, again.  “I don’t have to 
steal.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
23
“Then why do it.” 
“I don’t know.”  She shrugged and raised her hands, palms up, as though yearning for a 
heavenly defecation.  “Just… because.” 
“Oh, I see,” he returned, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.  “You get a thrill out of 
it.” 
“I guess.” 
“Ever been caught, before.” 
“Once or twice.” 
“Does anybody ever press charges.” 
She smiled slyly, and her tears were gone.  “Once.” 
He smiled, too.  “It must have been a shriveled up old man.” 
She giggled politely, and stood to leave.  “Thanks again.  I think.” 
 “Hey, thank YOU!” he made double guns of his thumbs and forefingers, and he shot her 
with imaginary BANG! BANG!’s and a pair of winks.  “What’s your name, anyway.” 
Over her shoulder, she tossed, “Call me Daphne.  And yours.” 
“Michael.  Call me Mike.” 
“’Bye, Mike.”  Without turning, she flapped her fingers over her shoulder, the one with 
the tattoo.  He noticed it was of a single, red capital letter ‘A’. 
“Oh, Daphne!” he called, as she hurried to get out of sight.  “Give me a couple of minutes 
before you leave!”  She was gone.  “We have to make it look like you got away!” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
24
She made no reply.  He cast about for any evidence of their tryst, even as he began 
brewing up a good story.  Adding embellishment to the tale he would tell, he dashed his knee 
against the rough, fractured surface of a bit of cast off concrete.  Once he had a visible tear in the 
fabric, and it had spotted with blood, he turned to walk around the outside of the fence, toward 
the store.  As he walked, he practiced his limp. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
25
-|- 

 Destiny was a mysteriously shaped thing, Mike decided.  He loitered near the store’s 
employee exit to examine departing employees for contraband, while he pondered the nature of 
fate. 
 For fate had delivered her to him.  He smiled. 
 An overweight clerk from the perfume department bustled past, reeking of her wares, and 
apparently thought he intended the smile for her.  “G’night, Mike!” she offered perkily.  Her 
heavily painted face cracked with a strained and false smile.  A large shopping bag dangled from 
the crook of her arm. 
 Her greeting snapped him out of his daydream, and he stood straighter.  Instinctively, his 
eyes sought the package, and noticed a large sweater inside it, obviously hers, since it bore her 
store nametag.  What was underneath the sweater.  Leaning closer, he saw the glint of a half 
dozen oddly shaped bottles.  He thought it was probably the most expensive stuff the store sold.  
Judging by the stink of her, she bathed in it. 
 When she noticed his scrutiny, she fidgeted a bit, and glanced longingly toward the exit.  
She licked her lips like a dog that knew it was about to get a beating. 
 Mike smiled, and waved her away.  “G’Night, Mary.  Sleep tight!”  She nodded, jowls 
jiggling, and he thought she was good for something, after all, as her lips were full and pouting.  

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
26
He delighted in the way her huge ass bounced around inside her too-tight skirt, when she turned 
to hurry home.  “And, Mary.” 
 She stopped, shoulders hunched.  Without turning, she asked, “Yes, Mike.” 
 “You owe me one, okay.  A big one.  You got it.” 
 “S-sure, Mike.  Whatever you say.” 
 As she stomped away on her great, thick legs, the security guard called, “I’ll come see 
you during your break, tomorrow.  You’re not busy, are you.” 
 “No, Mike.  I have no plans.”  Her voice betrayed her defeat.  He owned her now, and she 
knew it.  “See ya.” 
 “You certainly will!”  He laughed. 
 Then he went back to dreaming of her.  After reliving the moment, once more, he 
glanced at his watch, which told him the time was ten-thirty.  Closing time. 
 Destiny, he thought, crossing his powerful arms across his barrel chest, is a double shift.  
Ordinarily, working two back-to-back eight hour shifts would be cause for much cursing, but not 
tonight.  Tonight, extended duty meant he would be on site and in uniform, when she returned 
for her package.  At least, he hoped she would return for her package. 
 When the last hourly employee left the store, and only management personnel remained 
to count out their tills, Mike closed and locked the exit, and hurried back to the security booth.  A 
quick survey of the cameras told him the store was empty.  He switched on the external angles, 
and examined the parking lot.  Save for a lone car sitting on the far side of the lot, the asphalt 
was barren.  By force of habit, he zoomed in on the straggler, when he noticed how it rocked 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
27
gently on its springs.  A close-up revealed the presence of two people sitting in the car’s front 
seats.  One stretched across the lap of the other, head bobbing up and down. 
 “Nice,” he breathed.  Ordinarily, he might have had a seat to watch.  Tonight, however, 
he had other, more pressing business to tend.  He switched to the camera angles that watched 
over the store dumpsters.  Panning the lens back and forth, he searched for her vainly. 
 “No sweat,” he sighed, straightening, “No worries.  It’s early, yet.” 
 Realizing he might be a while, he drew up a rickety chair, and sat in it.  Once he had 
switched on and arranged the camera angles to fully examine the trash storage area, he sat back 
to lock his fingers behind his head and patiently wait. 
 One by one, he watched the store’s management personnel walk to their cars and drive 
away.  By eleven fifteen, he was alone. 
 He waited diligently, scarcely blinking.  The closed circuit monitors shone with a 
monotonous, unchanging light.  Bored, Mike stretched his legs to prop his feet on the console.  
His eyelids fluttered, and he jerked them open. 
 Movement at the far side of the lot caught his attention.  A slight, wispy shadow 
separated from the landscaping, and then oozed across the pavement.  Sitting straighter, heart 
racing and all thought of sleep dispelled, he zoomed the view.  It was her! 
 He jumped up and ran for the door.  In his haste, he stumbled over a large plastic garment 
display that somebody had left in the way.  Cursing blackly, he dragged himself off the floor, and 
hobbled through darkened bowels of the store. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
28
 The fastest way to get to the dumpsters from inside the store was via the loading dock 
around back, so he went there.  Before he turned the catch on the dock’s exit door, he peered 
through its narrow, reinforced window to be certain she was nowhere nearby.  Then he slid his 
ID card through the lock, and pushed the door open gently, slowly, quietly. 
 Once he eased the heavy steel door shut, again, he crept along the wall, careful to keep to 
the shadows, until he was opposite one of the wide ramps, which led down to street level.  There 
he waited for the sound of the gates that enclosed the dumpsters. 
 When he heard the noise, he paused a moment longer to give her time to make her way 
inside the containment, then he dashed down the ramp, and around the corner.  There, he found 
the gates slightly ajar, as he knew he would.  He went to the shaded gap, and he pressed silently 
through.  He knew she would hear him pull them together, again, but he was past caring, by then. 
 Their un-greased hinges screamed awfully, when he tugged them shut behind him, and 
the slam of their latches was a sound of gongs.  He heard her footsteps on the gravel. 
 “Is it you.” she whispered fiercely.  “Michael.” 
 He said nothing.  Her fear must be exquisite, by now, he thought, gloating to think he was 
the cause of it.  The crunch of her footsteps betrayed her movement, as she inched around to the 
edge of one stained and reeking garbage container.  Mike stood silhouetted by the lamplight 
streaming through the gates closed at his back.  His face remained hidden in heavy shadow. 
 “It is you,” she stated, yet concealed behind the huge bin.  “Isn’t it.” she added, 
uncertain. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
29
 Grinning wickedly, he terrified her with a half dozen slow, heavy, gravel-crunching 
footsteps.  He thought he heard her panicked panting over the sounds of his heavy boots.  He 
stopped at the corner of the dumpster, and imagined he could hear the throbbing of her heart.  Or, 
perhaps, it was the sounds of his own racing pulse that he heard. 
 “Michael.” she whispered softly. 
 Without warning, he sprang around the corner of the dumpster.  She squealed, and 
jumped backward.  He grabbed her, as she struggled to tear away from his clutches.  Now she 
swung something toward his head.  Mike gripped her wrist at the zenith of its arc, and whipped 
her arm down and toward him.  At the same time, he spun her lithe body with his other grip, 
before he pinned her wrist between her shoulder blades.  She dropped a short, metallic club, 
which clattered across the pavement. 
 Daphne continued the struggle, so he twisted her wrist higher up along her spine.  She 
screamed painfully, and tried to rise off the ground with the movement. 
 When he twisted it a second time, she fell still.  He let her down a bit, and groped her 
heavy breasts with his left hand.  Her bra was made of soft, flimsy material, and was the kind 
that women wore when they wanted their nipples to show through their blouse.  He pushed it up, 
freeing her tender mounds with a double drop that was heaven in flesh.  As he pinched and 
twisted her nipples, he buried his face in the gentle, warm curve of her neck, and he sucked her 
there, sometimes inserting his tongue into her ear. 
 She panted with passion, now, but the fear lingered like a sexual afterglow.  Though she 
responded to his advances, he refused to release his cruel grip. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
30
 Instead, he held it, and dropped his left hand to clutch the waist of her blue jeans.  
Expertly, he fingered the top button open with a snap of his thumb and forefinger.  When the 
zipper balked, she held her pockets, while he unfastened it with a single, fluid rip.  Now he thrust 
his hand inside the soft, glistening material of her panties, and he sought for her hot wetness. 
 She moaned and bucked against him, but he would not let go her arm.  The pain of it 
mingled with the pleasure of his jerking fingers, and was delicious.  She ground her hips against 
him. 
 He pushed her up against the interior face of the retaining wall that surrounded the 
dumpsters.  Now he placed her hands, palms flat, against it.  He pulled her hips back, and kicked 
her feet wide, so she was left standing in the classic arrest pose, ready to be frisked. 
 Which action he completed slowly and luxuriously, his big, rough hands and fingers 
exploring her in every way.  Soon, he had her pants down around her ankles.  He flipped one of 
her sneakers off, and dragged one leg through the cuff.  Her buttocks lingered tantalizingly near 
his face, as he undressed her lower extremities.  Still covered in the thin fabric of her panties, he 
bit her there softly.  She squealed delight, and he bit her again and again. 
 He forced her legs wider, and he thrust his head through her thighs, turning to face her 
between her legs.  He bit her there, too.  How her breasts dangled above him!  They were 
exquisite, with perfect round, cherry areolas and large, pricked nipples.  He pinched and rolled 
these with one hand, while he used the other to pull the crotch of her underwear aside. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
31
 Now he could get to the meat of her, and he licked and nibbled her there.  The taste and 
smell and sight and sound of her womanhood thrilled him deliriously, and he felt a sexual frenzy 
rising from the burning depths of his loins. 
 She responded to his attentions by raising her left foot to hook it into a seam in the wall, 
splaying her legs wider to give him freer access to herself.  He rose up to get at it completely, 
now, and worked her to a bucking, moaning, quivering orgasm with his tongue. 
 When she was spent, trembling, he slid from underneath her and stood behind her.  She 
started to let her left foot down, but he gripped her thigh savagely, desirously, and lifted it back 
into place.  He struggled his pants down around his knees, and his member sprang erect from the 
gaped slit of his boxer shorts. 
 Gripping her hip with his left hand, he used his right to smear himself around in her 
running dampness, before the thrust completely inside her with a single, primordial movement.  
She squealed at the first penetration, and began grinding against him as he worked back and forth 
behind her, his body a hard machine. 
 Harder and deeper and faster he thrust into her, until the world exploded around him in a 
brilliant flash of noiseless light.  He felt his bowels loosen, and a stream of drool escaped the 
corner of his lips.  For a time, he was powerless to control himself, and he feared he might die. 
 Then it was finished, and he pulled out of her, dripping, gasping, quivering.  Licking his 
lips and wiping his chin, he carefully pulled his trousers up and over his tender, swollen 
manhood, and leaned heavily against the dumpster behind him to fasten them, once more. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
32
 She let her leg down, and wiped at herself with her hands, smoothing away his moisture 
as best she could.  Then she straightened the thong of her panties, and inserted her foot into the 
leg of her jeans, pulling them up to her trim tummy. 
 Her large, round breasts hung beneath her, as she stooped to pull on her sneaker.  When 
she rose, she quickly reseated her bra and her t-shirt with an expert jerk of her thumbs.  Her eyes 
were glazed and glassy, her lips moist.  She breathed heavily with the fading influence of intense 
passion.  She straightened her hair and her face. 
 “I love a man in uniform,” she gasped.  “My God, Michael, is that thing for real.” 
 He nodded, sucking wind greedily.  His body glowed ember red and burned flame hot. 
 “Wow,” she offered, impressed.  “I thought you were using your flashlight on me!” 
 He grinned, and watched her retrieve her bag full of loot.  She opened it to glance inside, 
and noted that he had left everything as he had found it.  Daphne smiled, “Thanks.”  Then she 
went to the gates, which she unlatched with a bit of effort.  Before she pushed them wide, she 
turned to face him and whisper fiercely, “Pig.” 
 Mike smiled broadly.  “Whore.” 
 Then she was gone.  Despite the stench, he lingered near the dumpsters, until the bulge 
inside his britches was less than noticeable, before he returned to the store to lock up for the 
evening. 
 He whistled, as he worked.  And he wondered if she would ever be back again… 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
33

 

 

 
 
The One Percent Man 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
34
-|- 

"I must have traveled ten thousand miles in the last year or so, and I just keep gettin' 
deeper and deeper with every step."  The old man eyed the road suspiciously, as though it were a 
rabid dog and might suddenly turn on him.  He scratched his unkempt beard and repeated, 
"Deeper and deeper." 
Obligingly, Simian asked, "Deeper into what." 
"Oblivion, son.  It's the only thing out here, you know."  A sleek, new automobile roared 
past, its motor a mere whisper despite the brutal acoustics of the bridge.  Its tires made smacking 
noises as they rolled through puddles of rain.  "You and me, we live on the other side of the 
window… on the other side of the door.  For us, there is only this, and this is oblivion." 
"What are you, old man.  Some kind of poet, or something."  Simian realized he was 
trapped beneath the rampart for the duration of the storm, and only this old road dog for 
company.  At least the geezer didn't stink.  Much. 
"Me.  A Poet."  The old man cackled rancorously.  "Well, yeah, maybe I am.  Least 
ways, I know a thing or two, and ain't much afraid of tellin' people about what I know.  That's 
why I'm tellin' you now; there's nothing on the outside but more outside.  And endless outside is 
oblivion.  Sheer, unforgiving, merciless oblivion." 
"That right."  Simian sighed, resigning himself to the old fart's apparently ceaseless 
rambling. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
35
With a groan of relief, he shrugged out of a heavy green backpack that had the logo of the 
National Forestry Service emblazoned on it.  This he eased to the ground at his feet, arranging it 
so it wouldn't roll down the steep embankment and onto the highway below.  Another car roared 
through the span, spraying filthy water in its wake like a ski boat.  Where the bridge met the top 
of the embankment, a convenient concrete ledge provided an excellent bench.  The old man was 
already sitting there, and had arranged a small, makeshift stove alongside him, next to his bedroll 
and carryall.  The stove was nothing more than a large coffee-can with a handful of sticks 
burning inside.  Atop the flame sat an ample tin cup, supported by a little grill made of twisted 
wires. 
   Noticing Simian's interest in the steaming arrangement, the vagrant chuckled.  "Go ahead, 
help yourself and have a seat.  Just made myself a little instant coffee is all.  Do you have a cup." 
Of course he did.  Simian removed the top of his canteen, and proffered it gratefully to 
receive the thick, aromatic liquid.  Cradling his big hands around the metal vessel to draw its 
warmth into his palms, the younger tramp took a seat adjacent to his much older peer, and began 
blowing cautiously across the surface of the coffee. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
36
"Now, like I was saying," began the old fart once more, reclining more comfortably 
against the concrete abutment, "I must've traveled ten thousand miles in the last year.  And 
maybe I done more than one MILLION since I first hit the road half a century back.  That's how 
I know so much about oblivion.  What I mean is, more than once I've stood in a crowd, 
surrounded by hundreds an' hundreds of people all swirling past, and been invisible.  Invisible, 
know what I mean." 
"Sure, old man.  I know what you mean.  People are stepping on or over street trash like 
you and me all the time.  So what.  They just don't want to see.  That's all." 
"No, that's not all.  Not all, by any dip of the stick.  You're young, still.  How long can 
you have been on the road.  One.  Two years.  Wait 'til you're fifty seasons on the pavement, 
and stumbling on. 
"It's not just that people don't want to see..." the old man's gravelly voice fell silent a 
moment, as he paused to sip from his own mug of warmth,  "...they CAN'T see.  Any more than 
you can see a ghost.  It's the oblivion of nowhere that eats into you until you're nothing.  With 
every step, you just mire yourself deeper and deeper.  And it don't take long before you're too 
far-gone to get back.  The point of no return is just about as far down the road as your first night 
sleeping beneath a bridge like this.  After that, trying to get back is like a man trying to struggle 
free of quicksand.  Do you see what I mean.  You just keep gettin' deeper and deeper with every 
step." 
Simian judiciously eyed his bedraggled companion above the metallic rim of his canteen 
cup.  "It can't be that bad.  I've been on the streets about eighteen months, but I'm only working 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
37
my way across country, seeing the sights and all.  This is like an extended vacation for me.  Next 
year, I'll get back to the university and finish my degree.  Next year, or maybe the year after." 
The old timer grumbled rheumatically from deep in his chest.  After a second or so, 
Simian realized it was the geezer's version of laughter.  It ended with a fit of ragged coughing.  
To finish it all, he snorted, and spat a thick, lumpy wad of mucous into the rainfall beyond the 
shelter of the bridge. 
"See what I mean.  You're too far gone already, prob'ly." 
"No, I'm not."  The younger man tried not to sound petulant or irritated, but he was and it 
showed.  "I can get back into the real world any time I want." 
"Oh yeah.  Well, then let's just see you march yourself down to that shoulder and flag a 
ride.  If you're living in the real world, those people in their shiny, dry cars will see you as a 
poor, stranded soul, worthy of assistance.  Somebody will stop before long to give you a hand."  
When Simian wrinkled his face skeptically, the old man smiled brokenly, his teeth stained or 
missing.  "See.  You know better.  The only thing you'd get down there is wet. 
"It's the oblivion.  It's eaten you down to nothing from the inside out.  You're like a 
doughnut with a great big hole in the middle, and they just see right through.  And the farther 
you get down the road, the bigger that hole gets.  Bigger and bigger, wider and wider, emptier 
and emptier, until you're ninety nine percent nothing and just about one percent man." 
Simian's coffee was gone by now.  It had cooled quickly in the storm-chilled air, and he 
drank it in a long, gargling gulp.  Wistfully, he longed for more, and thought of the two hot 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
38
cocoa packs he had in his bag.  Then he decided, no, he had better save them for dinner.  It 
would be cold and wet tonight.  He would need something warm. 
Lying back against the concrete, the younger man stowed his cup away and cinched his 
collar tighter under his chin, buttoning the top button of his shirt.  Maybe he could doze off until 
the weather cleared. 
The old man was having none of that.  "My name's Joe.  Joe Mercer.  What do you call 
yourself, son." 
"Simian.  And I'm not your son." 
Joe flinched, as though fearing the younger man might accompany his rebuke with a 
sharp elbow in the ribs.  "Alright, alright.  Don't take no offense."  Joe finished his brew, then put 
his own cup away, stuffing it into his dinghy carryall.  With a grunt, he thumbed the hot coffee 
can, then gripped it between his two gloved palms, shifting it so it lay between himself and his 
new friend.  The tiny fire didn't provide much warmth, but it was something, at least.  Simian 
nodded his thanks.  Changing the subject, Joe added thoughtfully, "Simian.  That's a right smart 
name.  Seems like I've heard it somewhere before." 
"You probably have.  My mother named me after San Simian." 
"Oh!  Right!  That huge palace what's his name built." 
"Randolph Hearst." 
Joe frowned disapprovingly.  "You say that like you're ashamed of it.  But it's a right 
smart name your mamma gave you.  'Simian'," he repeated grandly, rolling the syllables 
theatrically from his tongue, "Almost like a king's name, or something." 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
39
"Yeah.  Maybe.  All I know is, my mother was a crack-head and a prostitute, and that the 
word 'simian' means 'apelike'."  Simian sighed, the old burden of his past weighing on his 
shoulders.  For a moment, just a mad, apocalyptic moment, the old man was right, and Simian 
was invisible.  "So 'San Simian', roughly translated, means 'Saint Apelike'.  What's so smart 
about a name like that." 
"Well, it sounds to me like a man would have to be pretty damned smart just to figure all 
that out for himself.  And if your mamma was as bad as you say, how'd you get to college, any 
how." 
"They took me away from my mom when I was ten.  Nobody wanted me, not even the 
foster parents they were always trying to pawn me off on, so finally they sent me to this Catholic 
school until I was eighteen.  I earned academic credits from the university while I was there, and 
afterward they sponsored me for a scholarship." 
"Why'd you drop out." 
"The money dried up.  My head dried up.  I can't really remember which came first." 
"So you hit the road."  Joe almost whispered this last, his tone ominous and foreboding.  
"It sounds like oblivion's been the greater part of your soul for a long, long time." 
"What's with you and this 'oblivion' shit, old man.  You sound like some kind of 
preacher, or something." 
"First a poet, now a preacher.  You'll have me wearing more hats than the mayor of a one 
horse town, before long."  Joe belched, and squinted into the cab of a passing tractor-trailer rig.  
"But I guess maybe you could get tired of hearing what I have to say, if you were the kind that 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
40
couldn't understand.  Only I got a feeling about you, Simian, you being a college boy and all.  I 
think you, more than most, might be able to share my insights, perhaps learn from my words. 
"What's more, I think you know more about the kind of oblivion I'm talking about than 
you let on."  Now the old vagabond's tone turned steely cold.  The inflections and debilitations of 
age disappeared from the rasps his voice had been, for now he spoke with clarity and a surprising 
strength.  So much so that Simian cast a furtive, half-frightened glance in the old man's direction.  
"The kind of oblivion I'm talking about is only visible to the invisible, men like you and me. 
"I've seen it take the form of an argument over half a pint of whiskey, and snatch a man's 
life at the point of a jackknife, like a bubble popping on the point of a pin.  I've seen oblivion for 
what it truly is; that darkness within the uncaring eye, and seen it multiplied five million times 
over.  And I can see it where it's eating away at you.  There," the old man stabbed a finger into 
the center of Simian's chest, "Within your heart.  It's like an acorn sewn into a fresh, rich soil.  
Only this acorn won't sprout an oak tree.  From its meaty flesh will come a mouth of nothing, 
and it will eat of your meaty flesh, as it has eaten of mine, until you are the oblivion I am.  Until 
you stand in the crowd without being seen.  Until you're invisible." 
Simian grunted derisively when the old man fell silent, "So what.  All that's only so 
much shit outta your bunghole, old man.  It don't mean nothing to me." 
"No."  Joe scratched at his grizzled beard, digging out a gritty piece of something to roll 
between his grimy thumb and forefinger.  As if cued by his question, the thunderheads above 
darkened, and simultaneously let out a sheet of lightning that lit the eaves of the overpass like a 
monstrous flashbulb.  Now the rain fell harder.  Its static noise complimented the old man's 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
41
rough voice, when he said,  "Then explain to me how you feel at night, just before you nod off to 
sleep.  Tell me what fills your mind. 
"If it's filled with anything other than the dark, merciless void, if it's filled with bright 
light and summer sunshine, then I'll back down and maybe amend myself.  If you can honestly 
say you've never felt that icy hand of nothingness grip your chest like a hand thrust up from the 
frigid depths of hell; if you've never experienced that hopeless pang of dread upon sighting down 
the endless length of whatever highway you happen to be traveling at the time; if oblivion isn't 
the focus of all your thoughts, the end of all your endeavors; if you have anything other than an 
empty feel for fate, then I am wrong and my speech is wasted." 
The rain fell in sheets, and smacked the ground with the sounds of a million hands 
slapping a million faces all at once.  Simian stared out from beneath his shelter, watched the cars 
and trucks swish by, watched water tumbling from the sky, but said nothing.  What could he say.  
What was the point of lying.  Of telling the truth.  What was the point of talking, at all. 
"So, you see, oblivion is nightly at your door.  As a beast, it scratches and claws at your 
barricades, seeking a way in, and, as a frightened child, you cower in the corners of your hopes 
and dreams while you wish for release, knowing always that only death will come to save you."  
The old vagabond smiled an odd, predatory smile.  "Ironically, it will be a death named oblivion 
that comes for you, Simian, and the very thing you fear will become your salvation." 
Simian was suddenly angry.  His face flushed, he formed his hands into fists and stood 
abruptly.  "Why don't you shut up about oblivion, already.  I don't want to hurt you, old man, but 
I've had about enough of your bullshit." 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
42
"Alright, alright," placated Joe, his heavily scarred and age spotted hands raised either in 
defense or supplication, "Don't get your britches in a bind.  Maybe you'll have a smoke with me, 
and we'll talk about something else."  When the younger man didn't seem anxious to accept the 
offer, Joe added, reaching for a pack of Marlboros, "Aw, look, kid.  Don't take nothin' old Joe 
says dime for dime.  What am I.  Nothing.  How much can my words really mean, after all." 
Still, Simian wasn't happy.  If meaning was a measure of truth, then Old Joe's words 
meant quite a bit.  Once spoken, they were impossible to erase, and left Simian with a bitter taste 
in his mouth, a sick feeling in his gut, a lingering sense of hatred that knew neither direction nor 
meaning, that was a manifestation of his own confused fears and frustrations.  It was a hatred 
that found solace in the old man's face, for there, at least, it could see itself.  Because there, in the 
old man's cataract eyesight, was another hatred glaring back, a mirror image of the anger in 
Simian's own eyes.  The younger man took a step forward, his beast barely restrained, his fists 
clenched whitely.  While the older shook a cancer stick loose from his box pack of cigarettes, 
proffering the butts to Simian like a pagan priest making sacrifice to a god. 
Simian took another step forward, so he towered over the old man.  Then his right hand 
slashed out to snatch one of the cigarettes from the pack.  Old Joe flinched, closing his eyes 
tightly, his hand trembling where it held the Marlboros suspended in the air.  When the expected 
blow didn't come, however, he allowed his arm to fall, and his eyelids to flutter slightly open. 
Simian had already retaken his seat, and was searching through his clothing for a light.  
Old Joe sighed with relief, and chose a smoke for himself. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
43
A safety match soon had their fags lit, despite the wind, and both the old man and the boy 
reclined once more against the concrete abutment to enjoy their fragrant death together.  To 
break the silence, Joe stated simply, "I sure thought you were going to bust me one back there, 
kid." 
"I was." 
"What stopped you." 
"You.  Flinching."  Simian smiled sadistically, and laughed a short, bursting laughter.  
"That was good enough, I guess.  Besides," he finished, dragging gratefully on his cigarette, "I 
wanted a smoke more than I wanted to break your nose." 
"Well, that's some kind of reason, at least."  Joe coughed lightly, and spat a bit of tobacco 
from the tip of his tongue.  "I'm glad you didn't.  This old nose of mine's been broken more times 
than I care to remember, but that don't mean I enjoy it." 
"Look, I'm sorry for messing with you.  I wouldn't have really hit you, Joe."  Simian 
grinned boyishly.  "And thanks for the smoke, by the way." 
"That's okay."  To change the subject, hoping it wasn't something else the boy was 
sensitive about, Joe asked, "What about your pappy, Simian.  Did you ever know him." 
"No."  Simian inhaled and exhaled blue smoke slowly, luxuriously before he went on.  "I 
doubt my mother even knows who he was.  Maybe he was you, Joe."  Simian laughed around his 
butt before he inhaled again.  The younger man didn't even bother to remove the cigarette from 
his mouth as he spoke, instead let it dangle jauntily from his lips to bounce up and down with 
every word.  "Where were you August of 1968.  Anywhere near Seattle.  No.  Too bad." 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
44
"Why too bad."  Joe coughed again. 
The rain eased up a bit, but didn't stop falling.  Cars and trucks swished through the 
overpass. 
"If you were my father, it would account for what I am.  I'd be just a chip off the old 
block, you know." 
Old Joe laughed cantankerously.  "Yeah.  A chip offa this old block.  Now there's 
something to think about!"  When he slapped his knee merrily, the long ash of Joe's cigarette 
shook loose.  "How many chips have I left behind, I wonder.  Back maybe twenty, thirty years 
ago, I was a kind of stud.  Didn't go nowhere, but I went there hard.  And ready for action.  More 
than one sultry wench I've bed in the empty hold of a rail car, let me tell you!  I used to could get 
'em moanin’ so they sounded like a fire siren!  They'd buck and squirm on my big one, but I 
wouldn't let 'em go until I'd had enough and juiced 'em good." 
Simian smiled pleasurably, and closed his eyes, trying to remember his last sexual 
endeavor.  He might as well be a virgin, or a eunuch, for all the desire that he felt. 
"Once," Joe sighed, his breath a plume of smoke, "I had a steady woman.  I even held a 
steady job to pay her keep.  I used to come home to a hot dinner and a hot bed every night."  
Now the old man frowned, and looked away, pretending to be interested in the rain, when all he 
was really interested in was hiding his shame.  "Then this one night, the last night I spent in the 
real world, I came home to a cold dinner, and a bed that was hotter than maybe I woulda liked." 
"She was sleeping around." 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
45
"You could say that.  There were three of them on her," Simian's eyes went wide, 
"Repairmen, they were, working on the wiring in the apartment building."  Old Joe laughed at 
his own expense.  "Hell, at first I thought they were attacking her, you know, there being so 
many of them at once.  So I grabbed the first guy, the one taking her from behind like a dog, by 
his hair and yanked him backward off the bed.  That really surprised him, I can tell you.  I heard 
his dick pop free of my woman's hole as he went flying past, then I suddenly realized I had a gun 
in my hand."  The old man took a last drag from the cigarette, coughed lightly, and, still looking 
away from Simian, flicked the butt into the rain, so it hissed and sizzled wetly as it died.  "It was 
an old forty-four I used to keep in a dresser next to the bedroom door, you know, for prowlers 
and such.  Anyway, it went off before the poor bastard could do much explaining, then all hell 
broke loose.  The other two squirmed out from beneath Sarah, and one started reaching for his 
clothes.  Well, I shot at him but missed, and that didn't much encourage the other one to hang 
around.  He jumped out the window stark naked, and broke his leg when he hit the ground.  We 
were two stories up, but I guess maybe he forgot in the rush. 
"So just this one guy was left, a scrawny little fellow with a scared face.  He was still 
trying to pull on his underwear, even as he was begging me not to shoot him.  I couldn't decide 
what to do next, whether to shoot him or not.  Now, mind you, this whole entire time Sarah was 
runnin' her foul mouth; telling me what a sucker I was, telling me how much she had been 
enjoying herself until I came along, telling me about how many afternoons she had spent in the 
apartment balling the neighbors, passerby, anybody else that she could get inside our bedroom 
door, even some of the women in the building.  I swear, that's what she said.  So instead of 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
46
shooting him, I turned that gun on Sarah and popped her one through the right eye.  Just like that, 
without thinking about it, without really wanting to, and without really knowing why I was 
pulling the trigger, even as I pulled it." 
Simian whistled appreciatively, and was suddenly glad he hadn't struck the old man.  
There was no telling what a crazy bastard like that might do if provoked.  Now the boy noticed 
his own cigarette had burned down to the filter and gone out, so he flung it at a car that rushed 
past, its driver oblivious to Simian's insignificant act of defiance. 
"After that, I put the gun to my own head and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.  
Three times I tried to shoot myself!"  Old Joe groaned beneath the oppressive weight of his 
memories, "But the damn thing wouldn't fire.  I figured it was God, or something, and left it at 
that." 
When the old man stopped speaking, and didn't act as though he might finish the tale, 
Simian asked, "So, what happened next.  Did the cops get you." 
"No.  Worse."  Joe abruptly turned away from the rain, and stuffed his meager belongings 
back inside his carry all.  "Oblivion got me."  Then he stood up, and shuffled off into the 
downpour beyond the shelter of the bridge. 
He didn't bother to wave good-bye, or cinch the collar of his ragged coat tighter about his 
neck.  He simply limped away into the gray day, and Simian never saw him again. 
The young man never forgot Old Joe, or the things he had said, however.  In fact, 
pondering the sheer face of oblivion became Simian's greatest obsession, and thoughts of its 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
47
cold, hard nature consumed him at night, every night thereafter, just before he nodded off to 
sleep... 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
48

 

 

 
 
“…Darkness Was Upon the Face Of the 
Deep…” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
49
-|- 

One moment asleep, perhaps dreaming, and the next, snapped awake and sitting bolt 
upright in bed, Phillip Ellister’s mouth opened in a silent scream.  His face doughy white in the 
darkness, he gasped and struggled to breathe for a moment, and paused his mortal endeavor only 
to run trembling fingers through matted, disheveled hair.  With an explosive sigh, it was gone, 
his last poisoned breath of nightly horror.  His lungs filled again with cool, pure wakefulness. 
The moon was a ghastly apparition to wage solo combat with the darkness.  It hung in the 
frame of his window and seemed to wail sorrow, beseech salvation, but no one could save the 
moon from the dark side of the planet.  No one could save him. 
His numb gaze found the face of the clock beside his bed.  The dial displayed “4:00 
AM”.  Hours remained before the dawn.  He shuddered and gagged emptily. 
God, he moaned silently, turning his eyes to the obscured heavens.  ‘God, help me.  God, 
please, just... just... help me.’ 
For a moment, he lingered, waiting for an answer.  No answer ever came. 
Save for God’s eternal promise…  the promise of one day, eventually, inevitably… the 
promise that it must come; the ultimate answer to all his fears.  This promise that was a thrill of 
his heart, a roll of his gut, a wrenching, paralyzing grip of his thoughts.  This promise, this 
sudden, awful realization that soon, all too soon, no matter his denial or his struggles, no matter 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
50
his care or carelessness, no matter his weeping or his rage, the end must come.  For life’s only 
surety was death, the ultimate nightfall. 
‘Oh, God,’ he blubbered within the still echoes of his own thoughts, ‘I don’t want to die.’ 
‘Yet everybody dies.  Everything fades.  The mountains.  The seas.  Even the sun must, 
one day soon, dim and extinguish.’ 
It was a cold, slight comfort.  A cool breeze, it clutched Phillip’s shoulders chummily and 
whispered into the shell of his ear. 
He heard his mother’s voice, perhaps, singing.  Or his father’s, more likely, cursing.  
Borne to him from the unimaginable depths of his memories, they were echoes and whispers to 
rattle about within his skull. 
At that moment, he rolled off the bed, and stumbled onto the freezing hardwood floor of 
his bedroom.  His arms thrashed about, in search of balance or in defense of his soul, perhaps.  
He found his feet.  Then he found a corner. 
The dead, he knew, could speak.  His father, passed these many years, often came in the 
night to scold him.  His mother, God rest her, was ever about the shadows and eves, singing 
brightly. 
The clock’s red, angry eyes glowed from the nightstand: “4:00 AM”.  He took a thick, 
full grip of his hair, his face a mask of rage and disgust and horror... and he screamed. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
51
-|- 

The hallway was long and broad.  To either side, doorways opened on great chambers 
filled from wall to wall with a hive of office cubicles and partitions.  About the hive, an 
infestation of humanity swarmed angrily. 
As Phillip Ellister walked the length of the passage to find his own cube among the 
comb, other worker bees parted the way before him.  It was a curious effect, but it was not an 
effect of conscious design.  His peers did not shrink, cowering in his presence.  It was never so 
obvious as that.  Rather, they simply allowed him more space than they allowed others of their 
kind.  He was an obstruction, to part the flowing stream of insects. 
No one spoke or nodded.  No one waved or wished him ‘Good morning,’ though they 
often did this with others that passed before and behind him. 
Phillip was not oblivious to the effect.  Many times, he reveled in it.  Many times, it was 
a silent fuel to feed his seething, angry soul, as it was now. 
A pool of darkness seemed to swell from his breast and from between his eyes.  His chest 
bulged with it.  He let is eyes fall full on the gaze of a petite woman passing on the right. 
She fought to avoid his attention.  A ream of documents fluttered in her grip, and she 
made a show of fussing with their care. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
52
A tall, lanky man followed close behind.  His eyes lingered upon the bouncing buttocks 
of the woman that carried the unruly reports.  Then he seemed to notice that black brow for the 
first time.  Their eyes met:  confusion…  fear…  and a sudden glance away. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
53
-|- 

Phillip’s desk was a mountain range of binders and folders and ancient, yellowed reports.  
Official fluorescent lighting struggled to penetrate the oppressive peaks of accounting reports 
and reconciliation reports, which heaped above his head and which dated from 1982.  He tossed 
his lunch into a corner of his ‘desk’ and collapsed into his protesting chair. 
His cube was the last cube in the farthest corner of the building.  It was dimly lit and 
cold.  Few worker bees ever had reason to wander this way.  He liked to think of it as the last 
stop in a long line of stops. 
He liked to think of it as the frontier.  Beyond this spot here, beyond this thin line, lies 
emptiness.  The wilderness.  An entire city of concrete and steel.  An ocean of stupid, thoughtless 
people.  A mess of shit. 
His phone rang.  He started and reached for it at once. 
“Engineering, we have a broken pipe down here in the basement.  It’s gonna flood if we 
don’t-” 
“I’m not with Engineering.” 
“-if we don’t get the god-damned valve shut off-” 
“I said I’m not with Engineering!” 
“-but damned if we can find the freaking thing.  We tried down by the main valve, but if 
we cut THAT off-” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
54
“Hey!” Phillip shouted.  “Didn’t you hear me.” 
“-then the whole freaking thing is gonna-” 
He slammed the handset down forcefully and fumed.  What an idiot. 
The phone rang again almost immediately.  Phillip snatched it up, again. 
“Say, what’s the matter with you.  We gotta broken pipe down here in the basement!” 
“Okay,” he answered calmly.  “What’s your name.”  He reached for a pencil. 
“What.” 
“Your name, what’s your name.” 
“Why the hell do you need my name.” 
“For the work order, you god-damned moron!” 
“Oh.  Okay.  Benny.” 
“Benny what.” 
“Benny freaking Wakowski.” 
He scribbled furiously on the paper.  “And where do you live.” 
“Huh.” 
“It’s the way I look you up in the computer.  Just give me your home address.” 
“Oh, uh...” and he patiently spelled it all out for the black brow. 
“Okay,” Phillip intoned officially.  “We’ll take care of it.” 
Then he hung up with his finger.  His burning eyes scanned a phone list pinned to the 
cubby wall beside his computer monitor.  He called engineering, and raged at the idiot that 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
55
answered the phone about a broken pipe in the basement and uneducated screw-ups that 
couldn’t do a fucking thing right! 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
56
-|- 

His nervous eyes turned to find the sun.  It sat on the river that split the city, so the 
rippled waters of the current seemed to withdraw into the burning light.  The earth moved where 
it was able to flee the coming darkness. 
Phillip shivered, and pulled the lapels of his coat tighter about his chin.  ‘Yeah.  It must 
be nice.’ 
He turned his dark eyes to the sky.  It was purple and fuchsia and gold and, off to the 
east, a looming shade of gray.  Stars twinkled there.  They were sage eyes that seemed to find 
mirth in his torture. 
A crumpled bit of paper fluttered from the stranglehold of his relentless grip.  Let’s see... 
he hummed mentally.  Let’s see how a moron lives… 
…Phillip’s footfalls fell soft on the pavement of the sidewalk.  He climbed the hill to the 
proper number on the street and walked past Benny’s front door.  It seemed pleasant enough.  A 
woman’s touch had undoubtedly fallen on the place.  Lacy, crafty things hung from the windows 
and adorned the door.  The small lawn was immaculate.  The house was painted and kept 
tastefully.  He walked to the end of the street, and turned to find the entrance to the alley that ran 
around back. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
57
He stood behind Benny’s wooden fence and peered through a knothole.  He saw a pool… 
and pool stuff… little wrought iron chairs and tables with umbrellas… and a slide.  Benny had a 
water slide in his backyard. 
Seething, Phillip’s breath burned his lungs.  A cheery light glowed through frilly curtains 
adorning a set of veranda doors.  Shadows moved among that light, which spoke of home life 
and good comfort.  He smelled freshly baked brownies and coffee.  He imagined Benny and his 
undoubtedly beautiful wife making it on the sofa after their kids were in bed.  He imagined 
Christmas beneath a big, bright tree and a mountain of gifts. 
He imagined them sleeping in the darkness, angels every one, their faces peaceful and 
happy… their dreams untroubled.  Then he was deeply, mortally angered.  ‘Why should this be.  
Was this fair.  Was this right.  Benny has so much, and I have so damned little!’ 
Phillip stuffed his hands into his pockets, and walked back to the end of the street.  He 
found a pay phone and made a call.  Then he returned to watch Benny’s front door. 
Minutes later, a car stopped at the curb.  A man climbed out with something in his hands. 
Phillip smelled the pizza from the shadows that concealed him.  Benny’s door opened at a 
knock.  A little girl stood there a moment, shaking her head.  She disappeared, and the door 
closed momentarily.  It opened again, and a well trimmed middle-aged women stood there in 
silhouette.  Finally, Benny was there, too.  They talked a moment, and shook their heads 
together. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
58
Benny walked the pizza deliveryman to the curb, apologizing.  Then he stood on the 
sidewalk and watched the kid drive away.  His cautious eyes searched the shadows, a papa bear 
that would sniff the wind for danger in defense of his home. 
The black brow faded away, brooding hatefully.... 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
59
-|- 

Complete darkness ruled the land, while the city fought its final solution with countless 
unsleeping orbs of light.  Phillip’s bus rolled from street lamp to street lamp, through an 
alternating pattern of shadow and illumination that threatened his sanity with endless advance 
and retreat. 
Sweat beaded upon his upper lip.  His fists gripped and released fiercely within the 
shredded pockets of his jacket.  Terror pinched his face. 
In a panic, he turned to search out comfort among his fellow passengers.  An old woman 
huddled on the front seat nearest the driver, while a large black man reclined at the center of the 
bus on one of the benches.  The former had her eyes strictly on the floor, while the latter seemed 
to be genuinely asleep. 
He stood and made his way to the front of the bus.  He sat opposite the old woman. 
She pretended not to notice, until he said, “I hate the night,” whereupon, she jumped. 
“I’ve always been afraid of the dark.” 
Her smile was wrinkled and weary, as were her eyes.  Carefully, she nodded, and 
returned her gaze to the dirty floor. 
“Some nights, I don’t sleep at all.”  Phillip breathed and shifted his grips on his pockets.  
“Once, I thought I’d get a night job, so I could sleep during the day, you know.”  He laughed 
softly, deriding himself with a sidelong glance.  “But then, I had to ride these damned -er, ah, 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
60
excuse me- these darned buses.  And I’d have to get out in the darkness to get to work and, in the 
winter, to come home, too.  Somehow, that was worse.” 
She sniffled and nodded again, without lifting her eyes.  The driver turned a cool gaze 
over his shoulder, as he muscled the bus around a right turn. 
“I went back to working days.  I found a job with flexible hours, so I could come and go 
while it was still light, no matter the season.”  Phillip stuffed his fists deeper into his pockets, as 
the bus rolled beyond the reach of the last street lamp for a time.  They rode unhappily into the 
deepest grips of night. 
“It’s worked out okay, I guess.  So, normally, I wouldn’t be out this late.”  A sleeping 
city rolled past the window at his back.  He pretended not to notice, and kept his full attention on 
the old woman. 
She weltered and shrank before him, but Phillip wouldn’t let her be.  He couldn’t let her 
be.  She was a hand to save him:  a reach, however reluctant, from the land of the living to pluck 
him from the sucking mire of the night. 
“Tonight was... special, though.  I had no choice.”  Even as she receded in her seat, he 
advanced in his, so his elbows were on his knees and he hunched over the aisle.  “It was worth it.  
You know, just to see.  To see if I was right.  And if I could do it.  But I did it.”  The driver’s 
shoulders hunched stiffly, and his eyes were constant on his mirrors and the black brow. 
“But now, now I’m not so sure.  I have such a long, long way to go.  And it’s so dark.  I 
didn’t think it would be this dark.  Last night there was a moon.  But tonight...” Phillip dared turn 
his attention to the overbearing skies.  “I guess a storm is rolling in, or something.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
61
A lengthy silence followed.  The old woman kept her eyes on the floor.  The driver drove.  
The sleeper snored.  Or pretended to snore. 
After what seemed a terribly long time, he added, “I don’t like the night.  I’m afraid of 
the dark.” 
The bus rolled to a stop.  Its doors popped open with an evil hiss.  They threatened 
ejection, and he was afraid. 
The old woman, contrarily, seemed overjoyed.  She jumped up and grabbed a fistful of 
bags, and hurried for the exit, anxious to disappear forever into the endless night.  He watched 
her go, but he was not afraid for her.  He was afraid for himself.  That she could so boldly go 
where he dared not tread. 
The doors closed with a clap, and the driver let his eyes find the black brow in his 
mirrors.  Shoulders hunched, he rolled the wheel and revved the bus away from the curb with a 
willing right foot. 
Reaching for a microphone, the driver thumbed an open circuit and mumbled 
esoterically, “Seven-fourteen, zero-three-zero.” 
“Seven-fourteen, zero-three-zero,” replied the bus. 
Eventually, they wandered back into the lighted heart of the city, and Phillip’s breath 
came easier.  For a time, his eyes searched the floor for the old woman’s interest in it, but could 
not find distraction from the great, overburden of terror at his back.  He stood uncertainly in the 
aisle, and pondered an approach of the driver.  The driver’s back was a professional barricade.  
Phillip knew he would find no sanctuary there. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
62
He turned to face the center of the bus.  He sought for the snores echoing there. 
Swaying with the bumps and jolts of the road, he found the seat opposite the sleeper, and 
stooped to sit down.  A sharp click caught him up short.  He raised his head to find the sleeper 
awake, a large knife in his hand laid across his breast.  The sleeper’s eyes were fierce and mean, 
but they were also afraid, as the old woman and the driver had been afraid. 
The black brow grimaced, and stood again.  At the rear of the bus, the darkness was 
strongest.  It ran along at his back, a pack of dogs at his heels, snapping and snarling.  He knew, 
as he had long known, that eventually it would catch him up in a violent whirl. 
Phillip realized with the same, familiar dread that soon he would be nothing more than a 
lump of mold rotting within a buried box in the absolute darkness...  and no warm touch to 
assuage his loneliness… and no hand of God to save him… 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
63
-|- 

“This fear of death is not unreasonable,” answered the priest, after Phillip had said as 
much as he dared.  “But your obsessive consideration of it seems dangerous to me.” 
The church was more a cathedral.  It was built proud and high, and it let in the light 
without the hindrance of unnecessary walls. 
“Perhaps you have not known our Father and the Son as you should.” 
“I have not known Them at all.”  The black brow shifted his weight on the pew.  His 
hands, as always, wrestled with themselves within his pockets. 
“Then I suspect you are searching anxiously for the very answers that Christ’s love may 
provide.  Many have wandered in from the darkness of unnamed terrors to find succor and safety 
in His arms.” 
“I would like very much to have the answers.”  Phillip was ashamed to hear his voice 
break, and mortified when he actually began to sob.  “I’m so... tired.  I can’t sleep.  I can’t eat.  I 
can’t think but to think of... it.  So long, so many years, so many nights...” 
The priest reached out with a tentative embrace of empathy, but stopped short of finding 
those heaving shoulders.  The old man’s face soured, as if he had caught scent of something 
rather nasty.  Without thinking, he pushed away from this stranger, and put some distance 
between himself and the devil. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
64
His face darker now and the sun suddenly shadowed by a cloud, the priest offered stiffly, 
“Perhaps you have not known the Holy Trinity because you have been Its enemy.” 
The sobbing stopped.  The black brow felt the earth open up a wide chasm of emptiness 
between himself and the holy man, whom he had once hoped might save him. 
His eyes brimming with moisture and anger, Phillip turned his full gaze upon the priest.  
The old man was momentarily dismayed. 
Then the priest cleared his throat and seemed to shrug his fear away.  His face once more 
assuming a mask of kindness, he offered, “My son, I will not be afraid for you, any more than I 
shall fear you.  You are what your nature has shaped you to be.  The Church is not the right 
choice for everyone, and I feel you chose a long, long time ago.”  The old man’s face had taken 
on a peaceful and relaxed appearance, and the black brow realized the old man was quite 
prepared and, indeed, happy to die.  “While repentance and forgiveness are real, sadly, these 
ideals are oftentimes far out of reach for those that need them most.” 
He nodded and used a hot fist to wipe away hotter tears.  “Yeah, I guess so.” 
“Once,” the priest intoned, moving closer again and this time actually placing his fearless 
arm about the stranger’s shoulders, “When I was much, much younger, and perhaps more naive, 
I ministered to felons in the state penitentiaries.  It was an assignment, you know, but I might 
have volunteered for the duty just the same.  It was an ecclesiastic challenge, in that I held some 
hope of waging a holy war with the Dark One within the walls of his own unholy temples.  For 
that is what these prisons are, hotbeds of evil worship, wherein bad men learn a greater badness.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
65
He cleared his throat and retracted his arm to reach for a rosary at his breast, the beads of 
which he silently counted as he spoke.  “And those men that live and die there, they are, if 
anything, more practiced in their worships than are we, that fatten beyond the walls.  For Satan is 
strict and harsh in his disciplines.  His hellish grips are ten thousand in number and 
immeasurably binding. 
“More than once I watched outwardly pious men leave my masses to enter into a new 
freedom.  And more than once I watched these same men return again and again to those bleak, 
hellish walls.  Each sentence was an accomplishment, you see, a higher degree in an unholy 
quest for rank in the hierarchy of evil.  Among them were greater and lesser disciples. 
“The worst of them were those that not only returned again and again, but that returned to 
my masses again and again.  Each time their confessions seemed more horrific, and at the same 
time more compelling, than the time before.  For each time, they had new and more terrible 
stains upon their souls, and each time a stronger compunction to seek freedom. 
“And when I say that they had a stronger compunction to seek freedom, do not 
misunderstand and believe that they sought freedom for freedom’s sake.  No, they sought 
freedom for the sake of practicing their learned evils among the ranks of men once more.  They 
sought freedom only because imprisonment prevented pursuit of their sick obsessions.  The 
worst of them were those that would praise Christ unreservedly each time, and each time return 
with fresh blood dripping from their hands. 
“For, these are of the sort that learns the cunning of the true wolf, so they might become a 
more prolific predator.  Unhappily, I confess, they learned much of this from me.  So I felt I had 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
66
come to battle Satan, only to perform more poorly than simply losing the battle.  No, I had 
entered naively into that contest and had allowed my services to become twisted by the devil’s 
grasp into an implement that he would use to advance his vileness.” 
The priest breathed heavily and crossed his breast hurriedly.  “I am not happy that those 
days are gone and long closed to me, yet I am relieved.  Relieved, I say, because there I learned 
to be hard and ungentle.  There I learned Christ’s love is a kindness that may kill.  I learned faith 
is a power to dispense with caution.  For practice of faith, when ministered without bias, is an 
unbiased thing.  In its purest methods, it is nothing beyond a simple tool.  Good men use it for 
goodness.” 
Having said this, the old priest stood, and shuffled his way to the far end of the pew and 
the aisle nearest the stained glass wall.  In stark silhouette, the hunched form paused a moment to 
dismiss the stranger.  “Go with God, child, if you would.  However you go, simply go.  I see no 
place for you here.” 
Then he wandered away, his ancient feet silent on the cold marble floor.  The black brow 
lingered at the pew, his mouth slightly agape.  As accustomed as he was to rejection, this latest 
slap in the face was almost more than he felt he could bear.  What did this reaction say to him 
about himself. 
‘My God,’ he moaned pitifully, ‘Am I evil.’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
67
-|- 

2:17 AM.  Thursday.  October. 
Snow fell across the face of the moon, where his window framed it.  Its illumination, as 
its face, was slight and jealously diluted by spiteful clouds. 
Phillip lay awake beneath thick covers, his head propped on a pillow, which he had 
folded double to raise his head.  Outside, a war raged.  Outside, the cold, hateful minions of 
darkness were riding with the night, blotting out the sky and showering all with pure, white 
shadow. 
‘My God,’ he breathed softly, silently, ‘My God, help me.  Help me.’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
68
-|- 

Perhaps he sat in the foyer too long.  Perhaps it was the time of day, so soon after lunch.  
‘I should be sleeping in my cubicle.’  
After an interminable time, his supervisor arrived to lead him coolly into an occupied 
conference room for his annual performance review.  A representative from human resources 
waited there, along with a clerk behind a video camera.  The atmosphere was official, and it 
matched the mood, which suited the pale, fluorescent lighting. 
His fists hot and vicious in the pockets of his trousers, Phillip stood, until they invited 
him to sit.  Then, point-by-point, they reviewed his abysmal performance before the baleful, 
unblinking camera’s eye.  It watched and recorded his every squirm in every unflattering detail. 
At the end, as they closed their various notebooks and clicked shut the points of their 
various pens, he sat up stiffly in his too comfortable leather chair, and sighed.  “It’s all so 
damned unfair.” 
They stopped moving, each one, and were suddenly stiff.  The pens clicked and the 
notepads returned to the polished tabletop. 
“What do you mean.” queried the pretty blonde rep from H.R.  “What seems unfair.” 
“It doesn’t SEEM unfair.  It IS unfair.  And you know it.”  He nodded his head at his 
‘superior’, and added, “And so do you.  You’re all a part of the problem- the REAL problem- the 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
69
problem that should concern every living human being.”  He breathed deeply and wished he 
could be calm.  “But you’re so wrapped up in this petty bullshit, that you can’t see the danger.” 
They exchanged puzzled, uncertain glances.  The blonde opened her mouth to speak, and 
shut it again.  While the camera watched. 
“One day soon,” he predicted, rising from his chair, his black brow the apparent source of 
all midnight, “It’s going to be over and finished.  And in a hundred years, nobody will 
remember, and nobody will care.” 
Phillip opened and closed the door.  He didn’t seem to notice their worried stares at his 
back. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
70
-|- 

Three days later, a letter arrived in the envelope with his paycheck stub, addressed to him 
from Human Resources.  It wasn’t a layoff slip. 
Instead, it was an official notice.  His title had changed.  They assigned him to a different 
department, which meant he would have a different superior.  ‘Effective immediately.’ 
The man came around later in the morning to introduce himself and offer a lunch 
invitation.  It was more of an order than a request, so he went. 
They gathered their meals individually from the cafeteria racks, and joined again in a 
quiet corner of the lunchroom.  For a time, they ate and drank in silence, each wondering where 
the other might begin. 
Finally, Phillip said, “The sun is really bright today.” 
His new boss smiled and nodded.  “Sure is.” 
“I love days like this.  You almost forget about the nights.” 
Now the smile faded.  “Yeah, ain’t that the truth.” 
“How ‘bout you.” Phillip asked, munching a bite of his fish sandwich with cheese.  “Are 
you afraid of the dark.” 
The other man was puzzled.  “No, not really.” 
“I am.  It keeps me awake.  I can’t stand it.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
71
Silence ensued.  His boss wondered how seriously he should approach these comments.  
After a time, he seemed to come to a decision, and let his face fall flat, fully intent.  “Okay, so 
you’re afraid of the dark, and you can’t sleep nights.  That explains quite a bit.” 
“What do you mean.” 
“Well, let’s face it.  We’re not here because you’re an ideal employee.  They promoted 
me to management the same day they shifted you to my new ‘department’.  It’s full to 
overflowing with screw-ups like you.  Just look at our ‘core production goal’!  It’s a sham.  Busy 
work.”  He stirred a limp salad and sipped his iced tea. 
Phillip’s fish sandwich disappeared methodically, bite by bite.  Each gulp was lost to an 
unknown purpose behind his mask of a face. 
“Meanwhile, they’re sending me up to these ‘management authority’ seminars each 
afternoon.  Do you know what we spend most of our time learning.”  The mouthful of fish 
sandwich went back and forth.  No, the black brow had no guess to offer.  “Proper employment 
termination procedures.  They’re teaching us how to fire people without getting sued and, more 
specifically in my case, without having the guy show up the next day with a semi-automatic 
pistol and a death wish!” 
Phillip chewed and chewed the last bite of his sandwich.  The tartar sauce was tasty. 
“Do you know why.  Do you want to know why.” 
Phillip alternately shook and nodded his head, and sipped his own iced tea.  It was too 
sour with lemon, so he reached for the sugar. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
72
“Because of you, man.  Because of you.”  The other fellow pushed his plate away, and 
ran nervous fingers through his hair.  “Look, I have a wife and three small children.  I don’t need 
this shit.  You think you can’t sleep, what about me!.  Holy Christ, I’ve been sweating this 
meeting for three weeks.  At least you only just now found out today.”  He reached for a missing 
pack of cigarettes, and then reached for another sip of iced tea.  “Okay, so let’s just cut the crap.  
Are you.” 
Phillip stirred the sugar into the ice and admired the way it settled to the bottom of the 
glass, grain upon grain.  It was the nature of all things, he decided, to settle to the bottom… the 
cold, unforgiving, absolute bottom.  Absently, he queried, “Am I what.” 
“Are you going to show up at work with a gun if you get fired.  I mean, do you even own 
a gun.” 
He shook his head.  No, he lied.  He had never fired a handgun in his life. 
“Do you know anybody that owns one.” 
Again, no.  “I don’t see the problem.  What’s the big deal.” asked a too obviously 
confused Phillip Ellister. 
“The big deal.  You tell me.”  His boss sipped his tea, and then drained it in a long, 
throaty gulp.  “I have some really scary reports on you.  Some of the stuff I’ve read is borderline 
criminal.  I think they would have fired you a long time ago, but they can’t find anybody with the 
guts to do it.  They’ve kept you back in that corner shuffling papers just hoping and praying that 
you’ll keep quiet or maybe even go away.  Only, you just keep hanging on, year after year! 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
73
“And you’ve never been given a promotion, or a sizeable increase in salary.  Why.  Why 
do you do it.  Why do you tolerate it.” 
Phillip shrugged, and spooned up a lump of green Jell-O, his head down.  He thought of 
the priest.  He wondered how it might feel to be a cold lump of shit stuck to the sole of a well-
worn shoe.  Then again, he considered, maybe he didn’t need to wonder, at all. 
He finished eating in silence.  His boss opened and closed his mouth to speak half a 
dozen times, but never finished a sentence. 
Finally, it was time to get back to work.  They stood, and started to shake hands.  But 
didn’t 
His boss asked softly, “So tell me the truth, okay.  Do I have anything to fear.” 
Phillip exchanged a deep meaningful glance with his new supervisor, and said, “We all 
have something to fear, because, in the end, it’s waiting for us all.  You never know when.  You 
never know how.  You can’t possibly guess why, but it’s coming.  Be certain of this, if you can 
be certain of nothing else.  It’s coming to us all.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
74
-|- 

Phillip pushed the grocery cart down the aisle, which was flush with assorted potato chips 
and such.  Randomly, he plucked items from the shelves and dropped them absently into his cart. 
Aisle after aisle, he roamed, back and forth, until his basket was full, crammed to the rim 
with things like chips and sodas and breads and tampons and hair spray and fake logs for a 
fireplace that he didn’t own.  Anyway, he had not come for the shopping. 
He had come to make a chance meeting that would not be borne of sheer chance.  When 
the little blonde rep from H.R. saw him for the first time, her eyes went wide, and he could see 
her terror. 
At the same time, he saw how she struggled to convince herself that he was a 
hallucination borne of her troubled thoughts.  He was come and gone again so quickly across the 
busy aisle that it might have been a trick of her imagination. 
Then he managed to make a second, much more personal encounter in the final row of 
the store.  Her basket was full, as was his.  He all but blocked her way for a moment. 
She gasped, “What are YOU doing here.” 
“Well, hello!” Phillip spouted enthusiastically, feigning an obvious sort of surprise.  “I’m 
shopping for groceries, of course, just like you.” 
“But, you live on the other side of the city.” 
He smiled and laughed, “Maybe I moved.  Hell, maybe I moved just to be next to you.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
75
This seemed to deepen her sense of dread, and her face soured to the point that he thought 
she might vomit.  She backed her cart away and turned to flee with her goods.  He followed 
slowly, leering. 
As she rounded the far corner, he called softly, “And, did you know, it’s going to be dark 
soon.  All too soon.  And there’s nothing you, or anybody else, can do about it!” 
Abandoning the basket, he left the store and crossed the parking lot.  The sun was already 
half concealed by the city’s uneven skyline.  He would have to hurry. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
76
-|- 

A police car waited for him at the curb the next morning.  He wasn’t quite certain how, 
but Phillip knew it waited for him, even before the officer spotted him and climbed out to get a 
grip on his wrists. 
He was a tall cop, and heavy with muscles.  His partner was older and fatter, but, if 
anything, more frightening.  The nose of the latter officer seemed to have been broken a dozen 
times or more. 
They had a grip on him before they asked for identification.  Then they handcuffed him 
and let him into the back of the squad car with surprising care. 
Though he asked questions, they refused to answer, except to tell him that they arrested 
him for suspicion of stalking and criminal harassment.  Eventually, Phillip sat back and was 
silent. 
He sat on a concrete floor in a bare cell for eight hours, before a detective had him 
delivered to an ugly little room in a dark corner of the station.  There, they questioned him about 
his activities of the previous night, and about a series of malicious pizza deliveries.  He answered 
their questions to the best of his ability, and lied where he felt it was necessary to escape 
punishment. 
While the detective was a veteran of countless such encounters, the black brow was an 
accomplished expert at the art of denial.  Once this day was done, the investigator would 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
77
doubtless return to his sane little chunk of the world, there to enjoy a well earned reprieve from 
the combats of his profession.  While for the prisoner, there could be no escape.  He would find 
no refuge at the end of his day, and he had endured such pitiless interrogations countless times in 
the past. 
After two hours, Phillip asked, “So what have I done.  What crime have I committed.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
78
The detective was silent, fuming with frustration.  Without reply, he stood and left the 
room. 
They released him the next day, with the admonishment not to return to work. 
“They don’t want you back there,” informed the detective at the front door of the station, 
his tone challenging.  He too obviously hoped the black brow would darken and take violent 
offense at this latest rejection.  “You’ve been shit-canned in the worst possible way.  Here,” he 
offered, extending an envelope with one beefy hand.  “It’s a pink slip.  A termination notice.  
And this,” he offered a second, larger manila envelope, from which he extracted a heavily 
worded, official document, “Is from us.  It’s a lawful protective order from the county judge. 
“You are barred from coming within a thousand feet of your employer’s premises.  This 
includes restraining orders for several of the company’s employees, all of which fear you like a 
black plague.  I can clearly see why.  Take it.”  Phillip took it, and continued to take it.  “Read it.  
Memorize it.  Believe it.  Because we’re watching, you putrid little freak.”  With a forceful 
shove, he pushed the black brow toward the steps and a final exit.  “And we’re all hoping you’ll 
screw up.  A nice felony or two would put you where you belong.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
79
-|- 

Phillip listened to the dead, as they whispered from the shadows.  For the first time, he 
truly listened.  He was exhausted to the point of listlessness, and could do nothing more to 
defend himself.  He listened, and he heard them profess their love of death. 
They seemed bound to convince him that death was bliss.  Death was nothing that he 
hated about life, and everything he longed for.   
Save for the darkness.  He feared the darkness, the forever darkness. 
He feared the permanent fall of night.  Yet, he was weary of his fear.  By dawn, his 
exhaustion had won, and his terror seemed distant for the first time in his life. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
80
-|- 

The hallway was long and broad.  To either side, doorways opened on great chambers 
filled from wall to wall with a hive of office cubicles and partitions.  About the hive, an 
infestation of humanity swarmed angrily. 
As Phillip Ellister walked the length of the passage to find his own cube among the 
comb, other worker bees parted the way before him.  It was a curious effect, but it was not an 
effect of conscious design.  His peers did not shrink, cowering in his presence.  It was never so 
obvious as that.  Rather, they simply allowed him more space than they allowed others of their 
kind.  He was an obstruction, to part the flowing stream of insects. 
No one spoke or nodded.  No one waved or wished him ‘Good morning!’  However, they 
often did this with others that passed before and behind him. 
Phillip was not oblivious to the effect.  Many times, he reveled in it.  Many times, it was 
a silent fuel to feed his seething, angry soul, as it was now. 
A pool of darkness seemed to swell from his breast and from between his eyes.  His chest 
bulged with it, and his black brow was, blackly, raised.  He let is eyes fall full on the gaze of a 
petite woman passing on the right. 
The woman promptly dropped her double armful of reports, and screamed in a whisper, 
“Oh, my God, it’s HIM!” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
81
To which he replied hotly, removing clenched fists from his pockets, “God’s got nothing 
to do with it, lady.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
82

 

 

 
 
The Disease That Rots the World 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
83
-|- 

“What scares you.  I mean, what REALLY scares you.” 
“You mean, like, the booger man and stuff.” 
“If that’s what scares you.” 
“Or you mean, like, driving a Mustang head on into an eighteen wheeler.” 
He shrugged.  He didn’t care.  It was a question to pass the day, to time the ebb of the 
tidal flow beneath the bridge’s immortal span. 
“I don’t think anything REALLY scares me, you know.  Not since I was a kid.” 
“What scared you back then.” 
She shrugged.  The toe of her street-weary tennis shoe found a pebble on the rail beneath 
her knee, and it was soon bound for that eternal plunge into the icy unknown of the bay’s darkest 
and most mysterious depths.  “For a while, it was that tree guy in the Wizard of Oz.” 
“The tin man.” 
“No, the tree thing that gets pissed off because Dorothy picks its apples.  I always thought 
it strange that adults would consider it a child’s fantasy.  It’s horrible.  Full of monsters and 
meanness.” 
“Sort of like the real world.  Yep, real scary shit.” 
“But later,” she added with a sigh that was ages old, older even than her weary bones.  
“Later, it was my mom and dad.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
84
“Your mom and dad.  Why.” 
“They started fighting a lot.  Louder and louder.  Each word was more hateful than the 
last, you know, like they were in a contest, and the loser would have to die and the winner... the 
winner would become the devil.” 
“Yeah, I know that feeling.  That’s true terror, alright.”  He watched for the ripples of the 
stone, but they were lost to the general churning of the currents.  Its spectacular tumble had 
passed without sign.  No one, save they, would ever know how that tiny bit of the earth came to 
rest were it must. 
At their backs, the city flowed from one unknown destination to the next.  White clouds 
fled across the blue heavens, as though the whole world were a busy highway and these were the 
telltale plumes of dust to mark the way. 
“What about now, though.  Something must scare you now.” 
She shuddered, and turned away from the spectacular western view.  Hefting her pack, 
which seemed heavier than she, she started east again, relentlessly. 
Shrugging, he snorted and spat over the rail.  Leering boyishly, he thought how he had 
always wanted to do that.  Mentally, he scratched another item off his life’s list.  Then he 
reached for his own pack, and hopped after Shelly. 
“Well.” 
“Well what.” she bit, head down, feet shuffling, scuffing the grate of the catwalk. 
“What about now. What scares you now.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
85
“Nothing, I said,” but her voice was pinched, and he knew she was lying.  He only stared 
at her and walked along at her side.  Until she groaned, and turned away to glare into the passing 
faces of the motorists, as though one of them might be someone she knew that had once done her 
some grievous wrong.  “You’re such a child sometimes, Byron.  I swear.” 
He grinned, and tried not to be hurt.  She could be vicious, he knew, and he was leery of 
her tongue.  Still, he wanted to know.  He wanted to know what could scare Shelly, this girl that 
was more than a woman and more than a man, this child that was harder than the steel of this 
unbelievable bridge, deeper than the deadly, icy waters that flowed far, far beneath their feet.  He 
nudged her with a bump, playfully pushing her closer to the waterside rail. 
She squealed and pushed back, threatening him with a bloody death at the bumper of a 
luxury sedan.  At once, quickly, as though by speaking it so sharply she might spit it out and 
watch it run away, screaming, she told him her darkest fear.  “Rats.” 
It was a surprising revelation.  He had imagined monsters and maniacs, but never rats.  
They had seen a thousand rats, and she had never shown the slightest sign. 
“But not the way you’re thinking, not just, like, scurrying along the street or anything like 
that.”  She fell silent and brooding, and he knew her well enough to keep silent, let her have her 
own time to tell it.  Otherwise, if he tried to hurry her or press her in any way, she would rebel, 
and he would never hear of it.  Never.  She was that way about things. 
He walked a long way and he waited a long time for her to line it all up in an order that 
she, enigmatically, found presentable.  As ever, she started at the center, and worked her way 
out. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
86
“Do you remember Chiggy.” 
“Yeah, of course.  Who could forget Chiggy.” 
She laughed through the corner of her mouth and shook her head.  In that moment, as he 
caught her with a glance before the sun, her long blonde hair straying from a single band at the 
back of her head and running from her hunting thumb like the rebel she was from beginning to 
end, in that moment he thought her the most beautiful thing that God had ever set forth on the 
Earth.  His breath caught in his chest, and his heart thrilled to think of pouncing on her in a fierce 
fit of passion that would see them over the rail and through the air on a forever fall into eternity.  
Together. 
“Chiggy,” she snorted, remembering.  “There’s never been anybody like Chiggy.  Like 
that time he found all that Vaseline and those disposable razors.  You remember.   And he tried 
to sell it, right, for like days!  But nobody was EVER going to buy Vaseline and disposable 
razors from a guy on the street, no matter how low he cut the price.” 
Byron was laughing now.  “Yeah.  I told him to just get rid of the shit and give it up.” 
“But not Chiggy.  What did he do.  He just knew that stuff was good for something.  And 
he figured it out, didn’t he.  He sat down and he figured it out!  Must have taken him, what, five, 
six hours.  But he figured it out.  You remember.” 
“How could I forget.  It was legend.  It was unbe-fucking-lievable.  That’s what it was.” 
“It was Chiggy.  All the way.  Nobody but Chiggy would have even thought to shave 
himself smooth and cover himself with Vaseline, just to run naked from the dicks at the mall.  
What a nut.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
87
“And they tried to catch him at first,” responded Byron, brought to a stop by his laughter 
and leaning against the rail.  “Until they got a hold of him the first time, then you could just see 
their faces, man, all pinched shut like they’d stepped barefoot in cold dog shit!” 
“Yeah, like, what the FUCK is all over that guy.  And then they’d just call on their radios 
and hobble after him, disgusted.  It must have been twenty, thirty of them before it was over!  
God, I laughed so hard, I thought I was going to pee my pants.” 
“Only Chiggy, man.  Only Chiggy.”  They laughed together there beside the oblivious 
traffic, before the setting sun, suspended a thousand feet over the deadly bay.  They laughed until 
they felt sick with it. 
Then they wiped their tears, of joy and of grief, and they started off once more on their 
long, lonely way.  “I miss him.  I miss him a lot.” 
“Yeah, me too.” 
“But it’s like with Chiggy, what scares me and why.  The rats.  The rats and Chiggy.” 
Byron didn’t know anything about Chiggy and rats, but then Shelly had known that 
crowd longer than had he, himself.  So he shrugged, but he remembered to keep silent.  She 
would explain.  She always explained everything.  Perfectly. 
“He did three months for that, you know.” 
“I didn’t know.” 
“Yeah, but it was like a vacation for him.  He dried out a bit, made some contacts.” 
“And it was three months he didn’t have to worry about what’s to eat.”  Byron’s stomach 
growled, and he mentally kicked himself for saying the e-word. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
88
“Still, three months is a long time in county lockup.  They have some mean 
motherfuckers in there, you know.” 
“Tell me about it,” but he didn’t want to hear about it, not really.  He knew well enough 
from harsh, painful experience. 
“That was just the year before it happened, right.  Like ten months.  So that’s what he 
was remembering, I think, when it happened.  I bet that’s what he thought about, because he did 
a lot of wild things, didn’t he.  He was that kind of guy, you know, that could do just about 
anything he wanted and get away with it.” 
“Like that time he stole a pickup just because it had a dolly lift in the back.” 
“Which he used to steal that video machine from the laundry, dressed up like a 
repairman.” 
“Hey!  I forgot about that!  We played that thing until the fucking screen burned out!” 
“It’s still there, I bet, under the sixth street overpass.  Probably some bum’s outhouse by 
now.”  She was wistful and sad, and he never felt so pathetic in his life.  That these should be her 
fondest memories.   That he should be the smallest, shittiest part of them. 
She shook her head free of the cobwebs, and she asserted, “But I bet that’s what he was 
remembering in the end, ‘cause it was like the greatest thing he ever did, you know.  Like the one 
thing he did that set him apart from the average ant on the anthill.  Nobody else had ever done it.  
Nobody ever even thought of doing it, I bet, but Chiggy.  So... it’s what his life was all for, in a 
way, you see.  Like that was his fourth gold medal in the Olympics, and all he had left was 
burnout and... death.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
89
Byron shook his head, and turned his eye on the sun.  It was setting on the waters, so it’s 
light smeared over the length of bay like a bloody trail of mayhem and sanguine murder. 
It would be night soon.  Too soon.  Yet they had far, far to go.  He suddenly felt very 
small indeed. 
To dispel the darkness, he felt bound to offer up, “It was a bad way to go.  Even for one 
of us.”  He shuddered. 
“Death is death, Byron.  We’re dying, all of us, a little each day.  Sometimes all at once 
in an instant.  There are worse things than dying.” 
He was skeptical, and he must have made a scoffing noise with his mouth, because her 
eyes flashed that cold, hard light of anger that told him the next step was a step too far.  “There 
are, Byron, and you know it.  The needle.  The needle is worse than death.  Right.” 
“The needle IS death, that’s all.  Nothing more or less.” 
“The needle is death that isn’t dead, not at first.  You walk around in a rot for years first, 
before you die, and that’s worse than just dropping dead on the spot.  Way worse.  Like them 
whores on the street, or them bad men that go through windows in the darkness.  What about 
them.  They’re like the disease that rots the world.  They’re worse than dead.” 
“What about us.” 
She shook her head.  “I don’t think of myself that way.  I think of myself as... free.  But 
you’re right about Chiggy, I guess, it was an awful way to go.  Still, his dying wasn’t the worst 
of it.  It’s what happened after.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
90
He was sure he didn’t wanted to know, any longer.  He could sense where this was going, 
and he didn’t like how the rats must fit. 
“You didn’t see, because of what happened to you the next day.  You were there when 
Chiggy got hit, but you didn’t see what happened after.  I saw.  Lots of us saw.  But nobody 
cared.  Not really.  I didn’t care at the time.  Not really.  I mean, I was sad, but I thought it was 
the end of him, there was nothing I could do.  Only, there was, you know, there WAS something 
I might have done.  Lots of things, you see, but not even I, Chiggy’s friend, not even I did those 
things.  I walked past his body every day, two or three times a day.  What was left of it.  Nobody 
came.  Not even the cops.  Nobody. 
“I thought for sure somebody would come.  Even for one of us.  But nobody came.  He 
just lay there in pieces.  Day after day.  Night after night.   His eyes like white marbles, staring at 
the sun and the moon.  Seeing nothing.  Watching everything.”  She, with Byron, kept her hand 
on a cold steel rail and her eye on a sun that was unspeakably beautiful where it lay dying on the 
horizon.  “Once, when the moon was full, I stopped beside the weeds that had grown up around 
his face, and I talked to him.  I told him I was sorry, and I told him how we all missed him.”  
Byron was shocked to hear her voice crack with the strain of emotion.  They had been through 
some hard times together, and he had never heard her come close to cracking. 
“Do you know, I could actually see him seeing me.  I could see that old glint in his eyes, 
there in the moonlight, and I caught a flash of his old smile. 
“There he was again, Byron, laying in the grass and grinning like an idiot.  And I thought 
it was all a dream, and that I would never, ever truly be capable of leaving him there the way we 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
91
had.  So I leaned forward, you know, to scold him out of the shadows, and I was so happy to see 
his smile again, that I just couldn’t believe how foolish the dream had been. 
“Only it wasn’t Chiggy grinning up at me, after all.  And it had never been just a dream.  
It was rats, Byron.  Dozens of the fattest, mangiest rats you ever saw.  How they hissed at me!  
How their teeth and their mean little eyes shined with the moon!  They wouldn’t run from me.  
They just turned back to eating, and pretended I was already walking away.  Like I had done 
every day and night before.   They just went back to eating, you know, eating Chiggy’s face 
away.  Just like that.  Rats.  Feeding in the weeds.  Feeding in the dumpster of the world.  
Without fear or concern.  Unaware that they are the living definition of obscenity.  That I am the 
living definition of human bankruptcy.  That we are, all of us together, a sickness that cannot be 
explained.” 
Byron’s heart limped along, struggling with the sudden, crushing pain of it all.  He 
wished she would stop now; he wanted to shout that she had gone far enough.  Yet, she 
wouldn’t, and she hadn’t, and he knew it. 
“I just wish, you know,” she sighed at last, her voice earnest and frustrated and defeated.  
“I just wish I could make all these people see.   I wish I could make them see Chiggy like that, 
and me standing over him and his rats.  I’m just so tired.  I’m so tired of being this person that I 
am.” 
“I know, Shelly, but it’s alright.  You’re not alone.  I’m here.” 
“Yeah, like I was there for Chiggy.  Like all these people are here for us now.”  She 
grunted derisively, and shifted her unbearable burden.  “The only way you could get one of those 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
92
bastards to stop for a moment is with your dead body.  And we’re no better.  Maybe we’re worse.  
I don’t know.” 
“There’s no such thing as better or worse.  We’re all just people, each in our own pair of 
shoes.” 
“Yeah.  Then let’s see rats chew the faces off one of those rich fucks when they die!  
You ever see that, Byron.  You ever hear of that happening but for a mistake.  Hmm.  And 
grandma that fell in the bathtub and fed her cats for a couple weeks doesn’t count, either, ‘cause 
they wouldn’t have left her that way if they knew. 
“We knew about Chiggy, didn’t we.  They knew about him.  He had social workers and 
parole officers and such that were responsible for him, didn’t he.  That’s more than most have.  
Still, he ended up like that.  Rats, chewing on his face. 
“That’s what REALLY scares me, Byron, because I know someday, someday sooner 
than later, it’s coming, the end.  It’s coming, and with it, the rats.  It’s the price I’ll pay for my 
freedom.  Nobody will notice.  Nobody will care.  Nobody will bother to stop to pick up the 
pieces. 
“One night, when the moon is full and the weeds are high enough to make a shade around 
my corpse, one night perhaps some fool will stop to speak to my smile that will be the smile of 
hungry rats.  Then, one night not long after, I’ll be a skull in the dirt.  I’ll be worse than 
forgotten.  I will have never been.  I won’t even be a question or a thought.  I won’t even be a 
period or a comma on a piece of paper in a file. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
93
“I’ll be like the wind that blows through the skeleton of this bridge.  You hear it, you feel 
it, but you never see it.  You don’t think of it after the lightest touch of it has left your skin.  It 
simply is.  Then it’s gone.” 
“But not to the rats, Shelly.  Never to the rats.  I wouldn’t let that happen.  Not to you.” 
“Who’s to save you from it, then.  How many of us have fed the rats.  I wonder about it 
sometimes, since Chiggy, and that’s why I fear it now more than I ever did then.  ‘Cause I’ve had 
time to think about it.  To see it with my mind, you know, before it happens.  That’s a terrible, 
powerful vision I can’t flush from my thoughts.  I see myself there in the dark, sprawled across 
the floor of an abandoned warehouse or in the gutters of a garbage-choked alleyway or beneath 
the shelter of a concrete overpass... I see myself, pale and stiff and motionless, my eyes like 
white marbles that watch the sun without burning.  I see the rats.  I feel them nibbling, gnawing.  
I sense their whiskers and the bristle of their rank fur where it abrades my skin.  I feel their 
claws.  I feel them tearing into me with their sharp little teeth.  I see my blood and bits of my 
flesh smeared over their foul, nasty little faces.  And somehow, on some level, I know they are 
smiling.  Smug, happy, little rat smiles, smiles of the fat and well fed.  Then I understand the 
absolute worst of it... that, like Chiggy, this is the destination of my existence, the one thing that 
will set me apart from the rest of the world.  That sets us all apart, people like us, I mean.  We 
are...” she paused and set her pack to the grate, her hand on that cold steel rail and her frame a 
silhouette before the last dying rays of the setting sun.  “Examples.  We are the vision of disaster 
that drives those poor bastards to and from work each day,” and she tossed her head at the lights 
of the passing sedans and delivery vans. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
94
“I’m just so tired, Byron, you know.  Like every day is a page in a book that I’ve read 
every year of my life.  I already know the beginning and the end, and it just doesn’t interest me 
any more.  You understand, don’t you.” 
“Yes, of course, Shelly.  I understand.” 
“And you’re not mad at me, right.  You don’t think I’m a pussy or anything like that, 
right.” 
“No, never.  Never that, Shell.” 
“Okay.”  She set her pack aside, and she hugged him, her arms so tightly clenched about 
his waist that he felt his spine crackle.  “And you’re not sad for me, or sorry for me.  ‘Cause 
that’s the last thing I want.  I don’t want to be an example of ugliness, you know.  Not even for 
you.  Especially not for you.” 
“You...” he tried, and choked on his own tongue.  “You’re beautiful, Shelly.  I love you.” 
“And I love you, too, Byron.  I always have.”  She smiled, and laid her head to his chest 
for a moment, so he could feel his heart thumping against her cheek.  He was afraid its incessant 
pulse must expose his terror.  “I just want you to know.  I love you, too.” 
He tilted his head to get a deep breath of her.  Of her hair and of her flesh.  Of his one 
beautiful thing in all the world, the one thing that set him apart from the rest of the ants on the 
anthill.  That he had her was his destination in life. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
95
Yet, he watched her climb to the rail, and he said nothing as she tilted backward over the 
side.  He went to the rail, and he watched her drop away into the darkness.  She was a pebble that 
would disappear from the edge of the planet without a sound or a ripple to mark its passage.  His 
teardrops followed her for a time, as if he might reach for her and pluck her from the sea with the 
strength of his rage and shame and remorse and sorrow. 
Then he shifted the weight of his pack.  He started relentlessly east again. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
96

 

 

 
 
The Road to Texas 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
97
-|- 

“What are you looking at, Wilson.” Jerry Stienmeuler jabbed his co-worker in the ribs 
with an elbow.  “The bus is here.” 
Stanley Wilson startled out of his reverie, and followed Jerry onto the bus.  They found 
their usual seats, and he returned his dreamy gaze to the west. 
“I was just wondering, Jerry.” 
“Oh.  Wondering what, Stan.” 
“What’s out there.”  Stanley laid his head to the windshield and sighed wistfully. 
“New Jersey, Stan, that’s what’s out there.  Say... you feeling okay.” 
“Yeah, never better, Jerry.  It’s just that... well, I watched a show about the Great Lakes 
last night, you know.  And the night before that they did a piece on Arizona.  They have a desert 
in Arizona, Jerry.  Did you know.  And cactus, or cacti, and mountains.  And the Grand Canyon, 
Jerry, the Grand Canyon is in Arizona.  And the crater from outer space that’s a whole mile 
wide.” 
“Craters from outer space, Stan.  What the hell are you talking about.”  Jerry fluttered 
his morning paper open, and this was the last of the discussion. 
He knew his friend well.  Jerry would be in no mood for conversation for the rest of the 
day.  Stanley stared out the window at the fleeing depths of night, and wished he were six years 
old again. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
98
-|- 

“What are you looking at, Wilson.” demanded Jerry at the end of the day.  “The bus is 
here.” 
Stanley jumped and dropped his lunch box.  Retrieving this, he followed his friend onto 
the bus.  The crowd was heavier than usual.  They were a bit late.  Jerry found an aisle seat, 
while Stanley took the seat directly behind him. 
“I was just wondering, Jerry,” he replied after some time, leaning forward to be heard 
above the roar of the motor. 
“Oh.  And what were you wondering, Stan.” 
“I was just wondering what’s out there, that’s all.” 
“Out there, Stan.  New Jersey.  That’s what’s out there.  You know that.”  Jerry half 
turned in his seat to get a good look at his friend.  “What’s eatin’ you today.” 
Stanley sighed leadenly, and leaned forward to cross his arms atop the seat back before 
him, his gaze steady on the brilliant crimson glow of the western skies and a setting sun.  “Don’t 
you ever get tired of it all, Jerry.  All the concrete and the steel.  All the people.” 
Jerry tilted his head in thought.  “Yeah, I guess so.” 
“What do you do about it.” 
“I dunno.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
99
“I mean, do you go to the park, maybe pack some gear and head upstate for some 
fishing... what.” 
“I dunno, Stan.  I guess I go inside to watch the tube.” 
Stanley sighed.  The clouds high above their heads caught the sun’s light and shone with 
a multi-hued brilliance that reminded Stanley of the face of God.  He was up there watching over 
everyone, Stanley believed.  Just like a real, live Daddy watching over His babies.  With infinite 
compassion and love.  Hoping, as any father should hope, for His children’s happiness. 
“Yeah.  Me, too.”  Stanley blew a long, hot sigh of frustration.  “But it’s not enough, any 
more.  I want to SEE some of that, myself, Jerry.  I want to GO to those places.” 
“Save your money.  Take a trip.” 
“I can’t afford it.  Can you.” 
“Hey, me and John D. Rockefeller,” he joked, making a twist of the two forefingers of his 
right hand.  “Anytime, anywhere, buddy.” 
“I want to go to Arizona, I think.  Or maybe Texas.  Definitely Texas.”  Stanley sat back 
and folded his hands in his lap.  He knew his friend was no longer listening, but he said, “It’s 
bigger than a lot of countries, you know, Texas,” simply to have said it. 
The elderly lady sitting next to him turned her head and pretended not to hear.  She went 
stiff and resistant in the seat beside him.  Stanley was beyond notice, however, as his eyes fixed 
on the westerly skies and the face of God, as they roamed around the city. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
100
-|- 

“What’s that you’re looking at there, Stan.” wondered Jerry the following morning.  
“Come on, we’re gonna miss the bus!” 
“Texas,” responded Stanley softly, as he let himself be pushed and pulled onto the 
commuter by the press of riders rushing in behind.  He found a seat far away from Jerry, and 
passed the ride to work staring out the windows at the yet night bound west, wishing he were six 
years old again. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
101
-|- 

Later that day, he dialed order entry to discuss an errant XJ12 loss adjustment, which was 
missing its RT code and a legible SIL.  Tamitha, down on the eleventh floor, answered. 
“Reference oh-five-seven-alpha-zulu-seven-five-eight,” he intoned officially, thumbing a 
postcard he had found in the shop downstairs.  It was of the Dallas skyline.  What was that tall 
round building, there, he wondered.  Luxury apartments.  A hotel.  What. 
“Tamitha repeated the requisition serial number, as she tapped it into her keyboard.  “It’s 
a standard XJ12.  Loss adjustment, looks like.  Flagged for a missing RT code and illegible SIL.” 
“Yeah, that’s the one,” he lifted the postcard higher to catch the light, and raised his 
smudged glasses to get a better look.  “We have a tentative AWO on this and I need you to 
punch it on through for AP.” 
“I can’t do that.” 
“Tamitha.  That you.” 
“Yeah, that you Stan.” 
“It’s me.  Ever been to Texas, Tam.” 
“Not to my knowledge, Stan.  Why.  You going there.” 
“Yeah, some day.  Maybe.” 
“Got a rich uncle, do you.” she was bored.  “What about the XJ12, then.  Gonna fix that 
RT and SIL before you go.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
102
“Like I said on the XJ12, Tam, we have a tentative AWO on it, we’re just waiting on the 
release code.” 
“I need that release code, Stan.” 
“Well, I have this guy from Saginaw on the line, and he’s really pissed.  Breathing down 
my collar, you know, and I wanted to clear this through to get him off my back.” 
Tamitha sighed, and explained by rote, as though she had this conversation every five 
minutes of her waking life, “No can do, Stanley.  You know I can’t cut an XJ12 without the RT, 
much less without an SIL.  Management would jump my train like Jesse James, and this girl has 
kids to feed.  Now, then, what you gotta do is take that serial down to QA and have the operator 
written up.  That’s the way to stop this kind of crap from sifting through the system and dripping 
down to you.” 
Stanley sighed, and glanced at the second phone line to his cubicle.  Flashing red.  
Flashing red.  Red for angry.  Red for mean.  Red for nasty.  “Where is Saginaw, anyway.  That 
anywhere near Texas.” 
She was gone.  The line was dead. 
Sighing wearily, he flipped back to the call from Saginaw.  “Saginaw, right.” he 
demanded abruptly.  The caller grunted, ‘Yeah.’  He asked, “Is that anywhere near Texas.  No.  
Michigan, you say.  It sure sounded Texas.  Saginaw, Texas.  Is there a Saginaw, Texas, do you 
think.  Well, I mean, you OTR drivers get everywhere, don’t you.  I just thought you might 
know.  Have you ever been to Texas.  Arizona. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
103
“No, this has nothing to do with THAT.  Why.  Well, you see, it’s this XJ12 requisition 
of yours.  It’s missing an RT code and there’s no valid SIL.  I called Tamitha down in order entry 
to get it cleared up, but she won’t budge.  Maybe you should call her.  Or maybe you should call 
the QA department and have the operator written up.  I hear that’s the best way to stop this kind 
of crap from sifting through the system and messing all over you.” 
The man was unintelligibly livid for a time.  Stanley waited for the proper number of 
curse words, then finished the call with, “I’m sorry, I can no longer assist you due to your 
excessive use of profanity.  Good day.” 
He hung up with a finger.  Then he called Al, the custodian, to busy up his line. 
“Yeah, Al.” he asked when the man came to the phone.  “You ever been to Texas.  No.  
Arizona, then.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
104
-|- 

“Here comes the bus, Stan,” offered Jerry with a nudge of his elbow.  He caught 
Stanley’s gaze, which was intent on the western skies, where a lat autumn sun set in the colors of 
plum jelly and hot butter.  “What’s that you’re looking at, Stan.  The weather.” 
Stan followed his friend to the last vacant seat on the bus.  They sat together, while 
everybody behind them grumbled and stood.  A pregnant woman stared at him for an 
uncomfortably long time. 
“I was just wondering.  That’s all.” 
“Yeah, Stan.  What’s on your mind.” 
“Have you ever met anybody from Texas or Arizona, Jerry.” 
“No.  Can’t say that I have.” 
“Ever met anybody that traveled to Texas or Arizona, even just to visit.” 
Jerry thought a moment, and considered the folded paper in his lap.  Surely, he seemed to 
think, there must be at least one more interesting article in there.  Patiently, he answered again, 
“No, can’t say that I have.” 
“I bet it’s just something they made up in the movies.”  Stanley seemed to be serious.  
His glazed eyes tracked the sunset, as it roamed around the cabin of the bus, as the bus, in turn, 
roamed the city. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
105
Jerry laughed and fluttered his paper open.  Yep, his eyes seemed to indicate, that’s a 
juicy story, right there on page eight. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
106
-|- 

Stanley sat in the living room of his cramped fifth floor flat.  The windows, thankfully, 
faced west, though his clearest view was of the building across the street.  His feet propped up by 
the footrest of his secondhand recliner, he watched a nature show on his secondhand set.  From 
finger to finger, he rolled the postcard from Dallas. 
“Tomorrow,” he sighed, “I’ll buy one from Houston.  Then Phoenix, next.  Or maybe 
Flagstaff.”  His voice sounded emptily across his tiny kitchen, through his tiny bedroom, and 
returned as a tinny echo from the far wall.  “If I had someone to send them to, I could write a 
funny little saying on them, and mail them from the box downstairs.  Maybe, just maybe, they’d 
think I had really been there.” 
The show was a documentary.  Lions prowled the Kalahari.  Naked black men danced 
with naked black women that had tremendous, long breasts with wonderful nipples.  They sang 
strange songs and drank a concoction of steer’s blood and goat’s milk.  They smoked cannabis 
and chewed intoxicating mushrooms, and they danced about the fires that warmed their homes at 
night. 
God, Stanley knew, watched over them in their wilderness.  Just as He watched over 
Stanley in this world of concrete and steel. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
107
“They have their lions and tigers and bears,” breathed Stanley, his eyes fixed on a far 
away Dallas skyline, as seen from the weak illumination of his secondhand lamp.  “Well, so do I.  
Nothing is any safer than God can make it, anywhere.  Not here.  Not there.” 
Carrying spears and bows and an occasional ancient rifle, those scantily dressed black 
men started off across their great desert, bound to kill something and eat parts of it raw.  “Look 
at them,” Stanley declared to the vacate apartment.  “They’re not afraid.  Of anything.  They’re 
just as comfortable running naked through that hell as I am boarding my bus each morning.” 
They worked a broad circle on the savannah, cornering a handful of buffalo at its center.  
With amazing skill and dexterity, they killed one, and set to butchering it.  They chewed its 
bloody, raw liver while it was yet warm.  They rejoiced. 
“And they seem happier.”  Stanley sighed and rolled the postcard through his fingers. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
108
-|- 

Jerry stood at the bus stop, his paper tucked beneath his arm.  Stanley was there, standing 
limply, his lunch box dangling from one hand, staring at the dark, brooding western skies.  A 
storm was coming for sure, thought Jerry. 
The bus arrived.  Jerry called for his co-worker once, and that was all. 
Stanley was still standing at the corner, staring at New Jersey, when the commuter rolled 
away.  Jerry found a seat by a window, and shook his head.  He fluttered his paper open, and 
didn’t think about dancing naked in the fire’s light for one, single moment. 
That afternoon, Stanley had an appointment with his supervisor to finish his annual 
performance review.  They summoned him to a conference room shortly after lunch. 
His boss, Mr. Drecker, and a heavyset representative from HR waited within.  Politely, 
they rose and greeted him with a handshake, before he sat across a wide table from them. 
“Stanley Wilson,” intoned Mr. Drecker formally, “This is Ms. Greene from our Human 
Resources department.  She’s here to keep a record of your review.” 
She took his hand and said, “Hello, Mr. Wilson.  I’m pleased to meet you.” 
Stanley smiled to feel her soft grip and hear her soft voice.  “Hi, Ms. Greene.  Are you, 
by any chance, from Texas.  Arizona.  No.  I thought I detected a southwestern accent.” 
“No, Mr. Wilson, I’m from Queens.”  She smiled nervously. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
109
Mr. Drecker cleared his throat.  “Stanley, let’s keep this thing focused, if we can.  Our 
time with Ms. Greene is limited, and I have another twenty of these to do today.” 
“Twenty.” repeated Stanley dreamily.  His right hand found his way into the pocket of 
his trousers, where he found a brand new postcard of the Houston skyline.  ‘Houston’, he 
thought, smiling secretly, ‘We have a problem.’  Do they blast off just like that, he wondered.  
Imagine, rockets roaring into outer space in one’s own backyard!  Only in Texas, he dreamed.  
Only in the movies. 
“Mr. Wilson.  Is that correct.” 
“I’m sorry,” responded Stanley.  “I didn’t hear the question.” 
“Your address hasn’t changed since your last review.  Right.”  Mr. Decker seemed 
impatient. 
“Oh, sure.  Yep, still living at the same old place.”  He sucked a deep breath and held it.  
“I’ll probably die there, too.  It’s rent controlled, you know.  Yeah, I got it from my mother when 
she passed.” 
“I’m sorry to hear about that, Mr. Wilson,” returned Ms. Greene.  Mr. Drecker shot the 
girl a sharp look, as if to say, ‘Don’t encourage the guy!’ 
“That’s okay.  It’s not your fault, she was old, that’s all.  You know, she always wanted 
to go to Texas, too, but she never made it.  Never had the money, I guess, or the time.” 
Mr. Drecker checked his Stanley Wilson file.  “You haven’t scheduled any vacation time, 
Wilson.  When were you planning to go to Texas.” 
Suddenly, Stanley brightened, “How much is there, Mr. Drecker.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
110
“How much what is there.” 
“Vacation time.” 
He checked, frowning.  “Your annual accrual of five days.” 
“Five days.” he repeated, crestfallen.  He sank into his seat.  “Five days is barely enough 
to cross Texas, let alone get there.” 
“So don’t go, Stan.”  Mr. Drecker closed and stacked his file deliberately on the table top 
with a few quick raps.  “Or fly.” 
“I wonder what that costs.” pondered Stanley, his fingers at his lips. 
Mr. Drecker and Ms. Greene exchanged puzzled glances.  “Ah, Mr. Wilson.  You seem a 
bit distracted.  Perhaps we could do this later in the day.” 
“Yeah,” concurred Mr. Drecker, “Or maybe tomorrow.”  He turned to face the chunky 
girl from HR.  “Ms. Greene, may I speak with you a moment outside.” 
They rose together and left the room.  Outside, they began an intense discussion, with 
many glances in Stanley’s direction.  Soon, they left the hallway outside the door and 
disappeared. 
Stanley sat and examined the room in detail.  Of particular interest was a telephone sitting 
on the conference table.  A red tag adorned the handset. 
He knew from long experience that such a tag represented a direct outside line, which 
would have access to long distance.  Stanley leaned forward, lifted the receiver, and, on 
inspiration, dialed for information. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
111
“What’s the area code for Houston, Texas.  Oh, I don’t know, all of them I guess,” he 
tried to remember a few of them, then gave up.  It was a big city.  “What about the number for, 
ah, the Methodist Church, there.  The one downtown.  There’s more than one.  The first listing 
you have, then.”  Before the operator could punch up the recorded information, he interjected, 
“And, ah, could you just dial it for me.  I don’t have any fingers.” 
Seconds later, he was speaking to a Deacon Martinez, of the Methodist Church of 
Houston.  He asked, “You’re in Texas, down there.” 
“Yes,” came the soft-spoken reply.  Echoes of it lingered on the line, so Stanley imagined 
the man to be standing in a cathedral of some kind. 
“Really.  Houston, Texas.” 
“This is correct.  May I help you.” 
“I’m from New Hampshire, originally.  We came down to the city when I was seven.  
I’ve never been to Texas.  What’s the weather like there.” 
“The weather, sir.” 
“Yes, is it hot.  Like a desert.” 
“Well, it’s about seventy five degrees outside, I guess.  I’m wearing shorts today.” 
“Shorts,” gushed Stanley giddily, “This time of year, you’re wearing shorts.” 
“Yes, and we’re still mowing our lawns, too.  It’s God’s way of making certain we don’t 
have it TOO easy, come wintertime.  Who is this, please.” 
“Stanley,” he returned promptly.  “Stanley Wilson.  I always wanted to go to Texas.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
112
“And I’ve always wanted to go to New Hampshire, Mr. Wilson.  Are you Methodist, 
then.” 
“No,” offered Stanley distantly, noting a commotion in the hallway outside the 
conference room door.  “But I’ve always wondered what it might be like to be Methodist.”  He 
hung up, just as they entered the room. 
Mr. Drecker noted his action, and raised a brow.  “Personal call, Wilson.” 
“Yes, sir.  Personal.  It couldn’t wait.” 
He entered the room, towing the overweight rep from HR and another person, this one 
wearing a security uniform.  “Mr. Wilson.” the latter asked, thumbing his heavy utility belt, 
from which dangled a large handgun.  “Will you come with me, please.  This won’t take a 
minute.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
113
Mr. Drecker smiled and nodded and extended his hand to assist Stanley from his plush 
leather seat.  They crossed the room together, arm in arm.  His boss whispered, “It’s just a 
formality, Stan, you understand.  We’ll get this part of it out of the way now, while you seem 
distracted, then we’ll conduct the formal interview tomorrow, after we have the results of the- I 
mean, after you’ve had time to collect your thoughts.  We know how stressful these annual 
reviews can be.  Don’t we, Ms. Greene.” 
“Yes, sir,” responded Ms. Greene, her face pale.  She kept her eyes on Stanley’s hands. 
The security guy escorted Stanley down the hall to the elevators.  As they boarded, and 
he punched up the seventh floor, he winked and asked, “Smoking some of the good stuff, huh.” 
Stanley shrugged.  “I don’t smoke.” 
“Right.” 
“Have you ever been to Texas.  Arizona.  No.  Ever know anybody that has been there.  
Not even to visit.” 
“No,” responded the security officer, as the elevator doors snapped wide.  “I don’t know 
nothin’ about that.  All I DO know is; you got an appointment with a paper cup.  And I hope it 
was worth it.” 
Stanley nodded.  It was always worth it.  Whatever it was. 
“They say,” he added, as the guard led him by the elbow down another hall to an office 
labeled ‘INFIRMARY’.  “That Texas is the only state in the union allowed to fly its flag at the 
same level as the United States flag.  Did you know.  It’s because Texas is the only state in the 
union to join after gaining its own independence.  From the Mexicans, I think.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
114
The officer directed Stan to a tiny room with a sort of medical examination table.  The 
guard lingered at the door, before he let it sigh shut on its pneumatic arm.  “I’m going to be right 
outside, you dig.  In case you get any ideas ‘bout slippin’ away.  You leave this room, and 
you’re history, you got that.” 
Stanley nodded.  “I love history.  Did you know-” but the guard was gone, the door shut. 
He made himself comfortable, and examined the room in detail.  An unlocked drawer 
attracted his attention, in particular.  It bore all the signs of having been unlocked and locked 
many times, as its keyhole was brightly polished from wear.  Yet, it was open a crack.  
Somebody had locked it, but had not shut it.  Something important must be inside.  Something he 
should not touch. 
He climbed down from the table, and he pulled the drawer wide.  It was full of paper 
cartons, of the kind doctors issue as ‘FREE SAMPLE’s.  He stuffed them by the handfuls into 
his coat pockets. 
As he returned to his seat, the door opened.  A pretty brunette nurse entered.  She smiled 
at him, and he thought she must be attracted to him. 
“Hi!” he offered brightly.  “You look like you’re from Texas!” 
“Nooo,” she hedged curiously.  She held out a paper cup and a larger plastic jug.  “I’m 
from New Jersey.  The cup,” she added officially, “Is for the sample.  The jug is for the rest.  I 
suggest you fill the jug, then pour a bit into the cup.  It’s neater that way.” 
Stanley accepted these and stared at them strangely.  “Now tell me why I’m pissing into a 
cup as part of my annual review.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
115
She shrugged and spun smartly on her heel.  Halfway out the door and over her shoulder, 
she suggested, “‘Cause they think you’re whacked out on drugs, maybe.” 
Drugs, wondered Stanley.  What sort of drugs. 
He urinated into the jug, then poured a sample into the paper cup.  Then he opened one of 
the boxes and took a fistful of the tablets he found inside, never mind what they were. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
116
-|- 

Jerry waited at the bus stop alongside Stanley that evening.  He jabbed his friend in the 
ribs.  “Heard they sent you to the seventh floor today, Stan.  How’d it go.” 
Stanley’s attention fixed on the western horizon.  He didn’t immediately offer an answer. 
“Wasn’t your review today.  Christ, Wilson, did they send you down during your 
review.  They must have thought you were trippin’ on acid, or something.  Stan.”  Jerry jabbed 
the man with his elbow again.  “The bus is here, Stan.  Let’s go.” 
Stanley didn’t respond.  He stood at the corner, an island in the stream, and he would not 
board the bus.  It roared away without him, his former friend shaking his head from one of the 
windows. 
Stanley dropped his lunch box.  He started walking.  West. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
117
-|- 

One hundred degrees.  Was it possible.  One hundred actual degrees.  On a real 
thermometer.  And no exaggeration. 
“So!” shouted Stanley over the roar of the wind.  “This is Texas!” 
The Hispanic man sitting next to him in the bed of the truck nodded and smiled and 
wrinkled his eyes with a look of confused apprehension.  Several of his teeth were missing, the 
rest were stained yellow and brown. 
“Si.  Es Tejas!” 
“Yeah,” grinned Stanley, sitting back against the rail of the truck.  “And we’re going to 
pick Harlingen peaches.  In Texas.  In August.  And it’s actually one hundred honest to God 
degrees!” 
“Si!  Hacen mucho calliente!”  The little brown man with the missing teeth laughed.  
Several others laughed with him, including Stanley. 
“Si!  Thank God!” Stanley laughed and wiped sweat from his brow with the tattered 
remnants of his ragged suit sleeve.  “Anybody know how far it is.  The walk to Phoenix from 
here, I mean.  Anybody.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
118

 

 

 
 
Justice 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
119
-|- 

The third letter arrived on Tuesday.  Joseph Pequeno fetched it from his mailbox at the 
curb.  He read the address label, to be certain the message was for him, before he read the return 
address, ‘First-Rate Home Equity, Inc.’. 
 His glower was instant.  His head glowed bright red, and he could feel his heart race to a 
pounding thud. 
 Crushing this envelope in his large, beefy right hand, he wadded it into his pocket, and 
then he flipped through the rest of his post, which was largely comprised of advertisements and 
postcards addressed to ‘Occupant’.  Only one other piece of mail drew his attention, a letter from 
his eighty-seven year old mother.  Addressed in her spidery handwriting, he smelled her perfume 
on it.  Indeed, he lifted it to his nose to breathe deeply of its heady scents, and he was home 
again, sitting in her parlor, seeing her well-aged face, and listening to her melodious voice.  She, 
Joe considered, Is order.  She is structure.  She is right amidst great wrong.  She is direction 
within chaos. 
 Deciding he would save her correspondence for later, Joe returned to stalk along the 
sidewalk, toward his house.  The sun was bright overhead, as the morning was fresh, and the sky 
was a crystalline blue marbled lightly with the purest white cirrocumulus.  His neighborhood of 
closely placed, aging brick ranch homes reeked of a hundred different varieties of shrubs and 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
120
flowers.  Birds and insects buzzed through the slanted sunbeams, all busy with God’s work and 
oblivious to his presence. 
 Joe’s neighbor, a nosy widow named Celia Torres, watched him approach the walk that 
led to his front door.  She shaded her eyes with her gloved right hand, though she was already 
wearing a silly hat with a broad, floppy brim.  His face pinched angrily and his bald pate glowing 
a hot crimson, he eyed her regard with sullen suspicion.  Beneath her slightly splayed feet, a 
fresh patch of wet, freshly turned soil awaited her attention.  She was busy planting something 
stinking sweet, he guessed. 
 “Hi, Joe!” she called brightly, waving with the arm that had shaded her vision.  She was 
sixty two, he knew from reading her mail while she was away on trips, but she wore her age 
well.  Her legs, scarcely marbled with blue veins, shone with a deep, golden color.  The lines of 
her face were wispy and thin, and she kept her grayed hair tidily beneath her large hat.  
Altogether, he often considered, she was an attractive widow. 
 “God damned government!” he growled, as he stopped opposite her atop his own 
parched, brown lawn.  Thrusting a hammy, spotted fist into his trouser pocket, he extracted the 
envelope and waved it about. 
 Celia blanched to hear his profanity.  She straightened, and approached intrepidly, her 
footsteps confident and unhesitant.  Concern etched her expression.  He wondered if she desired 
him in a sexual way. 
 “Don’t use the Lord’s name so vainly, Joseph Martinez Pequeno, you’ll go to hell,” she 
chided, stopping at the greened limit of her own lush, thriving lawn.  Cocking a hip and resting 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
121
fist upon its ample girth, she waggled a finger at him, “And you’re much closer to the end than 
you are to the beginning, you know.” 
 His frown deepened, and he lowered his right arm to glare at the letter.  “Yeah, I know, 
Celia, and, if the government has anything to do with it, I’ll finish up sooner than later.” 
 “Oh.  What’s wrong with the government.” 
 “This letter, that’s what!” and he waved the crumpled envelope, again.  “I call and I call 
and I call, but do they listen.  They do not!  But you just watch!  Just watch and see if they don’t 
listen one day soon!”  Joe stuffed the letter back into his trousers.  “You know what I did last 
week.” 
 Celia, her obvious concern deepening, shook her head gently back and forth.  “No, Joe.  
What did you do.” 
 “I bought a gun, that’s what!  If I have to, I’ll get justice with THAT.” 
 “Now, Joe,” she scolded gently, her voice soft and a bit frightened.  “You’re old enough 
to know better than that!  Violence is never the answer.” 
 “Bah!” he spat, making a dismissive gesture with his hand, as he turned to climb onto his 
porch.  “What the hell do you know about it, anyway.” 
 “Joe!” she called stridently.  “Maybe I could help!  Is it taxes, Joe.  Social Security.” 
 Joe was gone.  Only the slam of his front door answered her. 
 He went to his shaded front window, and he watched her stand there, staring at where he 
had been, her expression fearful and confused.  Eventually, she shook her head and returned to 
her planting.  Due to bad knees, she liked to bend over at the hips, while she worked with the 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
122
earth.  For a time, he admired the way the center seam of her khaki shorts cut a deep line 
between her generous buttocks.  How her breasts jiggled when she moved! 
 Further frustrated, he leaned away from the window, and addressed his unresponsive 
crotch with a fierce grimace.  “Just what the hell is the matter with YOU, little man.” he asked 
of his penis.  “You should have been after that years ago!” 
 His penis refused to reply.  It simply hung there, an old hound too tired to chase a rabbit. 
 Shaking his own head and clucking his tongue, he stumped across the worn carpet of his 
living room floor.  Sitting in a secondhand recliner, he picked up a secondhand cordless 
telephone, and he dialed a number he had memorized months past. 
First-Rate Home Equity answered with a computer.  Angrily, he pounded on the ‘0’ key, 
until the computer stopped talking and the line started ringing a second time.  He heard a click, 
and then listened to a message that told him he was ‘holding’ for an operator. 
After a delay of minutes that seemed hours, he heard another series of clicks, and a 
bright, feminine voice said, “Thank you for calling First-Rate Home Equity.  My name is Gina.  
How may I help you.” 
Joe smacked his lips and sat straighter, and growled, “You can help me by leaving me the 
fuck alone.  You goddamned vultures can all go straight to hell and burn with your goddamned 
letters!  That’s what!” 
After a brief, professional pause, Gina returned, “May I have your account number, sir.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
123
Joe hissed and smacked his lips, again, and fetched the letter from his pocket.  He used 
his teeth to tear it open, and flutter its contents unfolded.  “Listen here, ah- uh- what’s your name 
again, little girl.” 
“Gina, sir.” 
“Uh- Gina, listen here.  I’m getting tired of playing with you folks.  I’m an old man, and I 
don’t have much time left on this planet.  I want to be left alone to live out my days in peace, and 
no more of your fouled-up letters!” 
“I appreciate your position, sir, but I need an account number, before we can get started.”  
Her tone was mocking and condescending.  This was a thousand times a day for her, and six 
dollars an hour.  How much could she possibly care. 
“See.  That’s the biggest part of your problem, right there!  I’m just a number to you 
people!  One number of a million, I guess, and what’s a number.  Nothing, that’s what!  When 
we’re numbers, it’s easier to screw us over, because you don’t have to see how much damage 
your mistakes do to somebody like me.  And it’s easier to make those mistakes, in the first 
place!”  He panted and gasped for breath, and chided himself to calm down, before he stroked.  
“Look me up by my name!” 
“What is your name, sir.”  He could hear the amusement in her voice, and he hated her 
for it. 
“Joseph Martinez Pequeno.  That’s Spanish for ‘Small’.  You know.  515 Redstone Ave..  
San Diego.  California.” 
“Hey,” she returned happily, “Surfin’ Safari, right.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
124
Joe snapped, “What the hell does surfing have to do with you people trying to steal my 
house!” 
She fell silent, and he heard her tapping the keys of her computer board.  “What is your 
social security number, Mr. Pequeno.” 
“I ain’t gonna say!  What the hell do you need that for.  Let me tell you something, little 
girl, I was wading chest deep through a Vietnamese rice paddy back when your own parents 
were just wet stains!  I am somebody.  I’m a name not a number!  How many other Joseph 
Martinez Pequeno’s can live here.” 
“Please calm down, sir, your constant use of profanity violates Firt-Rate’s corporate 
service policy.  I can hang up, if you won’t be reasonable.” 
Joe had been through this before.  He could accomplish nothing, if he couldn’t at least 
talk to somebody over there.  He sucked a deep, calming breath through his nostrils, and the air 
stank of Celia’s marigolds and his own stale presence. 
“Okay, alright.  I’ll give you one more chance.”  He gasped, and felt a sharp pain just 
beneath his breastbone.  Rubbing the troubled spot absently, he said in a more relaxed voice, “Do 
you have my file, now, or what.” 
“Yes, sir, Mr. Pequeno.  How may I help you.” 
His face bunched, when he realized he had already answered this question.  Regardless, 
he tried again.  “You can stop dunning me for your bullsh- I mean, your incorrect fees!  I already 
paid what I was supposed to pay!  I’m looking at another letter from you people, right now, 
which says you’re going to foreclose on my house, if I don’t remit one thousand seven hundred 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
125
fourteen dollars and sixty-two cents!  For- for-“ he squinted to read the line items, as he could 
not recall every detail.  “For service fees and interest from nineteen ninety four, -five and –six!  I 
didn’t even own this place, back then!” 
“Our records show that you did, and that you are responsible for the unpaid fees.  Your 
mortgage contract grants us the right to foreclose on your home to cover the charges.  Have you 
read it.” 
“Of course I’ve read it!  What do you think I am, some kind of moron.”  His heart raced 
painfully.  He felt it throb in his throat just beneath his ears.  “Your records are wrong.  Look at 
the inception date!  Nineteen ninety eight is the year I took possession of the house, and I’ve 
been current ever since! 
“I didn’t have a problem with First-Rate, in the beginning.  Until last year, when you 
were sold to that other company, I can’t remember the name.  Sure as shit, I started getting letter 
after letter from you people, dunning me for this charge or that fee or unpaid taxes, all of which I 
have paid and continue to pay!  I’m beginning to think you guys are some kind of crooks or 
something! 
“Now, Gina, this is the third time I called to get this straight.  Every time I call, I talk to 
somebody just like you, and every time you take an hour of my life to examine your records, and 
every time you find your mistake.  Then, you tell me that you’ll take care of it.  Do you know 
what happens next, Gina.  Do you.” 
“No, Mr. Pequeno.  What happens next.” 
“I GET ANOTHER GODDAMNED LETTER!” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
126
Gina fell silent for a time.  Joe heard her breathing softly. 
Finally, she retorted, “This is your final warning, Mr. Pequeno.  I’m going to disconnect 
this call, if you continue to use profanity.” 
“Okay, okay, okay,” he groaned, wishing his head would stop throbbing.  “Okay.  Listen, 
just get it cleared up for me for good, this time, okay.  Can you do that for me, little girl.” 
“I’m not a little girl, sir.  And I’ll do what I can.”  Before he could interject, she added,  
“Please hold.”  The line clicked dead. 
He fumed, and tossed the telephone handset across his living room, onto the couch, 
without disconnecting.  Angry as he was, getting a living person on the line was a real chore, one 
he was reluctant to repeat.  At the same time, he knew from long experience that she would not 
be back in a hurry. 
Grumbling in a slump, Joe fought for control of his anger.  What’s wrong with me.  My 
skin’s so thin, everything gets to me, these days!  Then he remembered the letter and its 
requested seventeen hundred dollars, and he realized he had every reason to be angry.  With 
every incident, he was beginning to believe that First-Rate was deliberately targeting him for 
these fraudulent charges.  They probably think I’m a poor, dumb Latino, because of my name and 
my neighborhood.  They probably think I’ll just sit back and take it like a two-bit whore. 
 Aloud, he growled, “They don’t know the first fucking thing about Joe Pequeno, then!” 
Knees cracking and back popping, he stood to reluctantly retrieve the handset, which 
played elevator music too loudly.  She must be taking a dump, or something. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
127
Back in his recliner, he slid the drawer of his lamp table open.  There, glinting dully in 
the filtered morning sunlight, a sleek, steel blue object waited patiently for his hand.  Smiling, 
Joe cradled the handset between his ear and shoulder, and he reached for the fully loaded forty-
five caliber semi-automatic handgun. 
It was heavy and cold.  It fit into his large hand perfectly.  Its trigger mated solidly with 
the crook of his right forefinger, while his thumb rested comfortably atop its safety, ready to flip 
it down and free its roaring voice. 
“Yeah,” he whispered, raising the weapon before his bleary eyes.  “That’s right, baby.  
That’s justice.  One way or another.  For them, and for me.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
128
-|- 

 Days later, Celia asked, “Where are you going.”  Though she wore that omnipresent 
wide brimmed hat, she shaded her eyes with the palm of her right hand. 
 Joe unlocked the truck of his old Plymouth, raised its squeaking lid, tossed in his carryall, 
and slammed it shut, again.  On his way back to his front door, he paused to examine her in the 
early morning light.  Though grayed and lined, hers was a beautiful face.  He stood there silently 
and simply admired her for a time.  She blinked before his piercing, searching gaze that roamed 
all the secret spots of her body in a way she had not known for years.  Though she nervously 
longed to cover herself demurely, she refused to do so, and stood resolutely before him. 
 Thrusting his right fist into the front pocket of his wrinkled trousers, he retrieved a 
crumpled envelope.  From this, he read, “John Carpenter Freeway.” 
 “Oh.  And where is that.” 
 “Says here,” he grumbled, returning the letter to his pocket, and tearing his eyes off her to 
find his porch, “It’s in Irving, Texas.  Ever been there.” 
 “No, Joe, can’t say that I have.”  She let her arm down and followed him with a torn 
gaze.  At her feet, a box of bright purple flowers waited their turn with her little handheld 
shovels.  “It’s a long drive.” 
 He knew she was curious, but he kept his mouth shut for the time being.  Returned to his 
home, he checked the range and the lights and faucets and the gadgets to be certain he had left 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
129
nothing on or running.  Once he was satisfied, he checked the locks on all the windows and the 
back door, and he retrieved his handgun and a pair of spare clips from the lamp table in his living 
room.  Then he went to the front door, and locked it shut behind him. 
 Returned to his yard, Joe looked for and found Celia by her garden hose, where she was 
washing mud from her hands.  He worked pointedly with his key ring, as he crossed his burned 
lawn to approach her. 
 She turned to see him stalking toward her, and seemed momentarily afraid that he might 
ravish her on the spot.  Then she appeared to steel herself against the moment with a thinly 
pressed and secretive smile. 
 When he extended his hand to simply offer her a key, her face fell a bit.  He said, “Celia, 
I wonder if you would watch over the place, while I’m gone.” 
 “Of course, Joe,” she returned, accepting the well-worn implement.  Briefly, their hands 
touched during the exchange.  She felt an electric spark arc between their bodies, and she 
flinched.  He scarcely reacted, though the edges of his lips curled slightly.  “How long will you 
be away.” she wondered. 
 He grimaced, his wandering thoughts returned to his business with a rude slap.  “Can’t 
say.  Might be a couple of weeks.  Might be a couple of days.” 
 “You don’t know how long you’ll be gone.” 
 “Nope.” 
 “It must be an emergency, I guess.  Somebody fell ill.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
130
 “Nope,” he grunted, straightening his belt and the tuck of his shirt for want of something 
better to do.  “It’s them damned letters I been tellin’ you about.  Excuse my language, Celia.” 
 “The letters, Joe.  They want you to go to Texas.” 
 He cackled crazily, and she noted the weathered wrinkle of his eyes.  “I bet they most 
certainly do not!  I bet my little visit is going to turn a few heads, in fact!” 
 Now Celia was frightened and suspicious.  “What are you planning to do.” 
 Leering, he reached around to the small of his back and he retrieved the pistol to waggle 
it in the air.  “I’m going to get me some serious satisfaction, Celia, that’s what!” 
 She jerked back as if slapped, when she saw the gun.  Her face paled.  Her eyes watched 
it wave back and forth, and her expression was that of a cornered animal waiting for a cobra’s 
towering head to strike! 
 “Joe!” she gasped, covering her mouth with the hand that held his house key, “Put that 
away this instant!” 
 Her reaction surprised him, and his intent leer fell to a self-disapproving frown.  He 
returned the .45 to his belt, out of sight.  “I’m sorry, Celia.  I didn’t mean to scare you.” 
 “What on Earth are you going to do with that thing, Joseph Pequeno!.” 
 “I told you,” he growled, abashed.  He dug a shallow hole with the point of his twisting 
toe, as he justified his burning anger.  “I’m going to get some satisfaction.” 
 “Don’t you think a phone call would be more appropriate.” 
 Now he turned his steely, piercing gaze on her, and she saw a strange light burning there.  
“No, I do not!  I know what’s going on!  They think I’m the type to take it blind and stupid, but I 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
131
know!  I know everything!  I done checked ‘em out with some buddies of mine!  They’re a 
bunch of scam artists, that’s what!  They think that, just because I’m way out here on the west 
coast, they can do whatever they want to me; harass me however they like; dun me for whatever 
they think I owe; threaten me with the foreclosure of my mortgage just to wring another buck or 
two out of me.  They think they’ll get away with it, ‘cause I’m old and feeble. 
 “Except, I ain’t, Celia.  I ain’t too old and I ain’t feeble, at all!  And I just ain’t gonna 
take it no more.” 
 “But what are you going to do, Joe.”  She tucked his key into the front pocket of her 
generous denim jeans, and followed him nervously across his yard toward his car. 
 Over his shoulder, he tossed, “I’m gonna take care of this personally.  It’s the only way to 
stop ‘em.” 
 “You’re scaring me, Joe!  You’re not going to shoot somebody, are you.” 
 He stopped, at last, and turned to face her angrily, “Only if I have to.” 
 “You’ll be arrested.  You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail.” 
 Joe shook his head, grinning.  “Nope, I checked it out with some old buddies of mine.  
We planned it right down to the last letter.  Every ‘t’ is crossed, all the ‘i’s are dotted.” 
 She was skeptical.  She was married thirty years, after all, and had long known a 
husband.  “What sort are your buddies, Joseph.” 
 “The best.” 
 Celia snorted, and cocked her round hip for a firm fist.  “Ha!  They’d let you talk yourself 
into prison!” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
132
 Joe shook his head, and his grin broadened.  He reached behind him again, and she 
wondered if he might draw the gun, but, no, it was only his wallet.  Knocking it open, he showed 
her a card through one of its many clear display bands (opposite stared the bright face of a young 
girl she guessed must be a grand daughter).  “Look’a there!  What’s that.”  He cackled, and 
flipped to another band, pointing out two more cards.  She read the title of the last, ‘Concealed 
Handgun Permit’ above a state seal and the word ‘Texas’.  “And what about that.  And that.” he 
cried.  “I’ll drive across Arizona and New Mexico to get there.  I’m licensed in all them states!” 
 She watched him fold his wallet away triumphantly, and snorted, again.  “Those little 
pieces of paper don’t grant you the right to shoot anybody out of plain meanness, Joseph 
Pequeno!” 
 He dismissed her with a wrinkled expression and a wave of his hand.  “Ah, I told you… 
I’m not planning to shoot anybody!” 
 “These things are never planned, Joe, they just happen.  You’re old enough to know this, 
by now.” 
 “That’s just the problem, Celia!  That’s how they’re taking advantage of me!”  When she 
remained reluctant, he shifted his weight to take a stand.  “Look, I know what I’m doing!  I 
might be worn around the edges and drooping a bit at the corners, but I still got what it takes to 
run a mission like this one.” 
 “A mission, Joe.  This isn’t Viet Nam.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
133
 “It might as well be!” he insisted vehemently.  “These people are trying to hurt me, and 
they might as well be trying to kill me!  They’re the enemy!  And I know just what to do with the 
enemy!” 
 “You can’t kill anybody for any reason.” 
 Joe made a rude, wet sound with his mouth and crossed his arms defiantly, looking away 
down the street, where the early morning sunlight streamed through the tree boughs with a sharp 
slant.  “I’m not going to kill anybody, Celia, though I have killed.  Many times.” 
 She gasped softly.  Because his eyes verged with tears, she offered tenderly “I’m sorry, 
Joe.” 
 “It was my duty.  At the time, I didn’t mind much.”  He scoffed with a grunt, “What the 
hell did I know.  I was nineteen.  I was air-borne.  I was trained to kill without a thought.   And, 
believe me, it wasn’t hard, when the other side was shooting back!”  Months of angry memories, 
decades old, washed across his gaze for a moment, before his thoughts waxed lucid once more, 
and he said, “So I know what killin’ is all about, Celia, and I’m telling you nobody is going to 
die over this.  Not them.  Certainly not me.” 
 “Then why the gun.” 
 He shrugged, “It makes me feel better.” 
 It was her turn to shake her head and glance away, “I don’t know, Joe…” she hedged, her 
voice worried and foreboding.  “This doesn’t sound good, at all.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
134
 “I don’t expect you to understand, Celia, but believe me when I say that I checked it all 
out.”  He turned to face her now, pleading his case.  “They’re parasites, Celia.  Scum.  They 
make a living off scamming old folks, like you and me.” 
 “But what can you do about it, Joe.” she demanded sharply.  “Leave it to the authorities!  
Running off to Texas with a gun is- well, it’s- it’s-“ 
 “What.  It’s what, Celia.” 
 “It’s nuts!  That’s what!” 
 His face soured.  “Well, I guess I’m nuts, then!” he returned hotly.  “And I already called 
the authorities!  They say it’s a civil matter, a matter of contracts and such, and beyond their 
jurisdiction.  I gotta sue, they say.  Only, I don’t have five thousand dollars to haul the bastards 
into court!” 
 “And this is the only other plan you can come up with.”  When he nodded vehemently, 
she added, “I still think it’s nuts!” 
 “You want to know what’s nuts, Celia.” he growled, “Nuts is sittin’ inside that little 
cracker box day after day after day, rotting away to nothing!  Nuts is stewin’ and simmerin’ over 
these god-damned letters and telephone calls, impotent and powerless!  Oh, sure, I can make 
countless phone calls and talk to a thousand different computers, but the only way I know to set 
things straight for sure is to do it with my own two hands and feet.” 
 Unfortunately, she understood what he was saying, all too well.  “So you’re going to 
Texas with a gun.” 
 “Yep.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
135
 “To do….” 
 Joe shrugged.  “I’ll figure that out when I get there.” 
 Now she shrugged, in turn.  “Okay, Joe.  Do what you want.  You can call me collect 
from prison to let me know what I should do with this key.” 
 He sighed leadenly, “I ain’t goin’ to jail, Celia.” 
 “You hope.” 
 “Celia.” 
 She had started to turn away, but stopped short.  “Yes, Joe.” 
 “I bought one of them little mobile telephone doo-dads, for the trip, you know.”  Celia 
was surprised to see a boyish embarrassment on his face, and he reminded her of the first boy to 
ask her for a date.  “So I was thinking, since you’re gonna watch over the place while I’m gone, 
if I could maybe call you from time to time.  To check on the house, you know.” 
 Celia smiled warmly, “Sure, Joe.  Sure.  And maybe just to talk, too.” 
 “Yeah, maybe.” 
 “You might be homesick.” 
 He smiled and those experienced wrinkles returned to the corners of his eyes.  “I might 
be, at that!” 
 “Sure, Joe, call me any time.  I’ll look forward to it.” 
 “I could call you once per night, I suppose.  If that’s not too much.” 
 “No, that would be just fine.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
136
 He nodded his head and waved slightly, awkwardly.  “Okay, then!  Around nine, before 
you get to bed.” 
 Celia smiled and waved and backed up a few steps.  “Nine it is.” 
 “Good-bye, Celia.” 
 “Good-bye, Joe.  Be careful.  Don’t drive through the night, as you’re likely to fall asleep 
at the wheel.” 
 “I won’t.”  He turned to climb into the Plymouth, fishing his pockets for his keys.  She 
frowned to see the handgun tucked into his belt at the small of his back.  He climbed into his car, 
forgetting it, only to rise again and remove it, so he could sit comfortably.  Shaking his head 
ruefully, he tossed it onto the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut behind him.  “And you 
mind those flowers!  The old street just wouldn’t be the same without all them buds to stink up 
the place!” 
 Smiling, she waved him away, as he started the car and backed into the street.  He blew 
the horn on his way past, and she wondered if she would ever see him alive again. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
137

 

 

 
 
“…The Nightly Terror of Terrors That 
Come In the Night…” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
138
-|- 

“You see, what you gotta do, boy, is learn the rules!”  Roman Pettigrew kicked the prone 
youth again, savagely.  “But you just never seem to learn, that’s all.” 
Roman turned to his partner, Kendrick Sutherland, and grinned broadly, so his tobacco-
stained teeth shown like the moldy rind of a slice of watermelon.  “Don’t that burn your ass, 
Ken.  Here this punk has been passing bags on our beat for who knows how long, and does he 
think about us.  Huh.”  Another kick.  Kendrick thought he heard something crack in the boy’s 
body. 
The kid screamed softly and curled up.  He moaned, “I didn’t know!  I didn’t know!  I 
swear!” 
Roman laughed and kicked his victim again.  “Bullshit!  Your kind would swear your 
mother’s soul to hell for a ten dollar rock!”  He delivered another kick. 
Kendrick was genuinely concerned that the boy would die.  Yet, he said nothing.  He did 
nothing.  He simply stood and watched. 
“What the fuck do you want.!” demanded the tortured dealer defiantly.  “I’ll pay 
anything, just back the fuck up!” 
Roman’s grin broadened.  With a confident swagger and adjustment of his heavy belt, the 
officer did indeed take a step backward.  “Now we’re hearing what we want to hear, punk.  But 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
139
you just watch that mouth of yours.  More filth like that outta your hole and I’ll kick your teeth 
in.” 
“Okay, okay,” panted the wretch, struggling to rise.  He made it to his knees, before a 
terrible spasm of coughing wracked his body so he could but double up and struggle to breathe.  
Finally, spitting up a wad of blood and mucous, the dealer managed to find his feet.  Face 
bruised, lips swollen, he asked proudly, “How much.” 
“That depends,” returned Roman coolly.  He turned the cul-de-sac where the squad was 
parked, searching for witnesses among the broken windows and gaping doors of condemned 
apartment buildings, which lay in heaps all about.  The night was dark, save for a thin slice of 
moon.  “How much business have you been getting lately, Jon-Jon.” 
Jon-Jon spat to one side and gingerly rubbed his abused ribs.  “I been doin’ aw’right.” 
“‘Aw-right’” mocked Roman, reaching for his baton.  “You better start with the numbers, 
boy.”  The officer’s menace didn’t require further threat. 
“Two G’s a week.  Sometimes three, but usually two.” 
“Okay.  We want five hundred from you, each and every week that we see you on the 
streets.  Got it.  Five hundred.” 
“God damn, take my fucking dick while you’re at it!” 
Roman was surprisingly quick for such a large man.  Jon-Jon was on the ground in an 
instant, laid out flat on his back, out cold.  Several of his front teeth were broken and blood filled 
the kid’s mouth. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
140
Kendrick used the toe of his well-polished shoe to turn the boy’s head to one side so he 
wouldn’t drown in his own blood.  “Why did you do that.” demanded Roman, once more 
surveying the darkened windows and shadowed stairways. 
“He might have choked on his own teeth.”  Roman laughed.  Kendrick hadn’t meant to be 
funny.  “What do we do with him now.” 
“Now.  We wait.  He’ll come around sooner or later.” 
“Then what.” 
“We make sure we have an... arrangement.  Then we let the punk go.” 
“Yeah, sure.”  Kendrick also surveyed the deteriorated tenement that crowded the cul-de-
sac on all sides save one.  This was, the rookie considered, the sad destiny of all things.  
Darkness.  Neglect.  Decay.  All things that start straight must end crooked. 
Their radios crackled to life.  It was an urgent call.  Roman cursed and answered.  Passing 
the codes back and forth that indicated his squad would be on scene, expedite, he directed 
Kendrick to the car.  “Get in, we’ll go do this call and be back before the scum wakes up.” 
Uncertain, the younger officer hesitated.  “What if...” he couldn’t finish.  What if what.  
What if somebody flushed the toilet, and all this shit was just so easily washed away. 
“C’mon, Ken!  It’s Big Sarah calling for back-up.  There might be something in it for 
us!”  The squad’s engine was already roaring to life.  It thumped into gear and started off in a 
tight turn before Kendrick could get the door shut.  He grunted and struggled to pull it closed.  
“You act like you want to do this for the rest of your life!  We gotta think about early 
retirement!”  Roman floored the accelerator and punched up the lights, no siren. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
141
The door at last shut and his seatbelt in place, Kendrick smoothed back his hair and 
watched the ruined city slide past his windshield.  Abandoned slums gave way to stark industrial 
functionality.  Smoke belched from countless stacks.  Rusted railcars sat upon rusted tracks, each 
waiting patiently for shiny new goods that would all too soon end up rusting in a landfill.  All 
was red bricks and gray mortar.  All was concrete and steel.  All was inhuman, cold, 
untouchable.  Poisoned.  Poisonous. 
Their squad careened crazily through this emptiness, a dung beetle on a mad race through 
these muddled piles of refuse, its call borne of an urgency that was not impetus, its desires 
unobvious and its methods obviously undisciplined.  They were not salvation.  They were a 
greater ruin amid the already rambling disaster of the city.  They were bound to the next little, 
green ball of shit, which they would roll this way or that until it was of a proper shape and size.  
Night after night.  Each second an eternity.  Amid the emptiness and unbridled decay. 
“Uh, oh,” gushed Roman suddenly, rounding a last corner, “Look what we got here!” 
Kendrick glanced up in time to see another officer take a punch to the face that sent her 
reeling.  Her partner was absent.  Kendrick assumed he was on foot, chasing a suspect. 
“I’ll bet that pissed her off!”  Roman laughed and brought the car to a grinding, smoking 
stop.  “Last time I seen someone do that to Big Sarah, the poor jerk ended up in a cast from the 
waist down.” 
He didn’t wait for a response, and was already outside the cab, his club drawn.  Kendrick 
followed, his automatic handgun at the ready.  As usual, he would stand watch while Roman did 
all the beating. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
142
They need not have bothered.  Recovered from the prodigious blow that had almost felled 
her, Big Sarah came back swinging her flashlight.  Before the perp could turn and run, she 
smashed his head with its heavy butt, then caught him again at the nape of the neck, a sure 
knockout blow.  The figure collapsed and was still. 
Approaching with a swagger, Roman declared, “Sort of reminds you of something, don’t 
it Ken.” and he laughed. 
“Bitch,” spat Big Sarah.  She was cuffing the transvestite prostitute brutally now, and 
spoke over her shoulder, busy as she was with her work.  “Pete’s off after this one’s pal.  Fucker 
cut through that railyard over there and I ain’t seen either of ‘em since.” 
“Ken.”  That’s all Roman had to say. 
As he took off at a trot to find Big Sarah’s partner, Kendrick heard Roman start, “Did 
they have any cash on ‘em.”  That was Roman Pettigrew from beginning to end.  He was always 
looking for a deal, something in it for him.  He wasn’t so much an officer of the law as he was a 
garbage man that sifted the filth for spare change. 
Kendrick didn’t think about it.  Some things, he had learned, were best left unconsidered. 
He ran across the street and through the railyard, his weapon still in his hand.  Through a 
maze of hulking rail cars and trunk lines, Kendrick searched in the direction indicated, until he 
thought he heard the unmistakable sounds of a struggle.  The echoes were confusing.  He stopped 
to listen, and traced the sound to the deep shadows of a rundown loading dock. 
Now the sounds were coming louder.  Heavy breathing.  Grunting.  The sounds of gravel 
crunching underfoot, of someone groaning, of someone else softly, passionately cursing.  

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
143
Kendrick could see nothing.  With his free left hand, he drew his flashlight and shown it down 
the length of the dock. 
Its beam chased away the cobwebbed shade until it exposed Sarah’s partner and the other 
transvestite prostitute.  Pete had the whore bent over the dock some fifty feet further along, and 
was steadily pumping away from behind.  The prostitute looked to be a boy of about sixteen 
years, his face painted like a harlequin version of a real woman.  Alternately smiling and 
grimacing with each bestial stroke, he grunted, “What- the fuck’re- you looking- at.” 
Kendrick pointed his light at the ground and thumbed it dark.  Inevitably, the gravel 
crunched beneath his feet as he returned across the railyard. 
He found Roman and Sarah sharing a smoke and talking to the shift sergeant.  The 
demonic colors of flashing strobes of three squad cars, combined with the generally hellish 
environs of this inner-city wasteland was enough to convince Kendrick that he was working for 
Satan. 
The other prostitute remained on the ground, motionless.  Somewhere, far away in the 
night, a siren wailed its lonesome song.  Help was coming, it said, salvation on the way.  
Nevertheless, Kendrick remained skeptical. 
“What about Pete.” queried the sergeant.  At his back, Sarah and Roman shifted 
uncomfortably, wondering what the rookie might say. 
Before he could reply, however, the radio crackled with static.  Pete announced that the 
runner had escaped.  He offered a misleading description and added that he was returning to the 
car. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
144
Kendrick only said, “He’s alright.” 
Roman winked, his casual grin brightening.  “Must’ve been some kinda hop-head.  
Nobody else could get away from Ol’ Pete so easy.” 
“Yeah,” echoed Sarah.  “That’s what it was, for sure.” 
After a few minutes of customary back and forth, Roman asked the sergeant for 
permission to leave, so he and Kendrick could return to more pressing business.  Back in their 
squad, the dead city scrolling across their windshield with dreadful certainty, Roman 
complained, “Sarah’s a real pro, but that Pete!  What was he doing when you found him.” 
Kendrick said nothing.  Instead, he turned to face the world through the window at his 
shoulder.  Cold.  Black.  Rusting.  Poisoned. 
“That’s alright, keep your mouth shut.  I don’t really want to hear about it.  Besides,” he 
jerked the wheel hard right then hard again left, “I can guess.  That guy has a bolt loose, let me 
tell you.  He’s always thinking with his pecker and never his pocket book.  I’ll bet I’ve lost more 
than ten thousand dollars through the years because of that flake.  He just doesn’t care about 
money, even when there’s money on hand!  Now there’s just something awfully out of whack 
with a guy like that!” 
Kendrick nodded and grunted.  He agreed.  He agreed with everything Roman said. 
“Once upon a time,” intoned the old veteran, “The department wouldn’t tolerate weirdoes 
like Pete.  He would have failed muster back in the academy.  But nowadays!  Every queen with 
a cause can sign up.  And guess what.  We gotta let ‘em in!  We gotta respect and protect ‘em!  
We even gotta say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ to ‘em.  Is this one screwed up world, or what.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
145
“It’s screwed up, no doubts about that.”  It was all the rookie knew to say. 
“Which wouldn’t be so bad, really.  I mean, what with all the niggers and spics and Jews 
and waps, what does it hurt to toss a few faggots into the mix, you know.  But to go around not 
caring about money!  That’s sick!  A guy ought to be tested for that before he joins the force.” 
Their squad, the mad dung beetle come to roll yet another little, green ball of shit, roared 
through the decrepit apartment complex and into the cul-de-sac where they had left Jon-Jon.  
Roman laughed when his headlights shone on the prostrate form at the center of the litter-strewn 
circle. 
“What did I tell you, partner.  Still out cold.” 
“Yeah.  Looks like it.” 
The young dealer wouldn’t come around, despite the delivery of a fresh dozen of 
Roman’s savage kicks.  Kendrick knelt and checked beneath the boy’s chin for a pulse.  The 
flesh was cold. 
“He’s dead.” 
Roman was silent for a time.  Kendrick stood and said nothing.  And did nothing. 
Finally, the older policeman said, “Should have listened when I told you to watch your 
mouth.  Gotta have respect for the law.  Got to.”  And a time later, softer, “Just got to, that’s all.” 
“What do we do now.”  It seemed Kendrick was forever asking this question of his 
partner.  “What happens to us.” 
“Us.”  Roman was aghast.  “What us.  Nothing happens to us.” 
“But we-, you-, I-, I mean-” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
146
Roman’s countenance was fierce and mean.  “Nothing happens to us,” he repeated, as if 
he could make it so that easily. 
It seemed to Kendrick then, that Roman’s eyes were black holes, and that all the darkness 
of the universe flowed from those black holes like wellsprings.  Kendrick could feel the rushing 
current as it swept past him, a torrent of shadow and shade, an undeniable tide of vice and 
corruption to dissolve and wash him away. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
147
Now Roman surveyed the cul-de-sac again, searching for witnesses and something else.  
“We’ll toss that carpet over him, and leave it all for the maggots.  Let the day shift clean this 
mess sometime next week, when it stinks so bad somebody finally takes notice.”  He started 
across the circle to fetch the filthy length of carpet, as suggested.  “You check his pockets while I 
get the rug.  Get his ID and what not.  Don’t leave anything but the drugs behind.” 
Numbly, grateful to be free of his partner’s demented gaze, Kendrick stooped to do as he 
had been told.  He plucked a wad of bills from one pocket, and a fistful of tiny bags containing 
drugs from another.  From yet a third, he recovered a wallet.  It was empty save for a handful of 
pictures.  A pair of photos, each of a woman: one older, obviously Jon-Jon’s mother, and a 
younger one that was perhaps his girlfriend or wife.  And of two small children. 
After tossing the carpet over the corpse, Roman snatched the cash from Kendrick’s grip, 
leaving the photographs.  “I get first cut.  Seniority must have its privileges, after all.”  Laughing, 
he kicked the moldered pile of carpet with apparent satisfaction.  A night’s work, well done.  
“Get in the car.”  He counted the money as he walked, as if he could see in the darkness or 
harbored no fear of fate. 
Why should Satan be concerned with fate or destiny.  Or with any sort of direction, 
whatever. 
Kendrick let his gaze drop to the pile of garbage at his feet.  The carpet stank of years of 
dried urine and vomit and feces.  This was all that came immediately to mind. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
148
-|- 

At the end of their shift, as an undying sun shone its bright promise beyond the eastern 
skyline, Kendrick stared out of his window at the passing desolation, and said softly to no one at 
all, “We are the nightly terror of terrors that come in the night.  We are parasites of parasites.” 
Roman frowned unhappily.  For once, however, he had nothing to offer, so he said 
nothing at all. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
149

 

 

 
 
Unspeakable Rewards 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
150
-|- 

‘They know why Andrei Chikatilo did what he did’, whispered the monster.  ‘While they 
question the origin of Ted Bundy’s madness.  Everything must come from childhood, after all, 
according to their strange understanding of the world, therefore Chikatilo’s crimes represent a 
twisted sort of validation of their beliefs.  Bundy, however, allegedly came from a good family’, 
the demon paused to snigger derisively, ‘As if ever there was such a thing!’ 
Kendrick sighed and rolled his eyes, resigning himself to the monster’s brooding, hateful 
presence.  Stoically, he returned his attention to the book he had opened on the table before him.  
The university library was all but empty at this hour, and none of his fellows took note of the 
harsh whisper that emanated from beneath the shelf marked ‘Reference - R.001.067’. 
‘Therefore Ted Bundy’s crimes remain a mystery.  They wonder why he would do such 
things, when he grew up with more privilege than many.  He was educated, they whine!  He was 
handsome, they moan!  They find it inconceivable that a man, a sane man, can kill simply 
because he wants to kill.  Why does the concept of murder in the name of brazen lust so disturb 
them, child.  Do you ever wonder.  Do you want to know.’ 
Kendrick shook his head.  “No.”  His reply was impossibly loud in the silence.  A young 
girl took note, and turned a curious gaze upon this strange man. 
‘Liar.  What a rotten liar you are!  You want to know!’  Kendrick’s secret monster crept 
along the floor in the colors of black shade and gray shadow, so its voice followed in a rolling 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
151
sigh.  Next, it spoke from the darkness of the third shelf of section ‘R.001.177’.  ‘They abhor lust 
because it lives inside them all, a sleeping secret named murder!  It is the ultimate taboo, for it is 
the ultimate power.  Greedily, they long for it, and then they chastise themselves for their 
longing... not because they abhor the act, but because the act demands such harsh sanction from 
their peers.  They despise themselves for their craven cravings, simply because they are afraid. 
‘How many men would happily murder their wives, or wives their husbands, if they knew 
society would not punish them for their transgressions.’  The monster laughed wickedly, and the 
echoes of it sounded the depths of the vast chamber’s voluminous silence.  ‘How many tortured 
children would deal well deserved deaths to their sadistic keepers. 
‘No, they do not abhor lust murder for the act, itself.  They are afraid of it because of the 
chaos it implies.  Everybody wants to do it, so nobody can do it, otherwise…’ 
“Otherwise, we are animals,” answered Kendrick softly.  This was a stale lecture, one he 
had heard many times before.  He said as much, ignoring the curious glances that fell upon him 
from the distance. 
The monster returned, ‘Indeed, I have said this before now.  This time, however, you are 
a killer twice over.  This is the first time you have listened with a murderer’s ears!’ 
Kendrick shuddered and clenched his eyes tightly shut.  “No, I’m not.  You did that.” 
It laughed terribly.  ‘Perhaps.  But what of the boy, Ken.  Hmm.  As I recall, they were 
your hands in your pockets, and your feet fixed firmly to the pavement, and your lips that pressed 
together in silence!  Where was I, then.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
152
Ken brooded darkly, his thoughts as inky as the depths of the monster’s concealment.  He 
tried to focus his gaze on the criminal psychology text opened on the table before him.  The 
definition of the term ‘psychopathy’ loomed before his vision.  Once, twice, three times he read 
it, though the words refused to make sense. 
‘Murder frightens you, child,’ hissed the beast, roving about the reading area as a 
vaporous drag of black fog, ‘Because it is strange.  She was the first.  One must have a first, and 
the first is always the most difficult, so I helped you through the worst of it.  Next time, it will be 
easier.’ 
Choking on the same paragraph for the fifth time, Kendrick felt his shoulders bunch 
tensely.  His eyes pinched involuntarily shut.  “No!” he barked, regardless of the startled 
attention he received.  “I won’t do it again!” 
His secret monster laughed, and came to a stirring, boiling halt beneath his table.  Ken 
felt its vile, wicked caress about his ankles, calves and knees.  Gently, it loved him in the 
darkness. 
It laughed cruelly.  ‘You will.’ 
“No!” 
‘Yesssssss.’ 
Kendrick felt the demon crawl into his lap.  He dared open his eyes to a slit, and glance 
down there.  A pool of mysterious night flowed across his thighs.  The beast’s ugly, misshapen 
countenance simmered there, its eyes meanly brilliant, its awful grin a ragged, mocking gash.  
Ken shuddered, but dared not flush it free. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
153
 It had come at his call, he knew, and would be offended at his rebuke.  Unspeakable 
retaliation must inevitably follow such betrayal.  His was a deal with the devil, and he well knew 
the high cost of such bargains. 
 ‘You must,’ insisted the monster.  Now its oddly gentle embrace climbed Kendrick’s torso 
to entwine about his throat tenderly.  ‘You will.  It is your immortality.’ 
 As he had so often in the past, Kendrick regretted his desires.  Yet, he desired them, 
nonetheless.  He swallowed thickly. 
 “It’s not what I wanted.” 
 Again, the beast laughed softly.  ‘What you want comes after.  First, you must pay.’ 
 “Did they pay.  The rest of them, I mean.” 
 Before his secret darkness could whisper a reply, Kendrick started out of his seat, when a 
gentle grip fell on his left shoulder.  He turned his head to find a shriveled, spotted hand there. 
 “Young man,” repeated the old woman, “Are you okay.” 
 Kendrick fumbled to recover himself.  He nodded and tried to speak, but his throat locked 
in a strangled gargle.  “Y-y-ye-ye-yes, ma-ma-ma-ma-am!” he returned at last. 
 She blinked, and straightened.  “Good heavens,” she clucked, “Is it mid-terms or finals.  
You must be studying awfully hard.” 
 “Wh-wh-why-“ he stuttered.  By force of long habit, he practiced a simple control 
technique, sucked a deep breath, and resumed his human façade.  “No, not really.  Why do you 
say so.” 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
154
 “Well, for one thing,” she returned, somewhat amused, though fear shone in her eyes, 
too, “I had to literally shake you to get your attention.  And for another, several of the other 
students have complained about your noise.” 
 “My noise.” 
 “Yes, dear boy.  I don’t make the rules, but I must enforce them, and the signs clearly say 
that you should read quietly to yourself here.  We have sound-isolated reading rooms available, 
if you like.” 
 “Oh,” returned Ken, straightening in his chair, the monster long ago fled from his lap as 
a purring kitten gone to ground.  “I didn’t realize I was being so noisy.” 
 She smiled, and he recognized condescension in it.  “Of course you didn’t.  Still, I must 
ask you to respect the rules of this institution, if you please.” 
 “Naturally,” he croaked, rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat.  “I must be getting 
tired.  It won’t happen again.” 
 “Would you like to check out a reading room.” 
 “No, really.  I’m okay,” he stood abruptly, pushing his heavy wooden seat back with a 
jerk of his knees. 
 The librarian jumped, and covered her mouth.  Instinctively afraid of him, she backed 
away several steps.  Her smile was gone forever now, only her fear remained. 
 “I’ll just go splash water on my face, and get some air.  Then I’ll be good as new.”  
Ignoring her reaction, he stalked away.  He noticed how the other readers followed him across 
the room with their eyes. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
155
 “Young man!” called the old lady, “You left your backpack!” 
 Without turning his head, Ken waved and said, “I’ll be back.”  He imagined their 
collective disappointment, but he refused to see it. 
 Instead, he stalked through the aisles to the restroom, where he relieved himself.  As 
promised, he stopped at the filthy sink to run cold water into his hands and splash his face.  The 
water was icy smooth and refreshing.  It tasted of iron and chlorine, but it was sweet and good.  
He splashed himself again, and again.  He ran wet hands through his hair to refashion its shape. 
 From beneath the last toilet stall on the left, his demon whispered, ‘The price is, and 
always has been, your life.  You know this.  You knew it then, you know it now.’ 
 Kendrick rolled his hands across his face, and turned his gaze on the darkness pooled 
beneath the stall door.  With a slow, mechanical reach, he turned off the water.  “My life.  Not 
their lives.” 
 An all but inaudible hiss of hot steam, the monster’s voice slithered from one stall to the 
next, closer to its host.  Its red, glowing eyes watched, even as they floated across the floor.  ‘You 
are a vessel, now.  You serve an enigmatic purpose.  Your destiny is not for you to understand, 
because it is no longer yours to master.’ 
 “What happens if I don’t like the things you make me do.  What happens if I refuse to do 
them.” 
 ‘Try.’ 
 This short, simple reply frightened Ken more than he cared to show.  To mask his terror, 
he rolled a length of coarse, brown paper from the towel dispenser, and mopped his face with it. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
156
 When it next spoke to him, the demon had gathered near his feet in the pool of shade 
harbored beneath the sinks.  He felt its misty reach beneath his right pant leg.  ‘Or, better still, 
simply do.  You may learn to love it.’ 
 “What about the others.  Did they pay.  Did they learn to love it.” 
 ‘Each paid in his own way,’ hissed the serpentine vapor, which clung to him indecently 
beneath the fabric of his clothing, ‘Those that served.  You must know, not all were like you, 
child.’ 
 “How do I know.  You could claim them all, and I would never know better.” 
 The beast hissed, and climbed higher along Ken’s body, slipping beneath the 
stranglehold of his belt with a delicate, icy flow.  ‘I do not deceive you where deceit is 
unnecessary.’ 
 Now it was Kendrick’s turn to laugh.  The wad of wet paper towels stifled his chuckle.  
Then he balled the whole mess into a tight knot, and dropped it into a waste bin.  “When, then, 
do you deceive me.”  He strode for the door, shaking the beast from his legs as coal dust from a 
miner’s boots. 
 It was not so easy to dismiss, however, but followed him to his seat, surging from one 
puddle of darkness to the next as a nasty, boneless thing crawls beneath slimy rocks.  As it 
hurried, it whispered, ‘She was nothing.  Trash.  Why should you care what happened to her.’ 
 “She was a human being.” 
 ‘No,’ returned the fell spirit quickly, forcefully.  ‘No, she was not a human being.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
157
 “No.” he wondered, dragging the attention of a young man sitting behind a large book 
propped on his lap.  “Then what was she.” 
 ‘She was like you, child, in that she served.  She was unlike you, in that she failed her 
service.  Her failure demanded another, harsher, sort of payment.’  Its grotesque rattle fell silent 
for a time.  It came together beneath section ‘R.002.014’, while Kendrick threaded his way 
between the reading tables and chairs to find his previous seat. 
 Kendrick hesitated at his chair, and pondered the open text.  Once the monster came, he 
knew from long, hard experience, he would find no peace.  Study was useless now.  Besides 
which, he sighed, turning his head to encounter the bizarre stares of his fellow patrons, these 
people seemed anxious for his departure.  This reason, more than any other, however, convinced 
him to stay. 
 He sat, and lifted his book.  Softly, he said, “I thought I would like it more than I did.” 
 The demon crossed the room by flowing along the spider’s web of shadows that crossed 
the carpeted floor.  ‘Murder is an acquired taste.’  It pooled beneath his table. 
 Ken sighed heavily, and read the definition for ‘psychopathy’ for the sixth and final time.  
He wondered if he was an anti-social personality type. 
 “Why must it be murder.” 
 His secret chimera sniggered, and once more began to climb his legs with an intricate, 
chilled touch.  ‘What else.  Would you rather rape.  Steal.  Extort.  No, our service demands 
the greatest damage, and so murder must be our way.’ 
 “Demands.  Who demands.” 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
158
Somebody hissed, ‘SHHHHHH!’  Kendrick pretended not to notice. 
 ‘Not whom, but what,’ corrected the snide vapor.  Once more, its baleful, burning eyes 
stared up at him from the shallow shade of his lap.  ‘No,’ the demon hurriedly inserted, ‘Do not 
ask.  It is the central mystery of our worship.  None can say.  None can know.’ 
 “Then it isn’t real.” 
 ‘It is real.’  The beast’s wispy form rippled with frustration.  ‘You know it is real.’ 
 “I have never seen it.” 
 ‘Yet, you see me.’ 
 Kendrick sucked a deep breath, caught.  “Yes.  I see you.” 
 ‘Then I am real.’ 
 “Perhaps.” 
 ‘You believe I am real.’ 
 Again, he sucked a long, thoughtful breath.  “Yes.  I believe.” 
 ‘Then the rest follows.  Do not worry.  Understanding must come to you in time, though it 
may come late.’  It fell silent at once with a hiss, when it detected the click-clack of the old lady’s 
footsteps. 
 Kendrick raised his head to see her approaching along the aisle.  Her face betrayed her 
displeasure.  Before she could near close enough to scold, he gathered his books into his 
backpack, and hurried away in the opposite direction. 
 “Bitch,” he hissed beneath his breath. 
 ‘We should kill her,’ returned the shadows softly. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
159
 He cast a quick glance over his shoulder.  She was walking away, again, shaking her 
head.  His fellow readers seemed happy to see him go.  They smiled and nodded and exchanged 
sighs of relief.  Kendrick boiled. 
 “No,” he returned after several paces.  “There were too many witnesses.” 
 ‘Fool,’ admonished the demon from within the space above the roof tiles, where it paced 
him overhead.  ‘You service provides for many premiums.  Our purpose answers all needs, 
therefore anonymity will be your cloak.  Act and see for yourself.’ 
 “I don’t want to kill her.” 
 ‘Liar.’ 
 “I don’t want to get caught.” 
 ‘You won’t get caught,’ hissed the exasperated monster.  ‘Your guilt will be hidden in the 
bizarre, random, unmotivated nature of your crime.  Few will guess that a young man with such 
exceptional promise would murder a harmless geriatric, simply because she scolded him in the 
library.’ 
 “That’s not the reason why I would do it.” 
 ‘Oh.’ wondered the darkness, taken aback by this revelation.  It thought it knew him so 
well.  ‘Then why.’ 
 “Because,” returned Kendrick, “She was acting as an agent for THEM.  They that point 
and giggle.  Why must I always be the one to leave.” 
 ‘They despise you.  They laugh at you.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
160
 Kendrick arrived at the door to the stairwell, which he preferred over the elevator for its 
privacy and convenience.  Slamming its latch bar back viciously, he kicked it open and ducked 
inside, his secret monster at his heels. 
 “Do you remember that day I wore my Scout uniform to school.  It was the Monday after 
I made Eagle, remember.” 
 ‘Yessss,’ hissed his night-bound twin, ‘I remember.  I remember everything.’ 
 “They laughed and spat on me.  I th-th-th-thought, th-th-th-that th-th-th-they just didn’t 
understand what ‘Eagle Sc-Sc-Sc-Sc-Scout’ meant.  I t-t-t-t-tried to explain.” 
 ‘You wasted your breath.’ 
 “They wouldn’t li-li-li-list-en.  They laughed, and th-th-th-th-they spat on me.” 
 ‘They understood.  Exactly.  Precisely.  They always understand.  The ignorant and 
stupid are ever convinced of their own overwhelming righteousness.’ 
 “I followed their rules.  I did the right thing.  Every day.  All the time.  I made their 
grades; I’m making them still, today!”  He stomped down the stairs, which rang with a metallic 
GONG-GONG-GONG!  “But it’s not enough!” 
 ‘It can never be enough,’ agreed the monster, swelling up at his hunched back to lay 
itself across his shoulders, a jet sable stole to represent his dark authority.  ‘So do it, child.  Do 
it.’ 
 “Kill her.” 
 ‘Kill her.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
161
 Kendrick’s footsteps sounded in his ears, a dirge of ominous portents.  After long study, 
he replied softly, “Okay.” 
-|- 

 “Is this the one.” he whispered sharply, kneeling near the right front tire of a late model 
blue sedan. 
 From its perch in the gnarled crux of a magnificent Texas live oak, the monster returned 
sharply, ‘Yessss!’ 
 Kendrick crouched there, concealed in the shade between the old lady’s car and another 
parked adjacent to it in the lot.  “Are you certain.” 
 ‘Of course!’ 
 “How do you know.” 
 Slinking down the tree’s thick, twisted trunk in a spiral flow of black vapors, the beast 
returned, ‘We know our own.’  Its inky, torpid movements stopped with a jerk, and it breathed 
harshly, ‘Be still!  She comes!’ 
 Kendrick swallowed, and rolled his sweat-slick hands around a heavy round stone, which 
he had snatched from the landscaping.  Now he heard the click-clack of her unhurried approach.  
He bunched closer to the front passenger-side tire of her car, and began to sidle along its length, 
as she neared.  Pausing to examine the night-washed lot with a long, studious stare, he flowed 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
162
around the rear bumper of her car.  Now she fumbled her keys into its lock.  A black shadow in 
his own right, Kendrick crept up behind her on all fours, until he crouched at her back. 
 When she yanked the car door open, he rose behind her, raising the rock like a hammer 
high over his head.  In the last instant before it descended, she started to sense his breath on the 
back of her neck. 
 She spun beneath his blow with surprising alacrity, and hissed loudly.  Kendrick turned 
his gaze in the same moment, and sought out the obsidian shape of his own shadow, where the 
bright, yellow sodium arc lamps burned it onto the asphalt.  His appearance horrified the old 
woman.  The form of a huge, black monster reflected from the liquid bulge of her eyes.  Kendrick 
saw it, a terrible, angular form of splayed bat’s wings, which loomed over the smaller shape of 
its victim with blood-curdling menace. 
At once, he brought the rock down on her forehead.  The blow left a deep, bloody dent in 
her skull.  She moaned, and collapsed at once, a puppet let loose by cut strings.  Stunned but 
alive, she stirred groggily on the pavement. 
Gulping sickly, Kendrick turned his full attention to the tableau sprawled at his feet.  
Resigned to this horrible crime by its very commission, he stooped to gather her into his arms 
and drag her across the lot, into a neatly kept stand of trees. 
 “Here.” he gasped, straining to lift her through a thick shrub that would conceal them. 
 ‘Yesssss,’ drawled the beast, delirious with glee.  ‘Leave her there in the hollow at the 
center of the trees.  Now, return to her car.  Close the door.  Not with your hands, use your hip.  
Do not pick up the keys; just kick them into the grass.  Good.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
163
 Ken hurried back into the trees, once he had erased evidence of his attack.  On his way, 
he paused to replace the stone among its mates.  “What about the blood.” he wondered, before 
he dropped it to the ground. 
 ‘Don’t worry about evidence.  Look.’ 
 Kendrick obliged by raising his gaze to examine the small, decorative grove that adorned 
the center of the vast parking lot.  He noticed nothing out of the ordinary during his initial pass 
of the terrain.  On second glance, however, he realized many of the shadows were not still or 
silent.  Rather, they moved about fluidly, snarling and snapping softly. 
 He watched a handful of mongrel dogs emerge from the night.  They sat in a half circle 
on the far side of the old lady’s corpse, and they licked their vile, lathered jowls.  Their eyes 
burned bright and feverish, yellow and sick.  How they whined and moaned, eager to feed. 
 Overhead, the sky darkened at a peal of thunder.  Rain fell with a thick splatter.  Such 
was the nature of Texas weather, he breathed, tasting the cool wash with the pink bud of his 
tongue. 
 ‘The muts will feed,’ hissed his secret monster eventually, where it puddle at his feet with 
the mud.  ‘The flood will come.’  It climbed his legs.  ‘By the time they find her, you will be 
unknown here.’ 
 Ken licked his lips and turned his gaze on the storming evening sky, where he could spy it 
between the trees and across the sprawling lot.  “Yeah, okay.  Are we finished.” 
 ‘No,’ sighed the beast gently.  It hugged his waist and pressed along his spine to his 
shoulders.  ‘You must do one thing more.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
164
 “What.” 
 ‘Use that bit of trash there to lift her bag.  Take it with you.’ 
 “Take it where.” 
 ‘I will tell you when the time to know has come.’ 
 Reluctantly, Ken retrieved her purse, clutching it between his thumb and forefinger with 
a bit of plastic wrapper.  “Which way.” 
 ‘You know the way.’ 
 He nodded, and started across the little grove, bound for his parked car.  “What about 
footprints.” 
 ‘The rain.’  His monster whispered into the shell of his ear, where it hung from his neck.  
‘The dogs.’ 
 Even now, he heard them rush together to fight over the librarian’s remains.  She 
moaned a bit, but was incapable of offering resistance or screaming from pain.  Mouthful by 
mouthful, the voracious dogs tore her to pieces.  They slipped and rolled in her intestines, as they 
fed. 
 Kendrick paused at the hedgerow that encircled the shaded bower.  He turned to watch 
their ravenous frenzy.  Sensing his lingering presence, all the animals stopped feeding at once, 
and turned their own fierce gazes upon him, in turn.  Their eyes burned with a strange, red light.  
Their jowls quivered over their bloody fangs.  Their snarls seemed to snidely say, ‘Stay and 
watch.  Stay to be next.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
165
 He lifted his leg over the shrubbery and stepped onto the curb.  Behind him, he heard the 
librarian groan a last, gargling word, ‘Devil’. 
 Then he dashed beneath the lamplight, which lit the rain in long, slanted beams and 
pooled in the puddles as shimmering concentric rings.  With each step, the rain came harder; the 
droplets fell fatter and heavier.  Kendrick imagined the old woman’s blood swirling into a gory 
drain, and he shuddered. 
 His secret monster followed along in the shadows, its stride a loping ooze of darkness.  
From beneath his feet, it hissed, ‘They know why Arthur Shawcross committed his crimes.  
Physical, mental and sexual abuse takes its toll on a child, after all, so it is no surprise to anyone 
that a boy abused so monstrously should grow into a monstrous man. 
 ‘Do you find it curious, however, that he was known, even as a child, for talking to 
himself and yelling at inanimate objects.  What sort of conversations were these, do you think.  
To whom was he speaking.  Do you wonder.  Do you want to know.’ 
 Kendrick crossed a low bridge over a high, fast creek.  His car sat parked in the lot on 
the far side.  It brooded alone beneath the shadows, as the lot was all but empty so late in the 
evening.  “No,” he huffed eventually. 
 His monster crossed the tumultuous waters by hanging upside down and crawling along 
beneath the narrow footbridge.  ‘Liar,’ it hissed gleefully, before it seemed to reconsider.  ‘Or 
maybe you already guess.’  Now it flowed into Ken’s own spidery shadow, thereby pacing him 
across the naked asphalt in the only shelter it could find. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
166
 His strides long and anxious, Kendrick hurried across the lot, fishing his trouser pockets 
for his keys with one hand, while carrying the librarian’s purse with the other.  “He was talking 
to you.” 
 The demon chortled sadistically.  ‘Yes.’ 
 “Of course.  Why else would you ask.” 
 It flowed into the darkness kept beneath his sedan’s driver seat, once he yanked open its 
door.  Pooled there in a seething mass, it awaited him.  ‘We talked much and often, you know, 
but I was never satisfied with that one, not the way I am with you, child.’ 
 “Really.” grunted Kendrick, ducking inside out of the rain, despite his loathing for that 
evil other lurking within.  “Why.” 
 ‘He was too… obvious, I think.  Too troubled.’ 
 “Yet you served him.” 
 ‘Yes.  Long and well.’  It sniggered and slithered beneath the sedan’s central console, 
then into the shadows of the opposite seat, where it stared up at him with dimly glowing and 
baleful eyes, which shown with a strange crimson light.  ‘Like you, he lusted for unspeakable 
rewards.  Unlike you, his rewards were temporal and paltry.  He craved immediate, sexual 
release, and was unconcerned for immortality, though the latter must inevitably come as a side 
effect of the former, depraved as his appetites were. 
 ‘Of them all, child, you alone have bargained directly and solely for fame.  Or should I 
say… infamy.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
167
 Kendrick sucked a deep breath, and rolled his eyes.  He tossed the purse into the seat, 
shattering the beast’s misty form.  “I’m so happy to impress you.” 
 ‘But you have!  You have!’ undistracted, it gather itself into a dark pile in the floorboard, 
and its baleful gaze once more fell upon its host, ‘Because you will be the greatest question of 
them all!  Unlike so many others, whose twisted childhoods too easily explain their bizarre, 
reprehensible crimes, you will stand before them as a black enigma.  They will wonder why, 
eventually, then they will look to your past.  There, they will not find rape, torture or horrible 
neglect.  No, they will instead find love and tenderness and privilege, all administered with the 
proper amount of sane parental discipline.’ 
 He sighed wearily, and started his car.  “So what.” 
 ‘So what.’ it mocked with a gloating tone.  ‘So, they must question, child!  They must 
wonder!  They must want to know!  Yet, when they look for the causal roots of your corruption, 
they will not find the same tired answers that have appeased them in the past.  No, child, when 
they struggle to answer your mysterious question, the only solution must be me!’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
168

 

 

 
 
Empty Vessels 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
169
-|- 

Roman sighed leadenly.  “This must be our girl,” he groaned, as he wheeled the squad 
around a concrete island, which divided the sprawling parking lot from the access road that 
circled the mall.  He thumbed the spotlight at his left hand, and shone its beam onto a large 
woman, who danced from foot to foot and pointed at the chest-high wall that ran along the lot’s 
perimeter.  Her breasts trembled beautifully with each movement, and her fat arms jiggled 
anxiously.  “Jesus,” he breathed, shifting an obscene bulge at his crotch, “I sometimes like ‘em 
fat, you know.  Especially a cute one, like that!  What do you think, Ken.  Would you do her.” 
Ken blanched and shrugged his shoulders.  Roman laughed and slowed to a stop. 
As soon as he rolled down the window, she was there, her beefy face thrust too close to 
Roman’s, her mouth working rapidly to say, “He chased her around the building over there,” and 
she stood to point over the top of the car, her head out of sight.  Her heavy, pendulous breasts 
heaved back and forth, and Roman pretended to pinch the large nipples, which protruded through 
the fabric of her modest dress.  A palatable wave of perfume wafted into the cab, then, and both 
officers struggled to breathe.  As Ken hastened to roll down his own window, the woman 
continued, “Then she bolted across the lot right along there!  I never saw someone run so fast, let 
me tell ya!  Last time I saw them, they were up and over that fence right there!” 
Roman twisted in his seat to follow the jutting indication of her finger.  “They, who, 
ma’am.” 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
170
“I don’t know!” she squealed, dropping lower to press her face through the windshield, 
once more.  “A shoplifter, and the security guard, Michael.  She had something in her hand, too!” 
“What sort of something.” 
She shrugged, and sucked her lower lip.  “A knife, maybe.  I don’t know.  But it was 
something!” 
He and Ken exchanged guarded expressions.  Eventually, Roman asked, “And you are.” 
“Mary Osakwe.  I work in the cosmetics department.” 
“I couldn’t guess.”  Roman shifted in his seat, and said, “Okay, we’ll go take a look.  You 
go over by the main doors and wait for us, where you’ll be safe.  I don’t want you out here in the 
middle of the parking lot.” 
“Okay, officer!” she gushed, and hurried to comply. 
Rolling up his window, Roman followed the generously carved woman with lecherous 
eyes.  “Safe, indeed!” he whispered, “I just wanted to see that fat ass jiggle, baby!  Look at it 
bounce!  Hot shit, boy, I could work on that ALL night long!” 
Kendrick grimaced, and his senior partner laughed.  Then he stomped the accelerator and 
spun the cruiser around in a tight circle.  They cruised along the wall, examining it closely with 
the spotlight.  They couldn’t miss what appeared to be fresh scuffmarks along the wall’s exterior 
face. 
“That’s where they went over, I bet.” 
Kendrick grunted and nodded his head. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
171
“Shit.  There’s nothing in this for us!  If the perp was running so fast, she couldn’t have 
been carrying anything worthwhile.” 
“What about the rent-a-cop.” 
“What about him.” demanded Roman obtusely.  “Let him get his own angle!  He’s 
probably making a pretty penny shaking down the employees, anyway.” 
Ken sighed.  “No, I meant what if he’s hurt, or something.  She said the runner might 
have a knife.” 
“Oh.  Yeah, right.”  Apparently, this thought had not occurred to him.  “I guess we could 
swing around the fence, and have a look.  Shit,” he cursed again, “I better not get dirty, or I’ll 
have to slap somebody around.” 
They drove to the end of the wall, and parked the cruiser.  After making the proper calls, 
they set out to investigate the scene. 
They found the trail easily enough with their flashlights; since they knew this ground 
well, having chased more than one teenage miscreant back her after curfew.  Roman led the way, 
his movements amazingly stealthy for all his bulk and age.  Kendrick followed a few paces 
behind.  Shining their lights this way and that, they kept their hands on their holstered weapons, 
ready for anything. 
Presently, they passed what Kendrick thought was the point of entry.  Roman pressed on 
down the trail, but the younger officer paused to listen.  He thought he heard something to his 
left.  Was that the sound of a struggle.  Now he was certain of it.  He heard soft, passionate 
curses.  He heard feet scuffling in the dirt, and bodies thrashing in the undergrowth.  He heard a 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
172
male fiercely grunting, and a female’s sharp, frightened squeals.  He drew his semi-automatic 
pistol, and pointed it through the tangled foliage along the shine of his flashlight. 
Now he heard the unmistakable sounds of someone taking a startled notice of his 
intrusion.  He heard her gasp, ‘What’s that.’ and him reply, ‘I don’t know.’  Then he heard the 
male hiss, ‘Get up!  Get dressed!’  The tangled growth shook from their furious movements. 
Kendrick pushed the low hanging limbs of a wild bush aside, to shine his lights on two 
figures, a male, standing, and a female, sitting.  He had just zipped his trousers.  Her breasts hung 
nakedly beneath her blouse, which hiked up to her shoulders.  Her shorts wrapped around one 
ankle, along with her panties, which, Kendrick noted, were pink. 
He raised his pistol, sighted on the male’s chest, and squeezed the trigger.  Unlike the 
movies, the man did not fly backward off his feet.  Rather, he simply collapsed like an empty 
sack of stones, after Kendrick’s slug punched neatly through his body. 
The girl screamed through her fingers.  The muzzle flash lit her face with a horrid bas-
relief. 
Appearing from the darkness with the bobbing dance of his own flashlight, Roman 
appeared at Kendrick’s shoulder, breathing heavily.  “Christ, kid!” he belched, “What the fuck 
have you done.!” 
Ken said nothing.  His shoulders rose and fell softly. 
Roman pressed himself into the undergrowth and knelt alongside the corpse.  Kendrick 
drew nearer to the woman, his light blazing into her half-shielded face, his handgun leveled at 
her nose. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
173
Roman hissed, “He’s dead.  Shot through the heart.” 
The girl blubbered and cupped her breasts with her forearm.  Kendrick cracked a smile, 
and hissed, “Look at her, Roman.  She’s beautiful!” 
 The old veteran raised his head to look.  He admired Daphne’s quivering form.  “Yeah, 
so.” 
 “So, let’s do her.” 
 No stranger to perversion, Roman was nonetheless shocked to hear it.  “What.  Are you 
fucking nuts.  We have to deal with this body, first!  Why did you shoot him, anyway.” 
 “He had a weapon!  I was in fear for my life!” 
 Roman shook his head, “It ain’t gonna fly.  He’s the security guard!  He’s wearing a 
uniform, for Christ’s sake! 
“No, you fucked up, kid, but good.  There ain’t no way in hell I.A. is gonna buy it.”  He 
sucked his tongue and rocked back onto his heels.  “You’ll loose your badge, for sure.  You 
might even end up doing some time for negligence!”  His knees snapped and popped, as he 
stood.  “Then there’s the broad.  She saw everything, didn’t you, honey.” 
Daphne shook her head, eyes wide.  She tugged her blouse down around her waist, and 
reached for her panties. 
“Freeze!” whispered Kendrick fiercely.  “Just don’t move at all!” 
“Christ, Ken,” urged Roman huskily, “Let her cover herself!” 
“NO,” he returned too sharply.  “I like her just the way she is!  Spread ‘em!” he giggled, 
taking another step forward to kick her feet apart. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
174
Roman shook his head and stroked the whiskers of his chin.  To himself, he whispered, 
“So they were back her bumping uglies….  She was probably paying for what she stole, nothing 
wrong with that… then Super-Cop, here, comes busting through the weeds… they freak out and 
jump up… and the rookie mistakes the guy’s wallet for a handgun…” then he shook his head 
fiercely.  “Nope, uh-uh.  They won’t swallow.  We have to get rid of the body.  It’s the only 
way.”  He raised his gaze to the girl’s frightened eyes, which in turn focused on the shadow of 
Ken’s silhouette, where it framed the brilliance of his flashlight. 
“Get some cuffs on her,” ordered the old vet.  “Stuff something into her mouth.” 
Before he could reach down to do so, the girl squealed and bolted, leaving her shorts and 
panties behind.  She had kept her shoes on her feet, and now she was running full speed through 
the tangled undergrowth. 
Ken cursed and followed.  Theirs was a close race.  If anything, it favored her, because 
she wanted so desperately to get away, but Kendrick’s secret monster was not absent.  It lurked 
in the shadows and shades of night, where it reached out to trip the fleeing woman, so she 
sprawled into the weeds. 
Kendrick fell on top of her.  Vilely excited by her struggles, he worked feverishly to bind 
and gag her, as ordered. 
When he had immobilized her, he felt a familiar shade fall across his shoulders.  He 
turned his head to find his shadow, and was not surprised to see the monstrous form of it.  Sharp 
and angular, the beast’s winged features rose up out of his arched back to tower over the two of 
them, its long, vicious claws wrapped tightly about the female’s neck.  How she bucked and 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
175
wriggled!  How the monster rode her!  She screamed through her gag, but the sound of it was 
slight and scarcely disturbed the world.  Repeatedly, the beast thrust into her, its motions 
rhythmic and savage and violent, so she was eventually exhausted and could only surrender to its 
abuse.  It finished lustfully, extruding its grotesque member and ejaculating over the female’s 
prone form, into the foliage. 
As he rose, once more, tucking his manhood away, he heard Roman curse softly, “Christ, 
kid!  What the fuck got into you.” 
Panting from passion and exertion, Kendrick wiped his brow with the back of his hairy 
forearm, and shook his head.  “I don’t know, Roman… I just… wanted her.” 
Roman shook his head, and kicked her softly.  She squealed and jerked.  She was still 
alive.  Still shaking his head, Roman unzipped his trousers, and knelt to take his turn. 
Kendrick went to the cruiser to fetch a body bag from its trunk.  Returning to the security 
guard’s corpse, he was careful to roll it inside, without bloodying his hands or clothing. 
By the time Roman returned, dragging the half-naked Daphne after him, Mike’s body 
was ready for transport.  The girl blubbered and moaned behind her gag, unable to believe what 
had just happened.  Kendrick noted her face and neck were quickly coloring with fresh bruises.  
Roman liked it rough, he supposed. 
“What next.” he asked softly, his passionate gaze on one of the girl’s firm breasts, which 
dangled from beneath her blouse. 
Roman growled, “We get the body into the trunk, along with the bitch.” 
“We can’t leave her… awake.  Can we.”  Daphne’s wide eyes flared wider. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
176
“No,” returned Roman, softly.  “I guess not.” 
“Who’s going to do her.” 
“You are,” came the immediate reply.  “It’s your fuck up, after all.” 
Kendrick nodded.  He motioned for Roman to let her down to her knees, and he did so, 
suppressing her ineffectual struggles by manipulating her cuffed wrists.  The rookie extracted his 
baton from his belt, and approached. 
At the last moment, Ken averted his gaze, even as he snapped his stick under her chin, 
and pulled it tight from behind.  He watched his shadow nervously for the monster’s inevitable 
appearance, but it refused to come. 
After several seconds had passed, Roman snarled, “Well, kid.  What the fuck are you 
waiting for.  Do it!” 
Daphne shook and trembled and squealed for mercy.  Still, the monster would not come. 
Ken thought he heard it sniggering from the night-bound shades.  It mocked him.  It 
laughed at him.  Now, when he needed it most, it refused him, because it knew this murder was 
necessary… that Kendrick must do it. 
Gulping air nauseously, Ken pulled the baton tight across the girl’s throat.  He wept, as 
she strangled beneath him.  When she was still, he lifted her off her knees for a minute to be 
certain, before he let her down, and removed his cuffs. 
“Get her into the bag,” snapped Roman, unzipping the shiny black container with a long, 
low rip. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
177
Ken stooped to comply.  Roman helped, cursing.  “Christ,” he hissed, “You really fucked 
up, kid!  I ought to just leave you to shovel this pile of shit alone!” 
“You wouldn’t,” returned Ken, grunting to lift the girl’s dead weight into her makeshift 
crypt.  “You couldn’t.” 
“Naw,” relented the old man, eventually, “You’re right.  That’s what it means to be 
partners, after all.  It’s like a marriage.  I fart, you sniff it.  You fart, I sniff it.  We only have each 
other, and each other is all we got!  So, you help me clean up my messes, like you done with that 
b-bagger a while back, and I help you with your messes, like tonight.  Nobody says nothing, and 
nobody gets hurt.” 
Kendrick smiled.  His monster laughed shrilly with wicked, night-bound choirs of 
crickets. 
“Right.  Nobody gets hurt.” 
Roman nodded, and rubbed his whiskers.  “I’ll go get the squad.  We’ll send the all clear, 
and then take the next call.  On the way, we’ll dump this load in a place I know.” 
“Sure, Roman, sure.”  Ken started shaking violently, then.  His light quivered. 
“Hey, keep it together, kid!  Don’t sweat it!  We’re not amateur punks, you know!  We’re 
the pros!  If anybody can beat the system, we can!” 
“Yeah, sure.  Okay.” 
“You check the perimeter, while I fetch the cruiser.  Make certain we’re alone.  If you see 
somebody, don’t shoot!  Just hold them until I get back, okay.” 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
178
Kendrick nodded, and hurried to comply.  His search was fruitless.  They were alone.  
When he went to the wall and chinned himself to its rim, he spied the portly complainant 
standing where they had left her.  She would keep a few minutes longer. 
Together, they loaded the corpses into the cruiser’s trunk, after Roman had backed it 
down the trail several yards.  Then, they drove back across the lot to make a report to Mary, the 
Perfume Lady. 
“What happened over there.” she wondered impatiently.  “I was just about to take off.  I 
thought I heard a shot.” 
Roman laughed.  “Nah, that was no shot.  That was a backfire.  We heard it, too.” 
“What about Mike.” 
“We found the spot where they went over the wall, but we couldn’t find your security 
guard.  They must have run halfway around the mall.  We’re going to do a once around to make 
certain everything is okay.  You should go on home.” 
“Are you sure.” she wondered, sucking her fingers.  “Shouldn’t I file a report, or 
something.” 
“Nah, your security officer knows what he’s doing.  We’ll leave it up to him, if we don’t 
see anything out of order.  He’ll holler, if he needs backup.” 
“Okay, if you say so.” 
“Yeah, get on home, and forget about it.  And, ma’am.” 
She had turned to leave, but came back to ask, “Yes.” 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
179
“I really like that skirt!”  Grinning lecherously, he rolled the wheel and roared away.  
True to his word, he drove around the mall, but saw nothing out of order.  They passed the clerk 
on her way home, as she had apparently lingered to be certain they delivered as promised.  They 
waved her off, and then sped away. 
Mary watched them go, and thought of Mike out there with his perverted little lover.  She 
laughed to think of them hiding in the bushes, their underwear in their hands, while they waited 
for the cops to leave.  Maybe that will teach the no-good son of a bitch not to mess with me, she 
mused silently, If I wanted to suck his cock, I would have asked for it!  Whistling, she drove 
home. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
180
-|- 

 “I made detective, once,” bragged Roman, as they rolled beneath the streetlamps, which 
reflected upon their cruiser’s windshields as the myriad eyes of God.  “I served three years 
before I had enough of the bullshit, and requested my old night beat, again.  The brass flipped, let 
me tell you.” 
 “Why’d you go back.”  Kendrick asked only to be polite.  He knew Roman Pettigrew 
well enough by now to guess why he would do such a thing. 
 “There’s no angle in robbery, son.  Sure, there’s all that stuff the dirt-bags steal, which 
doesn’t always get back to the rightful owner, if you know what I mean, but the trouble with 
investigation work is the paper.  Too many fucking forms.  Too many details.  For every ass you 
kick, you got to write a report, and somebody’s got to read the report.  Then there’s the god-
damned bean counters… you can’t shake nobody down, unless you make it right with the 
numbers, first, and I ain’t good with numbers. 
 “Nah, I like it out here just fine.  So, when a sergeant’s slot opened up on the night beat, I 
signed right up.  They were happy to get me, too, ‘cause they remember how I used to bust heads 
back in the day.  Plus, as a staff sergeant, I get to pop the cherries, which means I get to set the 
rookies straight right from the start. 
“Some are better than others.  I like you, Ken, and that ain’t bullshit team-camaraderie, 
neither. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
181
 “I like you, ‘cause you’re out on the edge, you know.  You’re the quiet type that scares 
liquid shit out of people, and I can tell you got what it takes to make it out here.”  Roman paused 
to suck a deep breath, and wheel a left turn onto a dark, industrial boulevard that led to the 
outskirts of the inner city.  “Only one thing is missing, as far as I can tell.” 
 “Oh.  What’s that.” 
 “Control.  You can get away with a lot on this job, but you can’t go around shooting 
every citizen that crosses you.”  He chuckled blackly, “I don’t know what it is, maybe the noise 
or the blood, but something about using a firearm really stirs the shit.  It’s too… messy.  Do you 
understand.” 
 “Yeah, I think I understand,” Ken sighed softly.  He turned his gaze to follow the length 
of a cross alley, as they drove past it.  Two figures lurked just inside its mouth, one standing, 
head back, the other kneeling, head working rhythmically.  “I should have taken care of business 
the way you took care of that b-bagger.” 
 Roman grimaced, which was a strange expression for so toughened a countenance.  
“Yeah,” he hedged, “There’s that… but I guess what I’m trying to say is; you probably shouldn’t 
have popped that guy, in the first place.  I don’t know if it was a fuck up, or what, but there’s 
other ways to get girls with this job.  Whores are everywhere.” 
 “I noticed.” 
 “The good thing about nice girls, like that one tonight, is their sweet flavor.  They’re 
cleaner, I guess, and that makes them seem more… wholesome.  Only, people take notice when 
nice girls go missing, so they should be strictly hands-off, you know.  Now take hookers, for an 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
182
example… a dozen might disappear in a month, and nobody’s going to give a shit.  Do you hear 
what I’m saying.” 
 “Sure, Roman.  I hear you.” 
 “We’re going to be seeing that girl’s face on fliers for the next five years, I bet, and that 
doesn’t help us, at all.  It’s hard to tell with shoplifters, but she was well dressed…  I didn’t see 
any jailhouse tattoos, so it’s likely she comes from a good home.  Daddy’s going to miss his little 
girl, which means he’s going to ask shit-loads of questions.  He might even do the talk shows!  
This just adds to our troubles.” 
 He leaned over the wheel, and drove slower.  Intently, he examined the cross alleys and 
drives, as they scrolled past their windshield, apparently searching for one in particular. 
 “It’s funny,” he added, eventually, “How easy it is to get caught, because there are only a 
few ways to fuck up, you know. 
“First, you can confess.  That’s the worst sort of fuck up.  Never confess.  Lies don’t 
always work, but keeping your mouth shut usually helps, at least. 
“Next, you have to worry about witnesses.  Planning and a bit of luck go a long way to 
eliminate this source of error, but witnesses are tricky sources of evidence, anyway.  The D.A. 
usually won’t even try to support a murder conviction with uncorroborated eyewitness 
testimony, alone.  As long as you avoid video- and audio-tape, you’re probably going to be 
alright, if you fuck up here. 
“Which means physical evidence is the next way to get caught.  These days, a killer has 
to worry about all sorts of physical evidence, especially the scary, microscopic shit they drag up 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
183
all too easily.  Worse, you can’t prevent this sort of thing.  Try as you might, you can’t help but 
drop skin cells or sweat or saliva or hairs or clothing fibers or the like, so what can you do to 
cover your tracks. 
“The answer to this simple question is simple enough.  First, you have to misdirect the 
scene of the crime.  If they don’t know where you did it, they can’t investigate how you did it.  
Next, you have to destroy as much of the evidence as you can.  Being careful from the start 
helps, here, but you weren’t thinking straight tonight, so we left an awful mess behind.” 
Roman sighed, and spun the wheel left again.  The cruiser bounced onto a peaked 
driveway, and rolled into the darkness of a narrow, cluttered alley. 
“Finally, you need a good story.  No matter how well you prepare for all the other 
hurdles, if you don’t jump this one, you’re screwed.  Alibis based on human support don’t work 
well, at all.  Sooner or later, the person backing you up is going to turn, then it’s straight to the 
shit can with the whole thing.  A simple, believable story is the best solution to this problem… 
that, and a calm cool demeanor, where you should be calm and cool.  I mean, if somebody 
suggests you committed murder, you should show anger and outrage, right, but don’t sweat the 
questions, don’t fidget.  You know.” 
“Sure, Roman.  I understand.” 
After a half mile along the alley, Roman stopped the cruiser and killed its motor.  Now he 
turned sideways in his seat, and laid his arm across the head rests, his leatherwear creaking and 
popping. 
“So, what are we going to do about tonight’s little escapade, huh.” 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
184
Kendrick shrugged, and turned his attention on their surroundings.  They had parked 
opposite a single battered steel door.  The walls were black on both sides of the narrow alley, and 
void of signage. 
“First, our story; we answered the call, we saw nothing, the end.”  Roman waxed serious, 
and held his breath until Ken met his gaze.  “It’s going to be up to you to get back there after 
hours and clean up the blood and cum.  Use bleach.  Lots of bleach, okay.” 
 Ken nodded, and licked his lips.  He, too, shifted in his seat, and prepared for this obvious 
lesson. 
 “You probably can’t do anything about that nine-millimeter slug we left back there, but 
find the casing, and check the tree trunks for fresh impacts.  If it’s buried in the soil, we’re 
probably okay… a metal detector might help, but that would look strange… anyway, get as 
much of the bullet as you can find, okay.”  Again, Ken nodded.  “Next, we have to deal with the 
bodies and the body bag.  That’s why we’re here.” 
 Roman popped his door and climbed out of the cruiser.  He shined his light up and down 
the drive, and along the roof, as well. 
 Certain they were alone, he motioned Kendrick out of the car and back to the trunk.  
Before he opened it, he whispered, “Call dispatch and report us extra-vehicular for a routine 
check of this address, and give the block number.” 
 As Kendrick thumbed his radio hot to do as instructed, Roman grunted and strained to lift 
the cooling, stiffening bodies from the trunk.  The obscene bundle fell onto the filthy, cracked 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
185
pavement with a terrible thud.  He dragged it over to the door, and propped it up against the 
frame. 
 Now he fished a heavy key ring from his belt, and thumbed through these musically.  
Trying several, the scarred lock eventually popped open.  Ken helped the old veteran drag the 
bag inside. 
 An alarm beeped shrilly on the wall near the interior doorframe.  Roman strode over to it, 
and thumbed in a series of numbers.  It stopped sounding its annoying warning. 
 Turning to face Kendrick conspiratorially, he hissed, “I caught a pair of freaks doing this 
place last year.  It’s a funeral home!”  He laughed wickedly, “You’d be surprised how much 
human body parts fetch on the black market!  I might have shook them down, but something 
about hustling corpses was just too… EWWW!  You know.”  They dragged the bag deeper into 
the interior of the dimly lit building, which sheltered neatly stacked crates and boxes piled to the 
high ceiling.  “Anyway, I remembered the alarm code easily, since it’s the street number.  Dumb-
asses.” 
 They rounded a corner, and the interior opened up a bit.  Now they passed several opened 
crates.  Inside each, Ken saw a steel casket or a marble vase, all addressed to ‘Emerson Brothers 
Mortuary Supply and Crematoria’.  
 Huffing from the strain, Roman slowed to a stop, and let his burden fall to the floor.  
“Christ, they’re heavy!  Good thing it’s not much further, from here.” 
 “What’s not much further.” 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
186
 “The oven.  It will burn hot enough to melt the metal parts of the bag, and it’ll cook their 
bones down to bits and pieces.”  He sucked wind and leaned over his knees, showing his age.  “It 
will even shatter the teeth, most of them.  The whole process takes about an hour and a half.  
Afterward, we gather the mess, and dump it into a cardboard incinerator just across the avenue.  
The ashes will mix, and then the whole mess will go out with the garbage tomorrow.” 
 “We can’t go off-duty for an hour and a half.” 
 “I know.  That’s why you’re going to stay here and make sure nothing goes wrong.  We 
don’t want somebody coming in early to find those two cooking away.” 
 “No, we don’t.”  He nodded, when Roman indicated they should continue.  Together, 
they dragged their grotesque cargo down the corridor to a heavy iron grate set into the far wall.  
“What are you going to be doing, in the meantime.” 
 “I’m going to run our calls.  I’ll cover your ass, so there will be no questions about where 
you are.  When it’s finished, I’ll swing by to pick you up.  Make sure you clean out the oven and 
wipe for prints, before you lock up.” 
 Roman dropped the bag, again, and used a steel hook to open the grate, then a heavy steel 
door.  Inside, a steel gurney slid along a heavy rail to await their morbid deposit.  With much 
effort and sweat, they dumped the bodies, bag and all, onto the stretcher.  Kendrick shoved them 
inside, and then closed the door and grate, once more. 
 Now the old vet fired the oven, and raised the temperature to its highest setting.  When he 
set a timer, the flame jets roared to life and the plastic bag began to dissolve. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
187
 Roman slapped his young partner on the back.  “After that’s done, you’re in the pink, 
Ken!  I’ll be back in ninety minutes to get you!”  Thumbing sweat from his brow, he started off 
into the darkness immediately.  Over his shoulder, he added, “Don’t let this place spook you, 
kid!  It’s probably crawling with unquiet spirits, you know, but what can the fucking dead do.” 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
188
-|- 

 Kendrick sat on a walnut coffin and watched the orange-red light of the oven dance 
beyond its tiny, armored window.  How cherry, it seemed, how nice.  The glow of it reflected in 
the liquid glaze of his twin orbs, and burned onto his retinas an indelible impression. 
 ‘I like your partner,’ hissed the monster, in time. 
 “What’s not to like.” wondered Kendrick softly, his hypnotized gaze undisturbed. 
 ‘I think he fears you, a bit, though.’  The beast mused softly, and seemed genuinely 
concerned for its host.  ‘So, you must be careful with that one.’ 
 “Oh.  Why.” 
 In the brooding darkness, which climbed the walls to the ceiling, his demon was a 
tangible presence.  It loomed over him in the shade, its baleful red eyes glaring down upon him 
flatly.  ‘He will deal harshly with disloyalty, real or perceived.  He is not your friend.’ 
 “Of course not, he’s my partner.” 
 ‘I like this place, too.’  It changed the subject, as it roved from crate to crate, inspecting 
each, paying particular attention to the opened containers.  ‘So many empty vessels, ready to be 
filled… perhaps you may fill a few, child.’ 
 “I don’t want to fill any of them.” 
 The beast was not surprised.  It oozed into a luxuriously upholstered casket, and reveled 
there.  ‘Perhaps your appetite is sated.’ 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
189
 “I don’t have an appetite.” 
 It laughed, ‘Of course not, for it is sated.  A starving man will eat until he is full, but only 
until he is full.  Afterward, he is no longer the same man, is he.  He is no longer starving.  You 
have fed, and now you are full.  That is all.’ 
 “I don’t enjoy it.” 
 ‘I believe you do.  You enjoyed the girl very much, I think.’ 
 Kendrick swallowed hard, but said nothing for many long minutes.  The flames danced 
with ashes, a delicious visual contrast of light and its spawned darkness.  “That was… different.  
I enjoyed the first part, but not… what came after.” 
 The monster chortled derisively, and oozed back out onto the floor.  It assumed the shape 
of a tall, menacing figure, and loomed nearer to its troubled host.  Its black, spindly arms 
embraced Kendrick delicately, and the man felt an icy touch of calloused lips upon his cheek.  
‘They were not two acts, but one, child.  You could not have the first without the second.’ 
 His eyes slid slowly shut, so the incinerator’s reflection extinguished behind his pale lids.  
Still, its image burned within his mind, hot and fierce.  He marveled to consider it, for it was a 
quick, clean redemption; it was freedom in a flame. 

Stephen Huff 

 
Stephen Huff 
190

 

 

 
 
A New Pall of Doom 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
191
-|- 

Even as the sedan’s brake lights flared, Simian thought he should reconsider.  Maybe he 
didn’t need that ride, after all. 
The car slowed to a stop with a squeal of its disk brakes, before it edged to the curb.  The 
driver leaned across the front seat and popped the passenger door.  Then the silhouette sat up, 
again, and waited patiently for the hitchhiker. 
Simian eyed the open door, then the overcast night sky.  He was walking along a quiet 
suburban avenue, which was largely void of streetlamps, so the darkness was nearly absolute.  
Even as he turned his eyes on the night and thought of rain, a low rumble of thunder sounded 
from one side of the world to another.  A smell of precipitation lingered in the air.  He continued 
to walk at the same pace, yet he reconsidered his need for a ride. 
Turning his gaze to his left and his right, he realized he would not find a place to sleep 
anywhere nearby.  These were family homes.  Tramps would not be welcome. 
Still, he could walk a long way yet tonight.  He was reluctant to risk his life for a single 
night’s sleep, and he thought he might just pass this offer by, despite the fact that it was the only 
offer he had received all day, late as it was. 
When he came alongside the door, he leaned low to get a look at the driver, one arm 
propped on the car, the other gripping his carryall.  The man inside was young, clean cut, and 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
192
smiling.  He was well dressed.  Books lay stacked in the passenger seat.  A woman’s purse sat on 
the front passenger floorboard. 
The driver leaned low to see Simian’s face, and asked, “Where are you going.” 
Simian nodded along the street, and returned the smile.  “That way.” 
“Get in,” spouted the other.  “I can take you as far as the university.” 
Simian glanced along the night-shrouded avenue, as if he could see into the dark.  “The 
university.  Is it far.” 
“A couple of miles.”  The man laughed, “Look, get in or don’t.  You won’t find a place to 
bed down around here, the cops will be out to roust you in half an hour.” 
Simian believed him, but hesitated.  He examined the interior of the car, which was clean 
and well kept, save for the stack of textbooks in the front seat, and the purse. 
When Kendrick remembered the presence of this last item, he offered, by way of 
explanation, “It belongs to my mother.  She forgets….  Alzheimer’s, you know.” 
The title on the top of the pile of textbooks read ‘Introduction to the Principles of 
Criminal Behaviorism’.  With a curt nod and a knowing smile, he indicated the tome, “How’re 
you doing in that one.” 
The other shrugged.  “Okay, I guess.  I thought I would like it more than I do.” 
“Yeah, me too.” 
“You passed.”  Simian nodded.  “Where.” 
“I went to school out west for awhile, before I started drifting.  I intend to go back… 
some day.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
193
“Hey, it ain’t easy.  So.  Are you in, or what.” 
Simian lingered.  He turned his doubtful eye on the swirling heavens, which obliged his 
curiosity with a shower of plump, full drops. 
Sighing, he relented.  “Okay.” 
 The other was unusually excited to hear this, and eagerly cleared the books and papers by 
tossing them carefully into the backseat.  Simian slid out of his pack, and dropped it into the 
passenger floorboard, before he followed it inside.  He lifted the purse by its handle to make way 
for his feet. 
“Kendrick,” stated the other simply, extending his hand.  “Kendrick Sutherland.” 
“Simian.” 
“That’s it.  Just ‘Simian’.” 
Simian nodded.  “I don’t remember my family name, any more, since I don’t have a 
family.” 
The other shifted to ‘D’ for ‘Drive’, and steered them away from the curb.  The rain fell 
harder, and soon the windshield wipers worked furiously to clear their field of view. 
“Is it that bad.” 
The drifter sighed leadenly.  “Yeah.  I guess.” 
“Where are you headed.  Besides down the road, I mean.” 
Simian shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Nowhere, I guess, as long as nowhere is a bit of 
everywhere.” 
“Where have you been.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
194
“I started out in Washington.” 
“State.” 
“Yeah.”  He watched the rain splatter against the glass, and he was happy to be inside, 
away from it.  Of all the weather he had endured during his time on the road, it was the rain he 
dreaded most.  Nothing save a roof could keep a man dry, and dryness was a certain sort of 
sanity.  “I migrated down the west coast, working odd jobs.  Once I got down to those dry 
southern deserts, I turned east.” 
Kendrick drove silently for a time, and listened to the radio, which he had turned low, as 
it played a commercial for hemorrhoid ointment.  Finally, he asked, “Are you going up to New 
York, or something.” 
Again, the drifter shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.” 
“What are you doing in town.  Visiting family.”  The hitcher winced, and Kendrick too 
late remembered what the man had said about his family.  “Sorry,” he offered lamely. 
“Ah, don’t sweat it,” breathed Simian, sliding deeper into his warm, dry seat.  “Most 
people have family, I know… family that they like.  So it’s a normal question, I guess.”  He 
turned to his right and watched the homes roll by, their windows shining cheerily with a warm, 
yellow glow.  “No, I’m not visiting family.” 
“Then where are you going.” 
“I like to stop by the universities I pass.  They’re a good place to rest, and who knows… 
maybe I’ll find one that I like well enough to stay.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
195
“You might like U.T.A., I guess.  It’s not much of a social school, since they don’t 
emphasize sports, and it has a sort of commuter mentality.  I like it because it’s cheap, for 
residents, any way, and because they leave a man alone.” 
“It sounds pleasant.” 
“Like every other campus, I guess, you can find a little bit of everything within a half 
hour’s walk.”  Now Kendrick turned a curious eye on the other, and said, “Including cheap 
motels.  You could probably find a room for twenty dollars.” 
Simian said nothing.  He was busy mentally comparing the comforts of a soft bed against 
the dubious amenities of his sleeping bag. 
“You don’t have twenty dollars, do you.” 
Simian shook his head.  “No,” he returned softly. 
“Where do you sleep.  What do you eat.” 
The response was immediate and unashamed.  “I get by on handouts from churches and 
charities.  They don’t offer the best quality, but it keeps me going.  I fill my sack once or twice a 
week, when I can.”  He breathed deeply, and found the air of the cabin stale.  Reflexively, he 
cracked the window with a quick jerk of its manual roller.  “As for sleep, I have my bedroll and a 
backpack.  They’re everything I need.” 
“It must be a tough life.” 
“It’s no tougher than any other, I think.”  Simian turned a serious gaze on his host, and 
waited until they made mutual eye contact.  “I don’t own an alarm clock.  Nobody bosses me.  
And I don’t owe a dime to anybody.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
196
Kendrick nodded solemnly, before he returned his attention to the road.  He steered 
around a shallow curve and a minivan parked near the curb. 
“I have to admit, I thought about doing the same thing myself, once.” 
 “What stopped you.” 
“Fear, I guess.  Fear of hunger.  Of the cold.”  He pointedly flicked the wipers to a higher 
speed, and said, “Of the rain.  Maybe of the rain, most of all.”  Simian’s heart raced, and he 
wondered if the driver could hear his own private thoughts.  “A man can always put on more 
clothing to keep warm when it’s cold, and he can take it off to keep cool… but nothing keeps out 
the rain.” 
When Simian offered no reply, Kendrick asked, “What do you do when it rains.” 
Simian choked himself still for a moment, because, in that moment he wanted to weep.  
He wanted to cry for himself, for his sad, crumbling future, for his misfortunate past.  Instead, he 
turned his head to face the night, and he swallowed his sorrow with a rebellious throat.  “I have a 
little tent.” 
“What about tonight.” 
The other shrugged again.  “You know the campus better than I do.  What do you 
suggest.” 
Now it was Kendrick’s turn to raise his shoulders.  As he slowed to a stop at a red light, 
he returned, “I never thought of it, before.  The library, maybe, but you couldn’t pitch your tent.  
I guess you’d rather be outside.” 
“Yeah.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
197
 Kendrick waited for the light on the opposite lanes to switch from green to yellow to red.  
When his own signal turned green, again, he let go the brake, and pressed the gas.  From the 
darkness pooled beneath his seat, he heard the monster snigger, ‘I know a place….’ 
 “What place.” wondered Simian. 
 Kendrick was startled.  Had he spoken.  Or could the other hear the beast.  “Can you 
hear it, too.” 
 Simian was confused.  “Hear what.” 
 Kendrick recovered his self-composure with a scarcely perceptible shake of his head.  
“The car… it’s making a funny noise.” 
 The hitcher listened, but could not hear.  Eventually, he repeated, “What place.” 
 “The campus is covered with trees and landscaping.  Maybe you could pitch a tent in one 
of those little groves.  You’d have to get up early, though.”  Kendrick rose up on one haunch, 
and reached for his wallet.  “Or, I could give you enough cash to get you through the night.” 
 Simian was quick to shake his head.  “No, I don’t want your money.  The ride is enough.  
Really.” 
 Kendrick fetched his billfold, regardless, and thumbed out a pair of twenties.  “Hey, come 
on; who are you kidding.  You need it, and I got it.” 
 The drifter bit his lip and eyed the bills.  “I couldn’t take your money, mister, because I 
wouldn’t spend it on a room.” 
 Ken frowned, and lowered his cash.  Steering single-handed, he guided them along the 
avenue, and alternated his attention between Simian and the road. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
198
 “Drugs.” he wondered. 
 “No, no drugs.  I just… have better uses for cash than a room.” 
 The driver smiled now, and renewed his offer.  “Go on, take it.  Buy dinner, or whatever.  
It’s the least I can do.” 
 Not requiring more insistence, Simian reached for the cash.  When his fingers closed over 
the paper, however, Ken’s grip snapped shut to hold his hand fast.  They exchanged an intent 
glance, despite the rushing terrain.  Ken questioned, Simian rebuffed, each speaking with their 
eyes. 
 “I-I-“ stammered Simian.  “I don’t do that.” 
 Kendrick refused to release his grip.  His secret monster laughed with the sedan’s 
squeaking springs, and flowed restlessly from one pool of darkness to another beneath their 
seats.  “Do what.” the driver asked playfully.  Then he let go, allowing Simian to take his 
money.  “Hey, I’m just messing with you.  Can’t you take a joke.” 
 Simian averted his gaze, as he stuffed the bills inside his coat.  “That sort of joke isn’t 
funny to me.  Not any longer.” 
 “Why.  Did something happen to you.” 
 The drifter’s heart swelled.  Something, he knew, was wrong here, very wrong.  He felt 
an oppressive presence inside the sedan’s cabin, which was a reek of rot, and a chill of death.  It 
filled his nostrils with an oppressive stink, and caressed his skin with a damp, clammy embrace.  
Simian trembled.  His right hand stretched for the door latch. 
 “Something happens to everybody, mister.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
199
 Kendrick smiled wickedly, and relaxed.  After a time, the other relaxed, as well. 
 They drove onto the university grounds in a heavy downpour.  Kendrick turned into his 
usual lot, which was half full with evening students, but he didn’t park immediately.  Instead, he 
drove across the blacktop to the far side, where a creek ran through a linear stand of willows and 
live oaks.  There, he stopped at the curb, and Simian immediately popped the door open. 
 “This is the best place, I think,” offered Kendrick.  “Not many students pass this way, and 
the thicket is about fifty yards wide here.  On the other side, you’ll find a strip of fast food joints 
and Laundromats.” 
 Simian was already standing outside.  He leaned low through the open door, and 
grimaced.  “Thanks, mister.  For the ride.  For the money.” 
 “Sure,” returned the driver, ignoring the wind’s wicked, wet whispers.  “Try to keep dry.” 
 The drifter slammed the door, and stepped over the curb, onto the soggy grass.  He was a 
gazelle on the herd’s edge, head raised, ears perked, eyes wide, and nostrils flared, ready to run.  
Kendrick smiled and waved, before he spun his wheel and drove back across the lot to park. 
 He gathered his books with deliberate patience, and then he exited his car to stand beside 
it.  Glancing back the way he had come, he saw Simian lingering where he had left him, despite 
the rain.  The drifter obviously wanted to be certain Kendrick was leaving the area, so he 
obliged, and started his nightly march across campus to his classroom.  His secret shade chased 
dutifully along after, whispering with a hateful hiss. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
200
-|- 

 As Kendrick had promised, Simian found a strip of fast food restaurants and 
Laundromats on the far side of the wooded strand.  Crossing the creek was a chore, since it was 
rushing full with rain, and the nearest footbridge was a mile distant.  After a muddy search, he 
found a ford in a tree trunk conveniently fallen across the current.  A trail led to and away from 
it, and he knew pedestrian students used it frequently. 
 The trail crossed through the copse and exited the campus at a tall wooden privacy fence.  
Two of its slats were missing at the trailhead, thus framing a narrow sort of doorway. 
 Pressing through this, Simian found himself in an alley that abutted the backdoors of a 
strip mall.  Dumpsters and loading docks lined the building’s facing wall.  He smelled urine and 
feces and days old vomit in the tepid, greasy runoff, and he knew this was a weekend hotspot for 
young alcoholics and lovers.  Used condoms and needles floated on the offal flow, and sailed for 
the gutters as obscene ships embarked on corrupt voyages. 
 Simian crossed the alley to get out of the rain beneath the narrow eave that lined the 
mall’s roof.  There, he followed the wall around to the storefronts, and he looked for a place to 
eat. 
 He waited beneath the covered front walk, until the rain slacked, then he dashed across 
the nearly full parking lot, selecting the closest eatery.  There, he sheltered once more from the 
rain, by dashing inside to order his food. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
201
 Dripping and steaming from the cool precipitation, he waited his turn in line, and tried to 
ignore a bevy of young female students seated at a far corner table.  They giggled and pointed 
and whispered behind their hands.  He heard the words ‘bum’ and ‘tramp’ and ‘loser’, and he 
guessed he was their subject of conversation. 
 Once he ordered and paid for his meal, he received a ticket with a number.  The burger-
flipper grimaced, as he counted out Simian’s change, and avoided touching the drifter’s 
outstretched palm as though he carried a deadly plague. 
 Realizing he must wait for his food, Simian sought for a place to sit.  The restaurant was 
only half full, but the patrons had spaced themselves evenly among the tables.  He could not sit 
anywhere in isolation.  The girls ducked their heads together and examined him with a series of 
disgusted glances.  They eyed the empty seats around them, and obviously hoped he would not 
sit near them. 
 Simian felt a sudden surge of anger that filled his veins with adrenaline.  Who are they to 
judge my place in this world.  How are they superior. 
 He started across the room, pointedly moving in their direction.  Their faces pinched and 
bunched, and their giggling became louder and more intent.  As he passed near them, he was 
careful to jiggle his pack, so it sprayed cold droplets of rain all over them and their food. 
 They squealed and jumped and wrung their hands, crying, ‘EWWW!’  He turned to face 
them, and nodded his head apologetically.  “Sorry,” he croaked, smiling. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
202
 They were furious, and rebuffed him with derogatory names that he refused to hear and 
would not remember.  He left them in their fluster, and entered the restaurant’s bathroom, 
locking the door behind him. 
 Inside, he relieved himself, before he stripped and bathed in the filthy sink.  He shaved 
with a disposable razor from his kit.  He brushed his teeth and hair.  Finished with his pathetic 
ablutions, he eyed his soaked clothing, and longed to change into something warm and dry.  
“Maybe just for dinner,” he whispered aloud, but he immediately decided not to do so.  Dry 
clothing was too precious to waste on a fifteen-minute meal.  He would need something clean 
tomorrow. 
 As a half measure, he passed his wet clothing beneath the hand dryer for several minutes, 
until it was warm and steaming.  A loud knock on the door forced him to dress, eventually, 
which he did, grimacing to feel the sliminess of his jeans and t-shirt. 
 Outside, an irate fat man hopped from foot to foot.  He bolted into the restroom, as soon 
as Simian emptied it. 
 His food waited on the counter.  He ate it standing outside beneath the restaurant’s 
awning.  The rain had returned with a redoubled fury.  Heavier, then softer, it fell in rhythmic 
surges.  The gutters ran deep and fast.  The parking lot was a single, sprawling puddle.  
Overhead, the sky rumbled and groaned, while lightning forked the heavens vertically and 
horizontally.  It was quite a show, sufficiently awesome to crush Simian’s wispy soul. 
 When it slowed enough to let the asphalt drain, he dashed back around to the alley behind 
the strip mall, and pressed through the gap in the fence.  He crossed the creek into the copse of 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
203
willows, and then paused on the trail to look both ways for other pedestrians.  Finding himself 
alone, he dashed off the muddy footpath, into the trees. 
 After a quick survey, he found a high, sheltered space between the trunks.  Before the 
showers returned, he laid a little circle of thick plastic on the ground, and pitched his tent atop 
this.  Finally, he laid another piece of plastic over the top of his shelter, being careful to extend it 
over his pack, which he sat on a small pile of stones gathered from the landscaping. 
 He stripped naked, save for his shoes, and hung his clothing over a low tree limb that 
arched overhead.  Then, he wiped his feet with a fistful of napkins leftover from dinner, and 
climbed inside his tiny hole.  He had left a thin sleeping bag, a dry pair of shorts and a t-shirt 
inside his tent, and, shivering, he worked himself into these, grateful to be home, at last.  Even as 
he pulled his bag up to his chin with a long, even sigh, a deafening peal of thunder shook the 
earth, and the rain came down hard and heavy, once more. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
204
-|- 

 Simian lay awake in his bag, and watched the sun’s rising glow paint the domed ceiling 
of his tent with its luminous art.  Birds sang raucously among the boughs, and he knew the storm 
had passed.  Today would be warm and bright and dry. 
 To celebrate, he decided he would put on his change of clothes and wash the rest of his 
clothing at one of the coin laundries across the creek.  Then he would have a nice, leisurely lunch 
at one of the local cafés, where he would pretend to be a real human being, if only for a few 
minutes. 
 He felt no need to hurry, since he was certain nobody would venture into the willows 
through all that mud.  Breathing deeply of the fresh morning air, he rolled to his side to sleep a 
while longer. 
 As his lids fluttered shut, and he thought of the girls that had insulted him the previous 
night, he heard something that made his heart stutter and his guts roll.  He heard wet, sloshing 
footsteps. 
 Then he heard, “Over here!”  This was a high-pitched feminine voice. 
 Another, more hurried set of footsteps followed the call.  Somebody had come running 
from the direction of the muddy trail.  A radio squawked unintelligibly. 
 “Is somebody inside.” wondered a male voice, the runner, apparently, as he breathed 
heavily. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
205
 “I don’t know,” he heard the female whisper. 
 “Let’s find out,” returned the male.  “YOU!” he called authoritatively, “Inside the tent.  
This is the U.T. Police Department.  You can’t sleep here.  Come on out, nice and slow!” 
 Simian stiffened.  His heart raced.  Though he had done nothing wrong, save for perhaps 
sleep where he was not welcome, he expected the law to treat him badly. 
 Nevertheless, he crawled out of his bag and unzipped his tent.  Jutting his head through, 
he saw two officers standing there.  Both were rather heavy, especially the male, and their faces 
were clouded and dark like the previous night’s angry skies. 
 “Come on out, and get on your feet!” barked the male, his right fist ready on the haft of 
his pistol.  “Show us your hands.” 
 Simian obliged.  He rolled his legs beneath him, and placed his feet into the mud to stand.  
They immediately put their hands on him to force him over to a willow trunk, where they frisked 
him roughly. 
 “What’s your name.” 
 “Simian.” 
 “Simian what.” 
 “Nelson.”  He pointed to his pack, where it reclined beneath his makeshift tarp.  “My I.D. 
is in there.” 
 “What are you doing here.” demanded the female, as she turned to feel through his damp 
clothing, where it hung from the willow bough.  She grunted suspiciously, when she found 
nothing of interest. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
206
“I was sleeping.” 
“You can’t sleep here,” repeated the heavyset male.  He spun Simian around to peer into 
the drifter’s bleary eyes.  “Are you high.” 
“No, officer.  I don’t do drugs.”  Maintaining a respectful tone, knowing they could take 
nothing away from him, save for his freedom, he asked, “What’s this all about, anyway.” 
“We’re asking the questions, right now.  Get your I.D.” 
Simian shrugged, and sloshed through the mud to comply.  He lifted the dangling edge of 
the plastic, and his heart shrank.  For there, sitting on top of his sealed pack, sat the purse he had 
last seen in the floorboard of the previous night’s ride.  Though it seemed outwardly innocuous, 
something about it stirred a deep, primordial fear within Simian’s guts. 
“What the hell is that.!” demanded the female sharply.  She immediately jerked to stop 
Simian’s reach, and she slipped to one knee in the treacherous mud.  “FREEZE!” she shouted, 
nearly hysterical, as she fumbled to draw her weapon.  “FREEZE, you son-of-a-bitch!” 
Her partner slammed a heavy, beefy palm down on Simian’s right shoulder from behind, 
and spun the drifter around.  Now he tossed the kid back up against the willow’s trunk, and 
wrestled his feet wide, his hands high.  While the woman held him at gunpoint, the man cuffed 
him savagely. 
“Where did you get the purse.!” bellowed the female. 
Simian stammered and sputtered.  Finally, he managed to gasp, “I don’t know.  I never 
saw it before last night.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
207
“What happened last night.” demanded the male, even as he hauled Simian by his right 
elbow toward the trail. 
“Nothing happened.  A guy stopped to give me a ride, I accepted.  That purse was sitting 
in the floorboard of the car.” 
“Bullshit.” 
“What was this mysterious guy’s name.” barked the female, following behind them, her 
handgun once more holstered.  “What was the plate number of his car.  The make.  The model.” 
Simian shrugged awkwardly, despite the officer’s fierce grip, which threatened to snap 
his arm.  “I don’t know.  I don’t remember.  Why would I memorize the plate number.” 
“Why would you have a woman’s purse in your possession.  Are you a transvestite.” 
“No!” snapped the drifter immediately.  They poured onto the trail, and the cop yanked 
him in the direction of the campus parking lot.  “I told you, I don’t know how it got there!  The 
last time I saw it, it was sitting in the floorboard of that dude’s car!” 
“Where were you the night before last.  On campus.” 
“No,” Simian answered.  His sense of dread and alarm grew.  A dozen squad cars waited 
for them at the curb, lights whirling and flashing.  “What the hell is going on.” 
“Where were you, then, if not here.” demanded the female, ignoring his question. 
“I was hitching along Interstate 30, west of Fort Worth.”  Simian winced, when the big 
bull jerked him bodily up and over the curb. 
“Can you support that statement.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
208
“I don’t know.  I don’t think so, I’ve been sleeping rough, and I was just passing 
through.” 
“Why here.  Why U.T.A..” snapped the female crisply. 
Now she held him, while her partner opened the rear driver’s side door of their cruiser.  
All faces turned in his direction momentarily, as they waited for his reply.  The bull breathed 
heavily down the collar of his t-shirt. 
“I like to visit college campuses, when I can.  They’re usually a nice, quiet place to stay.” 
The male officer leaned close, and whispered fiercely into the shell of his left ear.  The 
heat and wind of it sent terrible chills chasing across Simian’s skin.  “You did it, you sorry 
bastard, and I’m going to make certain you burn for it.  Do you hear.  You’re going to burn, you 
putrid little fuck!” 
Before he could clarify the situation, they tossed him into the backseat, and fixed him in 
place with a heavy seatbelt.  His mouth worked silently.  “What did I do.” he pleaded.  “What 
happened.” 
“Don’t act stupid!” growled the female, leaning through the open door.  “It won’t help.” 
“Hey!” shouted Simian, finally asserting himself.  “You can’t just chain me up and throw 
away the key!  I have a right to know why I’m under arrest!” 
These two officers suddenly backed up a step.  A third officer, this one much older and 
wearing silver bars on his collars, came forward and leaned close. 
“You’re not under arrest, for the moment, son.  We’re only detaining you while we 
conduct a field investigation.”  The old man’s eyes were kind around the edges, but hard and 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
209
firm at their centers.  He was a tough, calloused veteran of the mean streets, and his expression 
said he would not tolerate deception. 
“Investigation for what, sir.” returned the drifter softly. 
“Capital murder.” 
Simian’s chest heaved.  He felt his heart stop and his jaw drop.  “Capital murder.  Who’s 
murder.” 
“Dorothy Childress,” came the immediate, unhappy reply. 
“I never even heard of her!” 
“She was a one of our senior librarians.  Somebody stove in her head the night before 
last, just over there, near where you were sleeping.  They stole her purse, and left her for the 
dogs.” 
“Her purse.” 
“The same purse you had hidden in your camp.”  The old man’s eyes fixed on Simian’s 
eyes for a long, sober minute.  Neither said anything, for the duration.  Then the officer leaned 
back to slam the door shut.  “You sit tight here, while we figure things out.  We’ll probably want 
to take you back to the station to get your statement.” 
“Then you’ll let me go, right.  Because I didn’t do it!” 
“I can’t promise you that,” returned the other, his tone sage and resigned.  “But I can 
promise you this; if you killed her, you’re going to wish you never set foot in Texas.”  The door 
came to with a deep, foreboding ‘THUMP!’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
210
Simian closed his eyes and sighed explosively.  He sat back over his cuffed hands, and he 
fought his tears. 
After a period of minutes that seemed an eternity, the door snapped open, once more.  A 
tall, rugged, well-built man dressed in a charcoal suit stood there, peering over the rims of a set 
of dark sunglasses.  “Simian Chestnut Nelson.” he enquired. 
“Yes.” returned the drifter, raising his head, and opening his eyes. 
“I’m Detective Lieutenant Anson Goulding, of the University of Texas Police 
Department.  How are you doing today.” 
Simian groaned and rolled his eyes, as if to indicate his current sad state of affairs.  “I 
could be better.” 
“I’m sure,” returned the detective curtly.  “I’m afraid it’s my duty to say you are under 
arrest for the capital murder of Dorothy Childress.  You have the right to remain silent.  
Anything you say or do will become evidence for the prosecution.  You are entitled to an 
attorney during questioning.  The court will appoint you an attorney, since it seems unlikely that 
you can pay.  Do you understand these rights.” 
Simian nodded.  “Yes.” 
“Will you waive your rights to silence and an attorney to discuss this matter with me 
now.” 
The drifter swallowed with great difficulty.  His Adam’s apple hung in his throat and 
quivered spasmodically.  “No, I probably shouldn’t waive any of my rights, at the moment.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
211
“Suit yourself, kid,” stated the detective bluntly.  “I don’t think we’re going to need your 
help with this one, anyway.  As it stands, no jury in Texas will acquit you, so just play it tough.  
Sit back and relax, let us do our work.  When we’re finished, if you’re guilty, we’re going to 
inject your ass!” 
The door slammed shut, again, and Simian boiled in a stew of doubt, paranoia, and wrath.  
He struggled to remember every detail of the night before, especially the stranger’s name, but he 
felt his efforts would come to nothing.  A new pall of doom settled down around his head to 
drape itself across his shoulders, and he smothered beneath it. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
212

 

 

 
 
‘O’ 

 

 

 

 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
213
-|- 

Roman and Kendrick finished their shift late by an hour.  They answered a call to a 
familiar domestic situation at dawn.  Upon arrival, they found both parties drunk.  Worse, the 
children, four of them, festered in the most appalling filth.  The conditions forced them to call 
social services, which necessarily added to their burden of reports. 
Roman liked to write his up in the field, while everything was fresh.  Kendrick suspected 
the old man hated computers and typewriters, and used the field report as an excuse to avoid 
keyboards. 
Eventually, as they rolled through town, bound for their station and a hot shower, 
dispatch directed them to the grounds of Poly-Amalgamated to investigate a disturbance.  While 
the call was still squawking in, Kendrick raised his head to see the P-A building rolling past. 
Grinning, the old vet worked the cruiser’s lights and wheel, and they screeched onto the 
sprawling complex’s main drive.  “Hey, that was lucky, huh.” 
“Sure,” returned Kendrick tersely. 
“You sound tired, kid.  Want to sit this one out.” 
“No, there might be gunplay.” 
“No, shit, that would end the day on a hell of a note!”  Roman drove too fast along the 
narrow, two-lane entryway, bound for the building’s main doors, where a steady stream of 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
214
people were exiting in a panicked tumble.  “It’s those damned night classes, Ken.  What the hell 
are you wasting your time there for, anyway.” 
Ken sighed.  “I told you a thousand times, Roman.  I want to make detective.” 
The old man laughed, and stomped the brake pedal.  Their cruiser skidded to a halt a 
reasonable distance from the main entrance. 
A curly blonde with huge, bouncy breasts, hurried over, as they stopped the car.  She 
gasped, “He’s in there, but he’s not supposed to be!  They fired him yesterday, and they had this 
restraining order on him, but he came back!  So, they evacuated the building.”  She sucked a 
deep wind, as others crowded around.  “You have to get in there!” she cried huskily, shaking her 
finger, which pointed toward the front doors.  The others nodded their support. 
“Was he armed.” 
“Armed.” 
“Did he have a pistol or a rifle.  Anything like that.” 
She shook her head.  “I didn’t see one, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did!” 
A portly man at her back inserted, “He was fired!  He’s not supposed to be on the 
property!” 
Roman raised his hands to take charge of the crowd.  “Who are we talking about, here.” 
“Phillip.  Phillip Ellister.” 
“Where is he now.”  A dozen voices responded at once.  Roman waved them silent, until 
only the most certain of their number answered. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
215
“I saw him headed down the main corridor toward his old department.  That would be 
the, ah, northeast corner of the building, to the left and straight ahead.”  This old man pushed his 
way through the crowd, until he was standing next to the blonde near Roman’s window.  Every 
time he jostled her, the woman’s large, pendulous breasts bounced enticingly, and Roman’s eyes 
were fixed on their show.  “I didn’t see a weapon, but he was wearing a long overcoat.  It looked 
like it was bulging.” 
“Bulging.” queried a distracted Roman Pettigrew. 
“Yeah, bulging.  You know, like he had something underneath.” 
“Oh.  Yeah.  Right.  Okay,” announced the officer with authority, as he popped open his 
door to investigate, “You people clear on out.  Don’t bother with your cars, just run for it, until 
you’re across the lot.  You don’t want to be sitting behind a steering wheel when this nut job 
starts popping off with a sniper’s rifle.” 
They started to protest his order to avoid using their cars, but now their faces blanched, 
and they all turned a worried gaze on the sulking building.  It was a large structure, with 
countless mirrored windows.  He could be anywhere; they all seemed to think at once, before 
they all turned to run. 
Roman climbed outside the car, and fussed with his gear, while Kendrick finished calling 
dispatch with their situation report.  Now both officers started across the broad plaza entrance of 
the Poly-Amalgamate building.  The stream of employees had dwindled to nothing. 
As they approached the doors, a last suited worker-bee charged through, anxious to get 
away.  Roman opened his mouth to question the man, but he was gone in such a hurry that the 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
216
opportunity never materialized.  Roman grinned and shrugged.  They leaned against one wall, 
heads together. 
“Bulging.” growled the senior officer playfully, “Holy shit!  Did you see the hooters on 
that blonde bimbo.  Now THAT’s a crime!” 
Kendrick grimaced, and squeezed himself against the stucco face of the building wall.  
His right hand was wet and slick on the haft of his pistol.  “What’s the plan.” he demanded too 
sharply. 
“Hey,” soothed the other, “Take it easy, Ken.  No sweat, okay.”  Ken nodded.  Satisfied 
with the rookie’s reaction, Roman returned his gaze to the glass-encased entryway, which was 
shaded, still and empty.  “That guy is probably in there whacking off on his old desk, or 
something.” 
“He could be armed.  We should withdraw and wait for the special weapons and tactics 
teams, or maybe canine units.” 
 Roman shook his head, “We don’t know that he’s armed.  Nobody saw any weapons.  
We’re the pros, Ken, and we can’t panic just because the sheep panic.  As far as we know right 
now, this is a simple trespass, so we’re ten-fifty-nine.  We go in there, drag this guy out, and, if 
he gives any shit, we maybe kick hell out of him.  Simple.” 
Ken swallowed stiffly and nodded.  Roman flashed a lusty leer, before he darted around 
the corner of the building, and through one of the front doors.  Ken followed more cautiously, 
since he expected his superior to come tumbling back in a hail of bullets. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
217
When nothing happened, Ken followed Roman through the doors, into a spacious 
entrance gallery.  A covey of cubicle-style offices lingered in both of the nearest corners, while a 
single long corridor led straight ahead for perhaps half a mile into the interior of the complex, 
past a handful of elevators. 
Roman lingered across the gallery, near the corner of the long, wide hallway.  He 
motioned Ken over. 
At his side, Ken heard the other whisper, “Look at all those doors!  This could take 
forever!  And I gotta shit like a thousand pound boar hog!”  Now he pointed across the gallery to 
a tall, circular booth marked ‘Reception’.  “Get over there and see if you can figure out the 
Public Address system.  Maybe we could stir things up and get this guy on the phone.” 
Ken eyed the kiosk, and then the length of the corridor.  It was a wide, open space.  If the 
perpetrator was down there with a weapon, he could take his time and do it right.  Ken knew he 
would make an easy target. 
He sucked a deep breath, and rushed across the hallway.  The mysterious trespasser 
remained silent and absent.  Roman chuckled to himself, upon seeing the rookie’s pale, drained 
expression. 
Ken fumbled with the entrance to the kiosk, and then he sat in its little rolling chair and 
searched the desk for instructions on use of the phone.  Finally, he checked the phone, itself.  
When he followed the instructions to get help with the system, he learned that use of the P.A. 
system was simple, and that he required a security code to access it. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
218
Cursing, he hung up.  Before he reported this to Roman, he spied a corporate directory 
hanging from a little hook underneath the kiosk’s countertop.  Rifling its pages, he found a 
listing for ‘Ellister, Phillip’, who sat at extension 7109. 
Shrugging his shoulders, Ken tried his luck.  The phone connected.  The line rang.  Once.  
Twice.  Three times.  Incredibly, on the fourth, a man answered. 
“Poly-Amalgamate, Mr. Ellister speaking.” 
“Mr. Ellister.” gawked the officer.  Roman’s ears perked, and his leer broadened.  He 
shook his head by way of remarking on the predictability of the human animal.  “Phillip 
Ellister.” 
“Yes.  How may I help you.” 
“Mr. Ellister, the question is; how may I help YOU.” 
“I don’t understand, and I don’t have time for games.” 
“Mr. Ellister, you have all the time in the world.  You were fired yesterday.” 
“No, I wasn’t.” 
“More than one source has verified this, sir.  Since we seem to have some confusion here, 
we’re going to need your help sorting things out.” 
Phillip sighed and leaned way back in his squeaky chair to prop his feet on his desk.  His 
overcoat was awkward and heavy, but he refused to remove it.  “I’m glad to help, if I can.” 
“Come on down to the lobby, then, and we’ll talk.” 
“I can’t come to the lobby.  I’m too busy.  I have a lot of work to do.” 
“Even if that’s true, sir, the work can wait.  Come on down to the lobby for us, okay.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
219
“No,” Phillip sighed again, and rolled his eyes.  The world, he thought, is full of morons.  
“But you can come back here.  It’s the last door on the left, then the last cubicle on the left.  
Simple.  I’m sure you can figure it out.” 
“Mr. Ellister, this is Officer Kendrick Sutherland, Pecan Groves Police.  We need you to 
stop what you’re doing, and come to the lobby.  Right now.” 
“No.”  Phillip hung up. 
Kendrick called back.  The man refused to answer, again. 
Roman shrugged, and started down the corridor at a brisk pace.  Ken hurried to catch up.  
“What if it’s a trick.” he wondered, short of breath. 
“If it’s a trick, then we’ll blow his fucking head off.” 
Heels clicking, they strode the length of the corridor, and pushed open the last door on 
the left.  Another long hallway loomed before him. 
“Christ,” cursed Roman, groaning, “This place is a freaking maze!” 
“He said it’s the last cubby on the left.” 
“The last.  Of course.  Naturally.  When we get there, I think I’m going to kick his ass 
just for making us walk so much!  I gotta shit, and shit NOW, man!” 
They hurried to approach the end of the corridor, stopping when they were within a 
reasonable shouting distance.  The two of them instinctively found cover behind a pair of thick 
support columns, before they betrayed their location. 
“Mr. Ellister!  This is the Police!  Please show yourself!” 
“I’m busy!” came the terse, unflustered reply.  “Piss off!” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
220
“Mr. Ellister, your work can wait!  Come on out, right now!” 
“No!” 
They called for his appearance again and again, but the man refused to respond.  Finally, 
Roman asked if he had a pistol or a rifle. 
“A pistol.” came the squeaky reply.  “A rifle.  Why on Earth would I have something 
like that at work.” 
“Because you’re not at work, Mr. Ellister.  They fired you yesterday.  Remember.” 
“NO, THEY DIDN’T!” screamed the trespasser shrilly.  “LEAVE ME ALONE!  I 
HAVE WORK TO DO!” 
Roman and Ken exchanged glances.  Roman rolled his right index finger around his right 
temple, indicating the man had lost his mind, and mouthed the code ‘fifty-one-fifty’.  The 
officers drew their weapons, and started across the final stretch of corridor, carefully checking 
each cubicle and office along the way.  When they neared Phillip’s little hole, Roman saw the 
man’s head, where he was leaned far back in his seat, fingers laced behind his skull, his gaze on 
the ceiling. 
Closer and closer, Roman and Ken approached the man one cautious step at a time.  With 
every lurch of their bodies, they saw more and more of the man, until his entire body was in 
view.  Phillip kept his coat buttoned tightly, and it bulged from something hidden underneath.  
Both his hands lay concealed beneath his head and hair, but they saw no indication of a weapon 
there. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
221
“What do you want.”  Phillip spoke in a weary sigh without blinking or distracting his 
gaze from the ceiling. 
“We want you to stand up and place your hands on the desk, Mr. Ellister.” 
“No.” 
Roman grimaced sourly, and holstered his weapon.  He started forward to jerk the 
trespasser out of his chair, but stopped when he considered that coat.  The building was warm, 
and the coat was unnecessary. 
“Stand up,” insisted the senior officer. 
“No,” Phillip repeated. 
“If you refuse to comply, I’ll have to charge you with interfering with an official 
investigation.” 
“I don’t care, if you do,” returned Phillip smartly.  “You can piss off with the entire 
world, for all I care.” 
“We have to resolve this situation, Mr. Ellister.  Management says you’re not supposed to 
be here, while you say you are.  Somebody is wrong.  All we want to do is find out who it is, and 
then settle this matter.  Okay.” 
“Okay.” 
“Then you’ll stand and place your hands, palms flat, on the desk.” 
Phillip blew a long, exasperated breath through his lips.  “I already said I wouldn’t.  What 
are you, an idiot.  You don’t speak English.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
222
Roman’s face soured further, and a rush of red fury colored his cheeks.  He started 
forward again, growling, “What’s going to stop me from snatching you bald-headed, then.” 
Phillip said nothing.  Instead, he eased his right hand out from under his head.  He cupped 
a small, metallic cylinder in his palm.  Three wires, red and black and white, trailed from the 
device, into his coat sleeve.   Now his left slid out from beneath his head, and reached for the 
coat’s buttoned lapels. 
Kendrick raised his pistol nervously.  “Stop!” 
Phillip refused to hear.  He eased his coat open a bit.  They saw a thick belt of red sticks 
fastened about his chest.  Now he said, his tone smug and unconcerned, “I have three people tied 
up in that office over there.”  He motioned with his head to a closed door just across the corridor.  
“My new ‘boss’,” he sneered this word as though it were a foul insult, “And a couple of his 
cronies.  Not the ones I wanted, but they’ll do.  They’re all the same, anyway.” 
Upon spying the alleged explosives, Roman hissed, and backed away.  He was already 
running down the hallway, motioning Kendrick to follow.  “Give the man some room, Ken!” he 
shouted, without slowing. 
Ken lingered.  He lowered his weapon and put it away, even as Phillip let the coat’s 
lapels fall together, again.  Their eyes met, and each recognized kindred within the other. 
“Why are you doing this, Mr. Ellister.” 
Phillip locked his fingers behind his head, once more, and replied simply, “Because.” 
“Because why.” 
“Because I want to do it!  Isn’t that enough.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
223
Ken stood more easily now.  He shook his head gently and softly said, “No.” 
“Then I’m doing it because I want to blow this place and its people to smithereens!” 
Ken shook his head again, “No, I don’t think so.  If you wanted to do that, then you 
would have set yourself off, already.” 
Phillip’s blank expression wrinkled into a black scowl.  “Maybe I’m waiting for the right 
moment.  Maybe I’m waiting for the news crews to show up!” 
“Are you.” 
“Maybe.” 
“How will you know when they arrive.” 
He nodded to a small clock radio sitting on his desk.  “With that, I guess.  It’s sure to 
make the local news.” 
“That could be a long wait.”  Kendrick grinned, and moved cautiously across the 
corridor, closer to the cubicle, where he leaned against a nearby column.  “What will you do 
when you have to go to the bathroom.  When you get hungry.” 
Phillip shrugged, and returned his gaze to the ceiling, though his countenance remained 
fixed in a gloomy glower.  “I hadn’t thought of all that.  I guess I’ll explode us, when I can’t hold 
it any longer.” 
Kendrick shrugged, and said coyly, “That’s one solution, I guess.”  He turned his gaze 
discretely, until he could see into the little office with the periphery of his vision.  As indicated, 
he saw at least three people sprawled on the floor, tied up with their own neckties and pantyhose 
and telephone cord.  “Or you could go in the trashcan.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
224
“Yeah, I suppose.” 
“Or you could just give it up, and let these people go.” 
“Why should I do that.” demanded Phillip sharply, turning a cold, dark gaze on the 
officer.  “When have they ever let me go.  Huh.  I never got an inch of mercy from anybody, 
and nobody is going to get an inch of mercy from me!” 
Though they were distant and obscured by endless rows of clerical cubicles, the 
building’s windows let in a surprising amount of light, so, when clouds rolled across the sun, the 
effect of it was immediate.  The corners and eaves of the ceiling dimmed perceptibly, while 
shadows and shades filled the vast chamber. 
Kendrick felt a familiar presence, and welcomed the beast, when it came.  It oozed along 
the corridors with the lengthening darkness, and its whisper was a hiss of errant breezes.  
As it neared sidelong with the shade, Kendrick asked, “What do you want, then.” 
“I want…” started Phillip.  He bit his lip, and breathed heavily.  “I want to know…” he 
tried again, and failed with a gulp.  “I want to have…” a third time, choking himself silent.  “I 
want to be… heard.” 
“What would you say.” 
Phillip chewed his lip.  “What does it matter.  Nobody’s listening, yet.  But they will be!  
THEY WILL BE!” 
Kendrick blanched to hear the man’s hysterical, feminine screech.  His secret demon 
sniggered derisively. 
“I’m listening.  Talk to me.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
225
The other sniffled and gasped.  Eventually, he asked, “You’re not afraid of me.” 
“No.  Why should I be afraid.” 
Phillip scoffed sarcastically, “The bomb, for one thing!  And more.  They were all afraid 
of me, even before I came to work like this.  Why.!  WHY.!  What did I ever do to any one of 
them.  My only crime was that I minded my own business!” 
‘Of course you did,’ returned the beast coolly, its tone like its form, certain as inky 
darkness.  ‘But it was never enough.  It can never be enough.’ 
Kendrick smiled secretly to hear his monster’s words, and was startled when the 
trespasser sat straighter and said, “Yeah!  Exactly!  No matter how I slinked, I was never low 
enough to please them!” 
“You heard.” 
“I heard.  I hear everything.  Late at night,” Phillip confided, leaning closer, his voice 
dropping an octave, “I hear them.  Whispering.  Whispering.  Whispering.” 
“Them.” 
“Yes.  The dead.  They are passed, but they are not gone.”  Phillip’s red, bleary eyes 
rolled sickly.  “They won’t let me be.  Last night, they came to me, dozens of them!  They said I 
shouldn’t be afraid of the dark.  They said I should embrace it.  But I can’t.  I can’t.  I want to, 
but I can’t!” 
“You hear more than one of them.  You’re certain.” 
“Yes.  They are endless!  Countless!  Faceless!”  His voice fell again, and he added, “But 
not silent.  No, they are never silent.  They whisper in the shadows.  Always in the shadows, 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
226
because they should not be seen.  They cannot be seen.  They are invisible to us, but they are not 
mute.” 
“Is this true.” he asked of his sniggering monster. 
Before the beast could reply, Phillip snapped, “Of course it’s true!  Why would I 
fabricate a story like that.” 
“I never knew there could be more than one.” 
“Yes.  Many, many more.  Occasionally, they are my mother and my father.  I hear them 
bicker in the darkness, and it’s always the same tired rants.  Just like before.  They know us.  
They remember.  And occasionally they come back.” 
“Why.” 
Phillip shrugged and rolled his eyes.  He sat back in his squeaky chair, but let his feet 
down off the desk, so he could spin around to face Kendrick more squarely.  “I don’t know.  Do 
you.” 
Kendrick struggled for an answer.  As he opened his mouth to respond, his radio crackled 
for his attention.  Reflexively, he thumbed his mike hot, and responded that he was available. 
Roman belched through the static, “What the hell are you doing back there, kid!  Leave it 
for the experts, I called in eleven-eighty-seven, already.  Get out!” 
Kendrick exchanged a meaningful glance with the other.  “Negative, I am currently ten-
seventy-five.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
227
His senior officer blustered and responded with a string of esoteric jargon, all of which 
was intended to retrieve Kendrick Sutherland from the far edge of lunacy.  Ken thumbed the 
volume of his radio low. 
“Ten-seventy-five.” wondered Phillip absently. 
“Making contact with the suspect or complainant.” 
“Which am I.” 
“You are the suspect.” 
“What am I suspected of.” 
 Kendrick smiled, “Criminal trespass, possible violation of a lawful restraining order, and 
now a certain bomb hoax.” 
 Phillip stiffened.  “Hoax.  What hoax.” 
 “That rig,” Kendrick indicated the man’s coat with a movement of his chin, “Is made of 
road flares.  Oh, yeah, I saw it right off.  Too bad for you, Roman had to take a shit.  He saw it, 
too, he’s just taking the easy way out.” 
 “I didn’t like him, anyway.” 
 “Oh.  That’s not so surprising, I guess, since you’re the same sort of bully.” 
 Phillip’s face swelled angrily.  “I.  I.  I’m not the bully!  They’re the bullies!  All my 
life, they’ve pushed me around like a little bit of nothing!” 
 Ken shook his head and smiled sagely.  “No, I think not.  Instead, it’s been the other way 
around.  You use that hateful face and the threat of your foul temper to get what you want, and 
they give it up, too, because you scare them.”  The officer sighed and rolled his eyes to take in 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
228
their situation.  He smiled stiffly.  “Judging by the way things turned out, I would guess you’ve 
been highly successful.  What happened.  Did you start to believe your own lies after a time.” 
 Now the black brow was frightened.  He fidgeted with the device in his right hand, and 
turned his gaze tentatively to the office, where he had hidden his hostages. 
 “They’ve always been afraid of me.  No matter how I try, nobody likes me.”  He sniffled, 
and wiped a shining line from his upper lip.  “I worked hard at being pleasant, at first, but that 
only made it worse.  Something about me disgusts them.” 
 “So you made a fake bomb to take your boss hostage.”  Phillip nodded.  “Then what.  
What were you going to do next.” 
 “I- I-“ stammered Phillip.  “I don’t know.  I didn’t really think about it.  I just wanted 
them to understand what they had done to me!  I showed up for work every day!  I did what I 
was told to do!  And look how they treated me!” 
 Ken shrugged coolly.  He spoke softly, so only Phillip could hear.  “I don’t know 
anything about that, Mr. Ellister, but I’m not convinced that you don’t have a plan for the 
ending.” 
 Phillip said nothing.  He rocked gently back and forth in his seat and fidgeted with the 
trigger in his right hand. 
 “This is what we commonly call ‘suicide by cop’.  You want to end it all, but you don’t 
have the guts to do the job, yourself.  You’re hoping we’ll do it for you.” 
 The other licked his lips, and pouted, while he rocked gently in his squeaky chair.  
“Maybe.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
229
 “Do you want to know what they’re going to do next.”  Phillip nodded, his expression 
blank and brooding hatefully.  “They’re going to call in the bomb squad, and a special operations 
team.  They’re going to surround and infiltrate this building.  Within the hour, they’ll be hanging 
from the ceiling over your head and hiding under your own desk.  Being only one, you don’t 
have a prayer of defending yourself.  For awhile, they’ll play the negotiation game, hoping that 
you simply give yourself up, while they collect intelligence.” 
 Ken sighed, as though resigned to a miserable, wicked fate.  “If you’re lucky, they’ll 
realize your bomb is a fake, and you’ll live.  If you’re unlucky…” he trailed off, implying all 
manner of frightful death, “You’ll get it your way, for sure.” 
 “Good!” cried Phillip petulantly, but his tone was frightened and unsure. 
 ‘He fears death,’ whispered the beast. 
 “I don’t!” returned Phillip, surprising Kendrick again, since it seemed the trespasser was 
privy to the demon’s voice.  “Not any more!  I’m ready for it!” 
 “Lots of suicides say that, but they don’t mean it.  The bomb IS fake, isn’t it.” 
 Phillip nodded, and broke down into a tirade of sobs.  The demon sniggered.  Kendrick 
smiled secretly.  He knew the hostages could hear their intercourse, thus they would be witnesses 
to all that transpired.  At the same moment, he realized they could not see a nod.  Later, when his 
superiors investigated this incident, he could say Phillip shook his head negatively.  He could say 
anything he wanted to say. 
 His grin spreading wider, he reached for his handgun.  “There are better ways to finish 
this, you know.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
230
 Around his wailing self-pity, Phillip returned, “I know.” 
 “We could stop this at any time.” 
 “Yes.” 
 Kendrick leveled the pistol at the man’s head.  Phillip reclined in his seat, face to the 
ceiling, mouth open and eyes shut, weeping hysterically, oblivious to the officer’s obvious threat.  
He said softly, “All you have to do is; let go of that trigger.  Okay.” 
 Again, Phillip nodded.  He extended his right hand to drop the cylinder and let it hang 
from the cuff of his coat sleeve. 
 Suddenly, Kendrick raised his voice loud enough for the hostages to hear, and he 
shouted, “Stop!  Don’t do it!  I’ll shoot!  I’ll shoot!” 
 The trespasser’s eyes went wide at once.  He sat up stiff and straight in his chair, which 
protested with a loud squawk of its springs.  His mouth shaped into a soundless ‘O’ of horror, 
and he extended both his hands now to ward off Kendrick’s bullets. 
 Kendrick pulled the trigger once.  A neat, round hole appeared in the center of Phillip’s 
face, just where his nostrils had been.  The slug passed through his brain stem with a single, 
solid, bloody PUNCH!  Bone and flesh and tissue and brain matter sprayed from the back of his 
head.  The hostages screamed.  The darkened room flashed luridly brilliant for an instant.  The 
sound of the discharge echoed from one far wall of the chamber to another, while the initial 
shock of it rung Kendrick’s ears, though he could still clearly hear his secret monster chuckling 
wickedly.  Phillip never heard a thing. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
231
 His body slumped backward in the chair, but refused to fall.  Instead, it swung around 
lazily with the swivel seat, until Phillip was facing away from him, and Kendrick had a full, 
unobstructed view into the man’s gaping head wound.  The mass of his brain drooped from the 
huge hole, and threatened to ooze out of his skull.  Blood poured out like water from a fully 
opened sink faucet.  It splattered the floor and filled a large, growing, gruesome puddle. 
 Kendrick lowered and holstered his weapon, before he reached for his radio microphone.  
Thumbing it hot, he declared, “Seven-one-six-B.” 
 Dispatch squawked immediately, the sound low and barely audible, “Seven-one-six-B, 
ten-eight.” 
Ken thumbed the volume of his radio higher and returned, “The subject is ten-fifty-three, 
and I am ten-forty-five-A.” 
“Seven-one-six-B, ten-four.  Do you require assistance.” 
“Send in the post-mortem crew.  I have three civilians here, all ten-forty-five-A.  I’m 
sending them out now.” 
“Seven-one-six-B, ten-four,” returned Dispatch.  She immediately leapt into a harangue 
of jargon that guaranteed delivery of the proper support on scene. 
Kendrick thumbed the radio volume low, again, and pushed open the office door.  Three 
people, a male and two females, jerked and twitched on the floor, blindfolded, gagged and bound 
with a variety of common office materials and clothing.  They were obviously afraid that he 
might be the trespasser, come to cut their throats.  For a moment, he relished their terror in 
sadistic silence. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
232
Then he heard a hustle of bodies coming down the distant corridors.  His backup would 
be present, soon. 
He said, “Don’t worry, folks.  This is Officer Sutherland, and I’m going to have you out 
of here in a moment.”  They blubbered and moaned behind their gags, and alternately choked for 
breath.  “It’s been a hell of a day, I guess, but the good news is; you don’t have to worry about 
that guy, ever again.” 
Once he freed the male, the man asked, “Is the bastard dead.  Really dead.” 
Kendrick nodded grimly.  “He let go the trigger for a moment, then reached for it again, 
and I was forced to shoot him.  I had no other choice.”  He worked to free a female. 
As soon as he released her hands, she snatched the gag, a necktie, from around her 
mouth, spat out a wad of soaked tissue paper, and hissed, “Hey, don’t feel bad!  I hope the little 
freak rots in hell!”  She spat again. 
The male freed the third hostage, who wept hysterically, before he scooted across the 
floor to lean his back against his desk.  “Thank God,” he sighed desperately, “Thank God it’s 
over!  Really over!” 
“I thought we were going to die!” wailed the second female, her face buried in her hands.  
The first female comforted her with an arm draped over the woman’s heaving shoulders, “I was 
SO scared!” 
“It’s okay, we were all scared.  But it’s over now.  We’re alive.  He’s dead.  Everything is 
going to be fine.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
233
Kendrick left them there, and exited the little office to greet his comrades, as they came 
trundling down the hall.  To his right, the mortal remains of Phillip Ellister twisted in his office 
chair, which squeaked shrilly with a monotonous, cyclic rhythm.  The dead man’s eyes remained 
open widely and fixed on the ceiling, apparently surprised by the fate that had claimed him.  His 
right arm dangled limply at his side.  The false trigger had come undone from his sleeve and lay 
on the floor beneath the chair.  Its wires led nowhere and connected to nothing. 

Kendrick’s Monster 

 
Stephen Huff 
234

 

 

 
Fifty Dollars a Day 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
235
-|- 

Byron learned that hitchhiking was easy in the southwest.  Itinerate farm workers and 
illegal aliens all felt sympathy for a lone man standing on the shoulder of a dusty highway, 
anxious for a ride.  Most of them had been there, themselves, and they knew how hard walking 
could be. 
Through the hot Mojave Desert and Arizona, he made his way across the sprawling dirt 
pile that was New Mexico in two weeks time, and arrived on the western outskirts of El Paso, 
Texas in the early afternoon.  It was a wide city, but he managed to walk through to the east side 
by sunset.  He slept in a dry creek that coursed through a seedy city park, and rose early the next 
day to press on. 
He stopped at churches and fast-food restaurants on his way out of town, begging for 
handouts.  Having some success at a local café and a large Orthodox chapel, he managed to feed 
himself well enough, and sock something away for later.  He filled his water bottles at the last 
outpost on State Highway 62, eastbound, since it would likely be a warm spring day.  Then he 
started marching. 
Long, hard experience had taught him that no one would stop anywhere near town.  
Byron stomped along the dusty shoulder, head down, shoulders hunched, without bothering to 
extend his left arm and thumb. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
236
The terrain was rough, dry and scrubby.  It rolled lazily with low, gently sloping hills, 
which stretched off to all horizons like water waves frozen in sand.  The west Texas sun was 
merciless and bright, for no clouds marred the heavens.  It broiled the sweat from his pores, and 
then steamed it from his skin. 
Byron squinted up at its piercing stare, and drew his right forearm across his brow, just 
above the strip of cloth he had tied around his head.  Replacing his battered, dirty baseball cap 
atop his skull, he returned his sight to the road before him.  Save for its regular crests and 
valleys, it ran straight and true due east, directly into the rising sun.  He cinched his pack straps 
tighter with a heavily burdened sigh, for the road seemed the very definition of forever to him at 
that moment. 
It was paradise, for it was infinite freedom.  It was hell, for it was finite possibility. 
It was two ways to go:  forward or back.  As if to confirm this, to be certain the world 
remained behind, once he passed on, Byron paused along the highway and cast his eyes over his 
left shoulder. 
Behind him, the pavement shimmered in the sunlight, where rising thermal drafts made 
serpentine patterns of the air.  The faded shapes of El Paso lingered on the western horizon, but 
no one there would think of him today.  No one had noticed his arrival.  No one would mourn his 
departure. 
For a moment, facing west as he was, he longed for Shelly.  His heart surged powerfully 
and his stomach rolled sickly.  He tasted bitter bile and salty tears. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
237
He swallowed it all with a choking gulp, and turned to start eastward, again.  His pace 
was a stiff, angry march.  With every step, he imagined he was stomping on the face of God.  
Every stomp was a small, insignificant retribution for something stolen from him.  This one is my 
happy home, this one is my mother, and this my father, and now here for Shelly, then for Chiggy, 
then for ME!  His was such an unbearably long way to go, for his journey knew no certain end.  
It was lengthy as the day was long; it was winding as his thoughts.  His way was all ways and 
none, for he had known many roads and many directions, but he had never arrived anywhere.  
His was a journey without a destination. 
Sometimes, when he thought of his fate, he longed for a quick, merciless death, and he 
better understood why Shelly had done what she had done.  He sighed leadenly, and thought, 
When every day is the same day, and none of them has any lasting effect on the world, positive or 
negative, then existence, itself, is without merit or meaning.  Aloud, he whispered, reciting 
something he had once read, “Without purpose or hope for purpose, life is little different from 
death, and the act of dying is an inconsequential change of states.” 
At his left hip, a long, sleek sedan hushed by with a flurry of sand and grit, its cabin 
shaded cool by tinted windows, its wheels whisper smooth on the road.  There, he thought, is 
purpose.  That’s what it’s like to have a destination. 
A child sat in the rear passenger seat, face squashed absurdly against the glass.  She stuck 
out her tongue at him as their eyes met.  Another, older child turned in the rear seat to point at 
him through the rear window, his face a mocking laugh.  Now both of them mugged him from 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
238
the back of the sedan, which climbed a low hill, and eventually disappeared over its rounded 
summit. 
Byron hung his head and stomped on.  Up and down, he climbed the hills of far west 
Texas, hour upon hour, mile upon mile. 
Once the sun climbed high and the day heated up a bit, despite the season, he took a long, 
throat-bobbing drink of lukewarm water, and then he stuck out his left thumb.  Again and again, 
potential rides rushed by without stopping.  Often as not the occupants pointed at him and 
laughed or shouted scarcely coherent insults into the dust storm of their wake.  None of them 
stopped. 
Byron walked until just after noon, when he left the shoulder for a stand of stunted 
mesquite trees, which hunkered together across a ragged barbed wire fence.  In their shade, he 
sat and sipped from his meager supply of water, while he ate the stale, out-dated food he had 
picked up in El Paso.  The sun arced overhead, oblivious and cruelly brilliant, while a dry, cool 
breeze stirred the sage-crested hilltops with an eery whisper. 
As he lingered and listened, he thought he heard his name on the wind, a lilting 
‘Byyyyroooon,’ that came softly as the last, drawn breath of the dying.  ‘Byyyyroooon,’ it called 
secretly. 
A shudder chased along the mountain range of his spine.  Delivered from his toes, it 
tingled his scalp frightfully, before it faded altogether. 
His back pressed up against the gnarled trunk of one of the taller mesquite trees, he 
leaned to the left, and turned his gaze behind him.  The horizon was endless and miles distant.  

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
239
Omnipresent ranges of low, rolling hills filled the space between it and him.  Nothing moved, 
save for the scrub, where it felt the day’s errant breath.  Yet it spoke to him, its tongue bleak and 
parched, its voice a harsh, ragged death rattle, ‘Byyyyroooon,’ and he listened, though it said 
nothing else. 
Ultimately, he squinted his eyes, pinched his face, stuck his fingers in his ears, and 
shouted, “BE QUIET!” 
The whisper fell into a low, derisive snigger.  Angry now, Byron stood, packed his 
things, and jerked himself into his backpack straps. 
Leaning against the trunk, again, he unzipped his pants and produced his penis.  
Waggling this, he cried, “Suck me!”  Hot and furious, he urinated in a wide arc back and forth, 
as though he might wet the entire, unsatisfying planet.  “What do you think of that.  Huh.” 
Careful to tuck himself gently away, he zipped up, and paused to listen for the wind’s 
hissed reply.  It would not come. 
When he returned to the shoulder of the freeway, it was with a renewed determination.  
He wanted to get to Cornudas or Salt Flat before sundown, if only because he dreaded sleeping 
beneath that terrible, endless sky. 
Perhaps his determination (or his frustration) showed enough to spark a bit of sympathy.  
The fourth vehicle that roared past tapped its brakes, before its right turn indicator flashed, and it 
slowed onto the shoulder, where it stopped, waiting.  It was an old, dusty, battered Ford flatbed 
that somebody had fixed with wooden rails and a chain gate.  A handful of leather-skinned 
workers reclined in the back, cowboy hats and baseball caps pulled low over their eyes. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
240
They craned their necks, curious about who might join them, as he jogged to climb 
onboard.  The driver’s long, bare, heavily muscled arm motioned him to hurry. 
As he climbed in, a whitened, bearded old man, the driver, called, “Hey, you want some 
work, boy.” 
Gripping the rail with his right hand and setting his right foot on the rear dually, he 
returned, “What sort of work.” 
“Honest, hard work!  D’ya wan’ it, ‘r not.”  The old man stuck his tanned, wrinkled face 
through the window, his consternation plain to see. 
“Sure.  I guess.”  Byron pulled himself up to the top rail.  “How long.” 
The old man shrugged, and watched him climb into the truck.  “A day.  Maybe two.  No 
more’n three.  Fifty dollars a day.  You get free feed and a free layover, then a free ride into 
town, when we’re finished.” 
Bryon had heard that before.  Peaking the summit of his ascent, he grunted, “How long is 
a day.” 
Now the driver smiled a toothless, chewing-tobacco-stained smile, and replied, “Hot 
damn, I like a smart kid.  A day is twelve, maybe sixteen hours.” 
The other workers grumbled and made room for the newcomer beneath his dangling feet.  
He dropped into place, expertly rolling his pack off his back into his lap in a single, fluid motion.  
As the driver started the truck off, again, his fellows eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and 
interest. 
He declared, “I’m Byron, from California.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
241
Around the truck’s bed, in counter clockwise order, the five of them returned their names.  
Jose and Armando from Rosales sat on his immediate right.  Next, a tall, thin redhead with a 
thick, unruly beard grunted that his name was Pruitt.  Finally, the two men seated at his left 
announced that they were Juan and Jose. 
The first Jose laughed, and jibed, “He is Number Two, you know, number two!”  He 
made a flatulent nose with his tongue and lips.  “Me- I am Number One!” 
The second Jose extended the middle finger of his left hand, while he fished up a 
smoldering butt with his right.  This, he puffed to life around a big grin, before he offered it to 
Byron. 
He smelled marijuana, as he accepted the cigarette.  With a nonchalant shrug of his 
shoulders, he sucked on it with stiff lips, and immediately doubled over with a fit of lung-
shredding expectorations. 
The others laughed, and Jose Number One took the joint from his trembling fingers.  
Puffing it hot and filling his lungs, he grinned lecherously.  Passing it on, he exhaled long, cool 
and quiet, so the smoke plumed up above the truck’s rails to dissolve on the turbulent slipstream.  
As he blew he grunted, “It’s good stuff, eh.” 
Byron choked and gasped and struggled to breathe, while the joint went around.  
Eventually, he managed to control himself.  He wiped the spittle from his lips with the back of 
his left hand, even as he took the butt from Jose Number Two, again. 
This time, he inhaled slow and easy, and he managed to keep his composure.  The effects 
of the smoke were immediate and powerful.  His ears filled with a constant, low buzz, and his 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
242
body began to pulse to the vibrant hum that powered his bones.  He could not stop grinning, and 
he felt his eyes pinch shut from the effort. 
The day seemed brighter, the sky bluer, the sun kinder, the wind softer, and his 
thoughts… his thoughts disappeared like the far western horizon.  He was the absolute moment, 
he was now and nothing more. 
Jose Number One took the butt from his more certain fingers, laughing.  “Hey, I think he 
likes it!” 
“Yeah,” gushed Byron, “I think IT likes ME!” 
They all laughed giddily, and settled back against the rail or the truck’s cab.  One by one, 
they pulled their caps and hats lower over their brows, shading their smiles so they seemed so 
many Cheshire Cats. 
The joint made it back around to Byron, once more.  He smoked it down to a bit of paper, 
and it went out, its cherry sucked away on the powerful draft.  The driver had placed them back 
on the highway, now, at seventy miles per hour. 
Byron exhaled with much flourish, and bowed low over his knees.  “I thank you!  I feel 
BETTER!” 
Pruitt growled, “You should, since it wasn’t your pot.” 
Feeling magnanimous, Byron retorted, “I guess I should ante up, then.  How does five 
bucks sound.” 
The other brightened a bit.  “It sounds better than nothing.” 
“Good.  You’ll get it, when we get paid.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
243
Pruitt’s expression fell, a bit.  “I better, then, since you promised.  You all heard him 
promise.” 
“Hey, it’s just money, man.”  Byron pulled his own cap low, since the sun was brilliant 
and tortured his dilated eyes. 
“Then why don’t you make it ten.  Or twenty.” 
Byron shook his head.  “No, way.  I have a feeling I’m probably going to have to earn it 
with blood, sweat and tears.  What sort of work is it, anyway.” 
Now the others exchanged a knowing chuckle.  Juan teased, “We’re stringing five miles 
of four strand.” 
They all turned to face Byron to gauge his reaction.  Byron blinked and glanced from 
face to face.  “Four strand.” 
“Yeah, barbed wire,” replied Armando.  “Five miles of it.” 
Judging from their faces, he guessed it must be, but he asked, regardless, “Is it hard 
work.” 
“Man,” scoffed Pruitt, disgusted, “It’s the hardest!  I’d rather roof a house in Dallas in 
August!  I’d rather hand-scrub a thousand New Orleans toilets during Mardi Gras!  I’d rather…  
I’d rather have a fat woman sit on my face backwards and FART!”  They laughed spontaneously, 
before he added, “I only took this job because I can’t get nothin’ else, back in El Paso, ‘cept the 
Day Labor.  I like to hang paper, when I can, or run a mop or a broom, but nobody’s doin’ that 
today.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
244
“Me.” boasted Juan, “I do not care.  If it is work and it earns American dollars…” he 
made a pinch of his right fingers and kissed them, before he tossed imaginary wealth into the 
blue sky, “Then I am the right man for the job!” 
“What about the rest of you.” wondered Byron playfully.  The others grinned and 
shrugged and grumbled a bit.  “Are six guys enough to do the job.” 
Jose Number One replied, “That depends on how long you got to do it!” 
Number Two added, “And how hard we all work.” 
“I’ll tell you right now,” rumbled Pruitt, shifting from one haunch to another, “I ain’t 
bustin’ my hump!  Not for fifty bucks a day stringin’ wire!” 
The rest mumbled their agreement.  Armando asserted, “Jose and me, we worked for this 
old man before.  He has a regular crew, so he just wants us for the hard stuff.  They pay in cash, 
no questions, but they treat us like dogs!” 
Byron sighed, and hunkered lower into his shirt’s collar.  “So.  What else is new.” 
Before anyone could add further comment, the old man swerved the truck off the 
highway at an insane speed, and veered onto a dusty rural lane that darted off into the hill 
country like a hare’s trail.  Now the ride was too rough and the noise of the rattling undercarriage 
too loud to speak, so they all sucked themselves into their clothing, out of the powdery wind, 
where each simmered in their own hot thoughts. 
Byron clenched his eyes tightly shut and pressed his lips flat, and he remembered Shelly.  
One night perhaps a year ago, they had wandered into a dirty alley just in time to meet with an 
elderly steward tossing the leftovers of a banquet.  Rather than throwing the lot into the 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
245
dumpster, as he was instructed to do, he had generously allowed them to eat from a little table on 
the loading dock.  He even served up a pair of cold beers to wash it all down.  For a few precious 
minutes, he and Shelly had been happy together.  This was, he decided, how he wanted to 
remember her. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
246
-|- 

 Fate, Byron would learn, can be fifty dollars a day, and no questions.  He worked for the 
old man from El Paso for three backbreaking days stringing five miles of barbed wire through a 
country that loved freedom and loathed restriction.  It was three frustrating days of stony soil that 
resisted the spade at every penetration.  It was three bloody days of brutal wire drawn tight as a 
guitar string that could whip through a man’s hands like a chainsaw blade.  It was three muscle-
knotting days of three-pound hammers and big steel staples, and the hardest west Texas beau-
d’arc fence posts God ever fashioned from wood.  It was three days, thought Byron, of the 
cruelest labor he had ever sweated. 
 When the old man drove him back to the highway, then on to Salt Flat, just southwest of 
the Guadalupe National Forest, Bryon had himself delivered at the bus station.  He felt he 
deserved a treat, after so much suffering.  He would travel in style for a few miles. 
 As he dropped onto the pavement from the rail of the flatbed, his arms and back and legs 
burning and aching, the old man popped open his door, and turned sideways in his high, creaking 
seat.  He fished up his billfold from a voluminous back pocket, and thumbed it open. 
 His voice rough and blistered as the hot, tarry pavement, he said, “Let’s see here, now… 
that’s three days running four strand… and I said fifty dollars a day, cash, didn’t I.” 
 Wincing, Byron shouldered his pack and approached with a lopsided nod.  “Yes, sir.  
That’s right.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
247
 “Then here ya go, kid.  One hundred fifty U.S. dollars, and no damned government 
taxes.”  He held out three fifty-dollar bills, which fluttered with a gentle breeze.  Bryon took the 
money gratefully.  Before he could tuck the bills into his own wallet, the old man drew out three 
more.  “Now this, son, is somethin’ extra, just for you.” 
 Byron was suspicious, though he reached for the cash, just the same.  After he had the 
wad safely in his own grip, he asked, “Why.” 
 The old man nodded crisply, and returned his billfold to his back pocket.  With a grunt, 
he said, “I seen how you worked these last three days, boy.  And I seen how them others worked, 
too.  Now that Pruitt-fellah, he’s gettin’ just the fifty dollars a day that I promised him, but you 
and a couple of them others, Armando and the Joses’, maybe… you guys busted your asses.  I 
just happen to think a man deserves to get paid an honest wage for honest work.” 
 Byron smiled and rolled his eyes appreciatively.  “Thanks,” he offered gently. 
 Making a dismissive gesture with his head, the old man returned, “Think nothin’ of it!  If 
you was the type to take the job, and I had one to offer, I’d for sure make you a part of my 
regular crew.  Only you ain’t, and I don’t.  So, I guess you’ll be pushin’ on,” he tipped his head 
toward the bus terminal, “And travelin’ with class, too!”  He cackled and turned back to his 
steering wheel.  “But just you remember my face, boy, and, if you ever get back to El Paso 
needin’ work, stop by the West Day Labor, ‘cause I’d hire ya again in a heartbeat!” 
 Byron smiled, nodded and said ‘Thanks!’ again, before the old man shifted into first gear 
with a horrid grind of metal against metal.  He watched the flatbed illegally u-turn in the center 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
248
of the road, before it roared off in a cloud of white exhaust, and he wondered what sort of life it 
was, working for the old man full-time on that sunny, wind-swept ranch. 
 Then he started across the parking lot to the terminal, where he bought the longest ride he 
could afford.  This, Byron would learn, is how fate can be fifty dollars a day, and no questions, 
because a one-way trip to Fort Worth, Texas, with taxes and fees, came to exactly fifty dollars, 
just the price he was willing to pay. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
249
-|- 

 Once, Byron guessed, this stretch of I-30 that passed between Fort Worth and Dallas, 
Texas had crossed a wilderness.  Now, it was a bloated main artery dividing the sprawl of 
endless suburbs. 
 Nobody would stop to offer him a ride, here, he knew, nobody with good intentions, 
anyway; so he just marched along the shoulder, pack high, head down.  After thirteen hours on a 
bus, he was almost eager for the hike.  Having slept most of the way, and despite the constant, 
dull ache of his muscles, Byron was refreshed and eager.  He had over two hundred dollars cash 
tucked into his underwear, and no damned barbed wire to string. 
Walking would come easy for the next few days, he thought, and he wondered where he 
should go.  Dallas was a big city, full of opportunity and plenty to do.  Yet, what was there for a 
stray dog like him. 
Since he had arrived in downtown Fort Worth early in the morning, he felt confident he 
could walk the distance to Dallas in a day.  It being near noon, he thought he should figure things 
out pretty quick, too, and he decided to make his decision over lunch. 
When he saw a sign advertising fried chicken, he left the shoulder of the highway to 
climb a long, sloping exit ramp to an intersection perched on a hill.  There he bought a bucket of 
drumsticks with a half dozen biscuits and endless root-beer refills, and he ate until he was full.  

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
250
The leftovers went into his pack for dinner, and he started back down the ramp to the Interstate, 
where he once more struck out for Dallas. 
He had decided to visit Dealey Plaza, for one thing, and maybe try to figure that old mess 
out for himself, if he could.  Afterward… he would press on.  East.  Always east. 
Just around three in the afternoon, he was forced to exit the Interstate, once more, this 
time to get rid of last night’s dinner and perhaps a bit of today’s lunch.  Unfortunately, this exit 
dumped him onto shaded suburban lane that wound north and south through older, sedentary 
neighborhoods that would be full of curious eyes. 
A rough stranger such as himself would not pass without notice, so he was unlikely to 
find a quiet, private place to relieve his bowels.  Standing on one corner of the intersection, he 
eyed the broad, lightly traveled lane, and he realized public restrooms would not be plentiful.  He 
considered returning to the highway, but the next exit was out of sight.  His guts rolled painfully 
at the same moment, and his decision was at hand. 
Even if he had to jump a fence to enjoy a backyard squat with somebody’s terrier, Bryon 
knew he could not wait.  He turned south, and he hurried along, his pack suddenly heavy and his 
legs too short, too slow. 
The street turned lazily left and right in pleasant, rounded curves, as it crossed a dozen 
evenly spaced residential avenues intersecting at right angles.  Too many people lingered on the 
sidewalks there to let him pass unnoticed, so he kept walking, though his gait became more 
desperate with each step.  Rounding a final curve, he was confronted with another, lonely 
intersection, and no promise of relief. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
251
A single sign fixed to one of the signal light poles offered some hope, however, and he 
hopped nearer to read it.  ‘Randol Mill Park,’ it read, with an arrow pointing to the left. 
Parks often boasted public restrooms.  He turned left, and limped up the road, his 
buttocks pinched desperately.  It was a hellish mile, and the entrance of the park opened on an 
excessively winding little road that coursed through the entire recreation ground, before it came 
anywhere near to a public restroom. 
With a wretched little groan, he greeted a makeshift sign that informed him the men’s 
room was ‘Out of Order’.  Using his right hand to keep things together, he hopped around to the 
women’s room, found it both open and empty, and immediately rushed inside the farthest stall, 
where he dropped his pack and trousers in a single, fluid motion.  His sense of relief was as 
immediate and overwhelming as his sense of release. 
When he exited the restroom, again, the sun had wandered perceptibly across the sky, and 
the shadows had lengthened toward the east.  Byron wondered if he could make Dallas by 
evening, after all. 
Breathing heavily, he stopped at a corroded water fountain to wet his burning face and 
neck with a soaked bandana, which he then tied around his head beneath his cap.  When he rose 
from his labors, he noted a sedan parked in a nearby lot.  He was certain it had not been there 
when he exited the bathroom. 
Eyeing the automobile suspiciously, he crossed the lot, bound for the park’s exit.  
Halfway across the blacktop, the car’s motor whined and whirred to life.  With a clunk of its 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
252
transmission, it shifted into drive, but it didn’t start across the blacktop right away.  Instead, it 
idled, its shaded driver sitting motionless behind the steering wheel. 
Casting many nervous glances over his shoulder, Byron hurried along.  His guts stirred 
with alarm, while his thoughts raced, and he was secretly convinced that a predator was watching 
his every move. 
Regardless of his instincts, he consoled himself with the daylight.  This was a public 
place, after all.  What could happen. 
After a quick survey of the park, he took a shortcut across one of many serpentine curves 
of the road by hiking up and over a long, low hillock.  A grove of Live Oak trees towered over 
the crest of the little ridge, where the shade was quiet and pleasant.  Before he descended to the 
far side, he turned back to face the restrooms and the little parking lot that abutted it.  The car, he 
was alarmed to note, was nowhere to be seen, though he had not heard it drive away. 
Shrugging his shoulders and dismissing a shiver that chased along his spine, he started 
down the hillside to find the little park avenue, once more.  It was a steeper descent than the 
climb up, and rocky.  He had to track out of his way several hundred yards to find an easy way 
down, but the walk was relaxing, and he reveled in it and his personal sense of relief there 
beneath the comforting shade. 
By the time he hiked down to the curb, he had completely forgotten about the darkened 
sedan and its mysterious driver.  He was thinking of November 1963 and an open convertible 
limousine. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
253
His surprise was complete, then, when he sat his left foot firmly on the blacktop and 
followed it with an oblivious right, only to meet the sedan’s bumper at his knees.  It came on fast 
and quiet, its wheels a soft hiss on the pavement, and he saw it only after he felt his knees buckle 
sickly beneath him. 
Byron’s feet came off the ground with such force that his worn shoes were left behind in 
a wild tumble.  With an audible and tangible crackle of bones, his thighs snapped in a half-dozen 
places to conform to the shape of the sedan’s grill.  Then his left hip slammed against the hood, 
leaving a deep, crumpled dent, an instant before his head met the windshield.  Stars filled his 
vision, and his ears rang terribly, but, strangely, Byron felt almost nothing.  He heard his bones 
break more than he sensed them, and, when his feet whipped back around and over his head, he 
felt a sensation of spinning, while those compound fractures penetrating his calves and thighs 
were sources of numbness.  Curiously, he remained conscious and aware, as his head and 
shoulders followed his feet in a terrible, bloody cartwheel. 
Up and around he swung, before his heels hit the rear windshield, shattering it, and his 
broken torso careened off the trunk, smashing it.  Now he collapsed onto the pavement, where 
his body shredded in a long, tumbling skid that painted the blacktop wet and shining with his 
blood and his flesh.  Eventually, he came to rest near the far curb, where he lay trembling and 
twitching, terribly aware of his ruined state of being. 
With the one eye that remained fixed in its socket, he watched the car’s brake lights flare 
brilliant, as it skidded to a stop.  Now its backup lights came on, and its rear wheels smoked in 
reverse. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
254
Unable to scream or move out of the way, Byron was a silent witness to his own cruel 
fate.  In a screaming, burning fury of motion, the sedan backed faster and faster toward him, its 
hateful rear tire on a level with his helpless vision.  Paralyzed, he watched his doom near 
relentlessly, and he hoped it would be quick and painless. 
In the last moment, before the bumper’s shadow fell across his savaged face, he was 
certain he had met the devil and was bound for hell.  For, through the sedan’s shattered rear 
windshield, he saw a black demon perched at the steering wheel, its broad, sable wings splayed 
wide through the windows and its fanged-maw gaping happily between them, laughing, 
laughing, laughing… 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
255

 

 

 
 
Boundaries of Depravity 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
256
-|- 

“It goes somethin’ like this, y’all, listen up: 
 
 “I put a bullet in his brain, God, 
 all the same, now, all the same 
 and his religion is a crack highway 
 God, all the same, now all the same 
 I chamber rounds like chains for slaves 
 y’all, all the same, now, all the same 
 come to church now just to pay 
 Lord, just to pay, Lord, just to pay 
 ‘cause like a firm believer I pump the ‘caine, 
 God, just the same, now, just the same 
 and it’s hell come judgment day, Lord 
 come your judgment day, come judgment day” 
 
The wiry young man everybody called ‘Skeeter’ jumped off the sidewalk, and returned to 
his place leaned against the wall.  He bowed jauntily, and laughed. 
Stanley clapped.  He gushed, “That was good, Skeeter!  I liked that one!” 
“Thanks, y’all, I gotta million of ‘em.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
257
“All in your head.” 
“Yeah, I guess.  Leastways, I ain’t got no paper nor pencil to write ‘em down.” 
Stanley sucked a deep breath and held it.  After long seconds of monumental 
consideration, he offered, “You should.” 
“Naw,” hedged Skeeter.  “I ain’t got the time, I’m so busy with the streets, y’know.”  He 
laughed toothlessly, and adjusted his stained head cover self-consciously, adding, “Anyway, I 
like it better when they’re just in my head.  That way, they come out differ’nt ever’ time!” 
“Okay, Skeeter.”  Stanley examined the confident way that Skeeter leaned against the 
wall, with one leg bent, foot flat against the wall, and the other slanted to the ground.  He 
attempted to copy it awkwardly, and was comfortable to simply stand there with his new friend.  
“Skeeter.” he asked eventually. 
“Yeah, Stan-the-Man.” 
Stanley smiled broadly.  He liked it when Skeeter called him that, though his friend had 
told him not to say so aloud.  ‘Be cool, Stan-the-Man,’ insisted Skeeter, ‘Be cool.’  Stanley bit 
his tongue, and tried to be cool.  He finished, “Skeeter, you said you’d show me an easy way to 
make some money, today.” 
“I did.” demanded the other, feigning confusion.  “Why in hell would I do that.  The last 
damn thing I need is more comp’tition!” 
When Stan-the-Man seemed wounded and confused, Skeeter jumped back onto the 
sidewalk, and spun around cleverly.  Now he danced with a curious, serpentine motion, and sang, 
“Stan-the-Man, he don’t think he can, make a few bucks the way Ol’ Skeeter plans!  But Ol’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
258
Skeeter knows the trick, Ol’ Skeeter knows the way, Ol’ Skeeter shows his friends the righteous 
path every day!” 
Stanley grinned and could not imagine how to respond, so he simply stood there, 
gawking and clapping stiffly.  “Today, Skeeter.” 
“Yeah, today!  You know a better time.” 
“No, Skeeter,” returned Stanley, following his friend along the sidewalk through an 
afternoon crowd that swarmed around them, oblivious to their combined presence.  “Because I’m 
hungry.  Real hungry!” 
“Okay, Stan-ster!  I gotcher back, and I ain’t smokin’ crack, ‘cause I’m da daddy mac!” 
“I wish I could rhyme like that, Skeeter.  Only, I don’t think so quick.” 
“Yeah, Stan,” retorted the other, weaving his way expertly through the pedestrian traffic, 
“You like a stick, ‘cause you ain’t no winnin’ pick!” 
“’I ain’t no winnin’ pick’,” mimicked Stanley.  For a moment, he wondered if it was an 
insult, or just a convenient rhyme.  Then he lost sight of Skeeter in the crowd, and forgot about 
everything else.  He jogged to catch up, his ragged clothing flapping. 
 “So ya wants to earn some money, Stan-Man.” 
 Following his friend’s voice, Stanley caught up, “Yeah, Skeeter.  I’m hungry.” 
 “Be hungry and ye shall eat!” cackled Skeeter, as he cut into an alleyway to rummage 
among the trash that lined the walls.  “I’ll show you somethin’ simple, Stan-the-Man, ‘cause I 
think simple is what you want!” 
 “Simple is best.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
259
 “Then help me hunt up a nice, clean piece of cardboard.” 
 “Cardboard.” wondered Stanley dully. 
 “Yeah, to make a sign, man!  You gotta advertise, Stan-ster!  Advertise!  Advertise!  
Advertise!”  Skeeter roamed from dumpster to dumpster, until he found one that was full of 
corrugated paper.  “Here ya go, Stan!” he cried, tossing one down, “Tear y’self a piece o’ dat!  
Just one side, is all ya need.” 
 “What sort of sign will it be.” wondered Wilson, even as he tore off the unwanted sides 
of the box.  “What will it say.” 
 “Whatever you want it to say,” returned the other, dropping back onto the pavement to 
fashion his placard from another flattened box.  “Once, I bagged almost a hun’ert bucks in San 
Antone by standin’ on the co’ner with a sign that said, ‘Need Money For BEER!’”  Skeeter 
cackled and hopped around, waggling his arms in praise.  “That don’t work most times, but it 
sure worked that day!  They said it was ‘Honest’, at least!”  He doubled over laughing, now.  
“Honest!” 
 After they finished fashioning their blank signs, and Skeeter had wrestled control of his 
mirth, they returned to the sidewalk to cross through the city in search of a busy intersection 
beneath one of the major Interstates.  As they walked, Skeeter instructed, “After you have a sign, 
Stan-Man, next you needs a marker or some paint, or some’in!” 
 “How would I get one of those without money.” 
 “Simple, friend, you just asks!”  To illustrate, Skeeter began stopping in the way of every 
pedestrian he met, so they must acknowledge him.  Before each, he danced a jaunty little jig, and 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
260
then he asked for a marker or a can of spray paint.  Stanley followed and tried to learn, as Skeeter 
asked anyone he neared for what he needed. 
 Eventually, Stanley took the initiative, and entered into a print shop that stood on Main 
Street.  Inside, he asked a wizened old lady behind the counter for a big, black marker.  Simple 
as that, she gave him one. 
 Skeeter was duly impressed, and his dance was a long, happy one.  He sang a heavily 
rhymed chant that boasted of Stanley’s skills on the street. 
 “You should be teachin’ ME, man!” joked Skeeter. 
 After a mile or so, they stopped on a quiet corner to sit on the curb and letter their 
advertisement.  “You see,” drawled Skeeter, as he worked, “You gotta tell the people what they 
want to hear to make a buck in this town.  Sure,” he insisted, coloring in a capital ‘H’, “They 
knows you’re homeless, and they knows you want money or food or both, but what they don’t 
know is; why they should help you!  So you gotta tell ‘em, Stan-ster.  You gotta get your story 
across with words that are worth a buck or two, and you gotta do it all in this here little space.  
See.  It ain’t so easy, after all, is it.” 
 Skeeter held up his sign proudly, so Wilson could read ‘Home-less Muzlim, Need 
Assylum’.  Stanley asked, “Ass-y-lum.” 
 “Yeah, you know, shelter.  Help.” 
 “Are you really a Muslim, Skeeter.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
261
 The other smiled toothlessly, and offered up the marker.  “I could be, Stan-Man, I could 
be!  For all they know, I’m Mo-ham-wood, his own self!”  As his partner began working 
furiously with the marker, he added, “Hey, take it easy with that!  I can get high off it, later!” 
 Stanley pondered what his sign should say.  He eventually scrawled, ‘Need Food Becuz 
Hungry.’  Finished, he held it up for Skeeter’s examination. 
 Skeeter laughed and hopped about happily.  “That’s it, Stan!  That’s it EXACTLY!  You 
a genius, my man!  A natural!  Hell, you could be a million-dollar-a-year advertizin’ executive, I 
bet!” 
 “Really, Skeeter.  Really.” 
 The other stopped suddenly and let his arms hang loosely, his expression wax droll.  “No, 
Stan.  No, not really!” 
 Wilson sighed, and let his own expression fall a bit.  “What next.” he wondered. 
 “Next.  Next comes the easy part,” replied Skeeter, as he started across the street to pass 
beneath a long, elevated freeway.  “We just finds us a nice, busy co’ner, and we sits down to 
rake in the bread!” 
 “Okay,” responded Stanley, following. 
 As his friend had promised, they found a bustling intersection with long stoplights, and 
they each chose a corner.  Stanley found he had the best luck when he moved from car to car 
while they were stopped, if only to avoid the inevitable, penetrating stares that seemed to 
demand, ‘How did you get where you are.  What’s wrong with you.’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
262
 He collected more than twenty dollars cash in the first three hours, along with an 
assortment of sack lunches.  These latter items ranged from peanut butter sandwiches with 
religious tracks in the baggies, to nice homemade goodies that were obviously somebody’s own 
lunch.  The kindness of the city’s population impressed Stanley, as he knew his reward might 
have been much slimmer in other places.  He ate what he could while he was hungry, and socked 
the rest away for later. 
 An hour before evening rush hour, he felt he had enough, and was ready to search out a 
place to stay for the night.  He called for Skeeter, who was busy hustling a couple in an antique 
convertible, but his partner would not or could not hear. 
 He felt he could stand there a few minutes longer, and he turned to walk back along the 
anxious line of traffic stopped at the intersection.  At the end of the line, the last car’s passenger 
window rolled silently down. 
 A young man leaned across the seat, and asked, “You need a job.” 
 Stanley glanced around to be certain no one was standing at his back.  Deciding it was he 
in question; he lowered his sign and shuffled closer. 
 “I used to have a job.  A good job, too.  But I didn’t like it.” 
 “Hey, that’s great.  Do you need one today.” 
 Stanley turned to ask Skeeter what he should do, but the other was still busy with the 
couple.  He nodded his head.  “I guess so.” 
 “Good!  Hop in!” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
263
 The driver smiled broadly and seemed friendly, but something about the man bothered 
Stanley very much.  “Okay,” he returned simply, though his feet refused to comply. 
 Ahead of them, the light turned from red to green.  Horns blared.  Skeeter backed away 
from the couple, a wad of bills in his hand, and he saw Stanley leaned over near the sedan.  He 
started along the sidewalk, beaming, rubbing his right front pocket. 
 “Come on!  Come on!” urged the driver, patting the passenger seat.  Now, he lay over it 
to pop the passenger door open.  “Hurry up!  Get in!  Get in!  Get in!” 
 Accustomed to doing as instructed, Stanley responded immediately by crossing the 
sidewalk to seat himself inside the car.  Before he could slam the door shut, again, the car shot 
off into traffic, immediately changing lanes. 
 They passed Skeeter on the sidewalk.  The man was confused and angered by Stanley’s 
departure.  Stan smiled absently and waved, then he shut the car door and reached for its seatbelt. 
 Eventually, to break the monotonous sound of the surging engine, Stanley said, “The 
front of your car doesn’t match the back of your car.  Did you know that.” 
 The driver nodded curtly.  “Yeah, I know.  I’m going to paint it this weekend.  I just had 
body work done on it.” 
 “Oh,” responded Stanley stiffly.  “I thought maybe somebody swapped out theirs for 
yours when you weren’t looking.” 
 The other laughed sharply.  “That’s stupid.”  After a derisive shake of his head, the man 
said, “You talk funny.  Are you simple, or what.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
264
 Stanley blanched and turned away to stare out the window.  “Some people say that about 
me.  Some people say worse.  They used to make fun of me at work, and I didn’t like it.” 
 “Does anyone ever like it.” 
 “No, I guess not.” 
 “Hey, lighten up, ah… what’s your name.” 
 “Stanley.  Stanley Wilson.  What’s yours.” 
 “Kendrick Sutherland.  You can call me Mr. Sutherland.” 
 “Oh.  Okay, Mr. Sutherland.” 
 “Hey, Stanley.” 
 “Yes, Mr. Sutherland.” 
 “Have you ever sucked cock in your life.” 
 Stanley was stunned.  His mouth worked spasmodically, and he was at a loss for words.  
“What.” was all he could manage after a deep breath.  He pretended he had misheard. 
 “You heard me,” stated the other grimly, his façade dropped away, his face a blank mask 
of inhuman interest.  “Have you ever sucked cock.” 
 Wilson shook his head dully back and forth.  “No, I don’t think I have.” 
 Kendrick laughed sadistically.  “You sure.  And you’re positive you’d remember, if you 
had.  Because there seems to be room for doubt.” 
 “No- I mean, yes!  Yes, I’m sure.  No, I never su- I never did that.” 
 “Would you like to suck one.” 
 Stanley thought about it for a mile or so.  “I don’t believe I would.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
265
 “Well, I believe you would.”  Kendrick smirked, and eased back in the driver’s seat to 
place his hand suggestively on his crotch.  “Do you want to suck mine.” 
 Stanley shook his head, and averted his gaze from the man’s crotch.  Without thinking, he 
licked his lips absently, though he replied, “No, thank you.” 
 Kendrick laughed, and sat up straighter.  “Hey, I’m just kiddin’ you, Stanley Wilson!  
Can’t you take a joke.” 
 Now the hitcher nodded his head vigorously, “Oh, yeah, I like a good joke!  You want to 
hear a funny one.” 
 “Sure, tell your joke.” 
 “Okay,” enthused Stanley, seeming to forget about the driver’s disturbing behavior in the 
same instant, “This guy, he walks into a bar with a genie, who grants him three wishes.  And the 
bartender, he says, ‘I asked for a ten-inch pianist!’” 
 Kendrick refused to humor the man with even polite laughter.  “It was the customer that 
wishes for a ten inch penis from the genie, and he comes into the bar with a ten inch ‘pianist’, 
idiot.  You’re pretty dumb, aren’t you.” 
 Stan’s face fell childishly, and he blushed.  Turning away, again, he said, “I guess.” 
 “But you tell a joke about a ten inch penis.  I think you really want to suck one.” 
 “No, I don’t,” came the absent reply.  Stanley was more interested in how the joke had 
gone so horribly wrong than he was with the substance of their conversation, and he was kicking 
himself for trying to be witty.  He knew he was never successful with wit.  “But thanks for the 
offer.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
266
 “What if it’s not an offer.”  Kendrick steered them out of the city, onto I-30, bound east. 
 “What.” wondered Stanley obtusely. 
 “I said, what if it’s an order.” 
 “What if what’s an order.” 
 “You, sucking my dick!  You said you need a job… well, I have a good job for you!  A 
good blow job, that is!”  Kendrick laughed wickedly, while his secret monster sniggered from its 
hiding place within the glove box.  “I want you to bend over and give me head right here in the 
car, while I’m driving.  For that, I’ll pay you the going rate of twenty dollars.” 
 “But I don’t want to do that.  It’s dirty, and we’re not supposed to do it.  We’re not 
married.” 
 “Lots of people do it without being married.”  Kendrick’s right hand returned to his 
crotch, where he began to stroke himself stiff beneath the bulging fabric of his jeans.  “Don’t you 
want to know what it’s like.” 
 Stanley swallowed his racing heart.  Something scared him about the way Mr. Sutherland 
was teasing him.  “I don’t like you touching yourself that way,” he gloomed unhappily. 
 “No.”  Now Ken unzipped his pants, and reached inside to extract his swollen manhood.  
“I think you do!  You can’t take your eyes off it!  Look!” 
 Without thinking, Stanley looked, and was instantly ashamed.  The man’s penis was long 
and thick, and capped with a purple, mushroom-shaped head that glistened with a strangely 
arousing implication of sexual moisture.  It jutted from the gap of his trousers, and waggled back 
and forth with his suggestive movements. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
267
 Glancing away again, Stanley squirmed closer to his door, as though he might press 
himself through to the other side.  “Stop it!” he demanded simply. 
 “Go on,” urged Kendrick huskily, reaching for Stanley’s left hand.  “Touch it!” 
 Stanley jerked his hand away, but Ken reached for it again, and again, until he managed 
to get a firm grip and drag it across the seat.  Now he forcibly wrapped the other’s fingers around 
his aching, throbbing shaft, where Stanley’s grip flexed with instinctive curiosity. 
 Violently disturbed, Wilson reached across with his free right hand to pry the driver’s 
fingers loose.  To complete the effort, he leaned low across the seat. 
 The driver’s reaction was shockingly quick and efficient, for he released Stanley’s 
bruised hand and in the same instant grabbed a fistful of his hair.  With a savage downward 
motion, Kendrick forced the other’s head down into his crotch, where he worked with his hips to 
thrust his penis down the other man’s throat. 
 Stanley squealed, squirmed and resisted, but Kendrick was much stronger and more 
determined.  His driving suffered as he swerved from lane to lane, though he managed to achieve 
his goal.  He felt his hot, swollen member penetrate deeply into Stanley’s mouth.  The hitcher 
gagged reflexively, opening his jaws wider, and Kendrick responded quickly and sadistically by 
thrusting deeper still. 
 Now the hitcher’s struggles were mortal.  He was choking.  His arms and legs flailed 
wildly, attracting the attention of a nearby driver. 
 Kendrick laughed hatefully, and let the man come up for air.  As soon as he was free, 
Wilson jumped back across the seat, spitting and wiping his mouth disgustedly. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
268
 “Aw,” drawled Ken, chuckling and stroking himself gently.  “It wasn’t so bad, was it.” 
 “Let me out right now!” 
 “I don’t think so.” 
 “Let me out, or I’ll jump!”  Stanley reached for the door latch, and pulled it open.  
Nothing happened. 
 “Oops!” laughed Kendrick, “I forgot to tell you that your door is broken.” 
 “Stop the car!” 
 “No.  Not until you suck my cock.” 
 “I won’t!” 
 “You will!”  Angrily, Ken accelerated and switched lanes to be on the outside and most 
dangerous lane of the highway, just in case.  “You’ll do whatever I like, or I’ll skin you alive and 
eat your testicles RAW!”  Saying this, he used his right hand to steer, so he could reach into a 
door compartment with his left, and he drew a small, black, sinister pistol.  “Or else I’ll jam this 
up your ass and pull the trigger!” 
 Stanley’s eyes went wider still, and his mouth worked uselessly.  “You wouldn’t hurt 
me.”  It was statement.  It was a question.  It was a blind, pathetic hope. 
 “Yes, I would,” returned Kendrick blackly.  “In fact, I want to hurt you very much.  I 
want to bite you all over.  I want to tear pieces off you with my naked teeth.  I want to devour 
you.” 
 Naturally, the hitcher was appalled.  Kendrick’s monster relished the man’s terror. 
 “Why would you want to do that to me.  What did I ever do to you.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
269
 “Nothing!  You couldn’t do anything to me, even if you wanted to!” 
 “But why.” 
 “’But why.’” mocked the driver meanly.  “Because you’re a putrid little freak!  You’re a 
moron!  Trash!  Nobody will miss you, when you’re gone!  Nobody will even notice!  I can do 
whatever I want with you, and nobody is going to care.  Ever!” 
 Now Stanley wept.  Tears rolled down his cheek to drip from his chin, and he whimpered 
softly. 
 “I don’t want you to bite me, Mr. Sutherland.  Please, let me go.” 
 “No,” laughed Kendrick, “But I’ll tell you what I’m going to do to you.  Will that make  
you feel better.  Hmmm.  Knowing how it’s going to end.” 
 Though Stanley shook his head, Ken continued cruelly, “First, I’m going to drive you 
into the country, where I’m going to force you into the woods at gun point.  I might shoot you in 
the foot, maybe blow off one toe, just for fun.  It’s a small caliber weapon, you know, so it won’t 
make much noise.”  He waggled the pistol about to paint a violent, invisible picture in the air, 
and Stanley squirmed accordingly.  “Once I get you into the woods, I’m going to throw a rope 
over a high tree limb and string you up, because I always wanted to do that.  Then, once you’re 
hanging by your arms and neck with some slack in the line, I’m going to cut your clothing off, 
one strip at a time, until you’re naked.”  Kendrick paused to read the street signs, and chose a 
divergent way that would lead them along I-30 deep into the east Texas pine forests.  “After that, 
I’m going to humiliate you in every way that comes to mind.  I’m going to torture you until you 
bleed and scream.”  Kendrick laughed wickedly to see the other’s head shaking and trembling 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
270
with terror.  How it stirred the beast from one pool of darkness to another, so it flowed out of the 
glove box, onto the floorboard, where it slithered between their feet with a benighted touch.  
“Just before I kill you, I’m going to tie strings really tight around your penis and your scrotum, 
so I can cut off your bat and balls without bleeding you to death.” 
 He fell silent to listen for a reply, but none came, though Stanley’s mouth worked to say 
something again and again.  Eventually, Kendrick demanded, “Don’t you want to know why I 
would do that.” 
 Stanley shook his head.  The monster laughed. 
 “Because, simpleton, I’m going to make you eat them raw, one bite at a time!”  He broke 
down into a quivering mass of merriment, now, and the gun wavered.  Stanley saw this, but was 
paralyzed by fear and unable to act.  Kendrick recovered, “How’s that going to be, I wonder.  
You’ll probably want ketchup!  It’ll taste like chicken, I bet!” 
 Kendrick railed and rolled with laughter, and he beat the steering wheel to regain his 
composer.  “What goes well with your own nuts, huh.  White wine or red.” 
 Wilson was sickened, confused and terrified.  He hoped this was a disturbing night sweat, 
from which he must soon awaken. 
 “Then, when you’re all spent,” chuckled Kendrick spasmodically, “I’m going to wrap my 
own hands around your throat, and I’m going to choke you unconscious.  But I won’t kill you!  
Not so quickly!  I’ll let go, so you come back to life.  I’ll let you wake up.  I’ll slap you around a 
bit to make sure you know what’s going on!  Then I’ll squeeze your throat shut, again, until 
you’re out!  Again and again and again,” he gushed sadistically, his voice unspeakably thrilled, 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
271
“Just like John Wayne Gacy used to do, you know!  Until one time it goes an inch to far, and 
you’re gone forever!  I’ll listen to your death rattle and I’ll cum in my pants!” 
 Now Kendrick’s right hand shot across the distance between them to snatch a fistful of 
the hitcher’s hair, once more.  Stanley jumped and squealed, but he dared not resist, when Mr. 
Sutherland forced him face down into his lap, again.  As Ken’s pulsating member pressed 
urgently against his lips, Stanley opened his mouth reluctantly, and let the violent stranger have 
his bestial way. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
272
-|- 

 ‘No judgment day awaits you.  In the end, the wicked will go unpunished, and the 
righteous will receive no reward.’  Kendrick’s secret monster hissed softly from its omnipresent 
shade.  ‘Death is death, and nothing more.’ 
 Kendrick sat on a rotted log, his elbows on his knees, his cheeks in his hands, his head 
hung low, and he tried not to see the evidence of his unspeakable sin, where it dangled before 
him so its shadow swung back and forth across his diminished form.  “What about God.” 
 The beast laughed with the sounds of a sudden, violent wind.  ‘What is God but the 
power of life and death.  What is God but fate.’  It skittered through the heavily shaded 
undergrowth to slither up a broad, knobby trunk, into the canopy, where it found ample 
concealment from a blood-red evening sun.  ‘You are God, child.’ 
 Ken sobbed deeply.  Tears coursed from his lashes and plummeted directly to the loamy 
forest soil.  He shook his head, “No.  I am Satan.” 
 Again, the monster sniggered, as it flowed liquidly along a thin branch that dangled over 
Ken’s head.  ‘Satan is a figment.’ 
 “Are you a figment.” 
 ‘No.  Rather, I am inveterate reality, because I am the ultimate fear, as are you.’  When 
Kendrick began weeping again, it added softly, ‘Yet, take comfort in it, child, for our kind fears 
nothing.  We are the apical predators.  We are the pinnacle species.  Before us, all others bow 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
273
low.’  With a soft swirl of stinking air, it settled comfortably on its perch, and let a long, thin 
tendril of its inky form settle onto Kendrick’s sweat-matted hair, where it caressed its host with a 
curious tenderness.  ‘No, we are not figments; rather, we are more tangible than stone, more 
permanent than steel, for stone crumbles and iron rusts.  While the world around us fades into 
history and forgetfulness, we endure.  We persist. 
 ‘Why.’ it demanded intently, though Kendrick had not asked, ‘Because we have 
determined that death harbors no sanction for our mortal transgressions.  Of all the teeming 
billions, we few have devoted ourselves completely to ourselves to pursue our every pleasure, 
however perverse, and sate our every longing, however corrupt.  Every living being must envy 
our freedom and wonder how we felt and what we saw when we did what we have done… when 
we do what we will do.  They will read of our exploits to live vicariously through our crimes.  
Our wild abandon will become their wild abandon, and, though they are secretly terrified of their 
own, gruesome lust, they will crave it. 
 ‘For they all long to murder, from time to time.  They all harbor secret, disturbing 
fantasies that they cannot reveal, though they live them nightly within feverish dreams.’  Thicker 
and thicker came the shadow flow, as the monster oozed down from its high seat to drape 
Kendrick’s heaving shoulders like a stole of night.  ‘I know, because I have visited them with 
their sick pleasures in the darkness, as I have visited you, and I have asked them to name their 
most wicked lusts, as I have asked you. 
 ‘Believe me when I say that they are many and grotesque.  Often, the most ordinary 
citizen’s secret desires pale even your abominable needs, child, but they do not act.  When I ask 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
274
them why their fantasies should remain secret, when they want them so awfully, they invariably 
reply that they are afraid of punishment, so I promise them freedom from sanction.  Still, they 
will not act.  Why.’ 
 It hissed to vocalize its frustration.  ‘I cannot say.  Their reluctance is an enigma to me, 
and I cannot explain it, except to cite an obvious division of the human psyche.  Quite simply, 
many will not kill, while others, a tiny few, will. 
‘This lone aspect of your nature, therefore, separates you from the herd.’  Now the beast 
encompassed Kendrick’s seething form, and soothed him with its inky oblivion that was the 
balm he required.  ‘You are of the latter kind, child.  You are a killer.  You have always been a 
killer.  Killing is your nature, not a matter of preference.  Consequently, you cannot be anything 
other than you are.’ 
Kendrick listened intently, nodding with each sentence.  When his secret monster fell 
silent, he sniffled himself still, again, and raised his head.  His bleary eyes cleared with a drain of 
tears. 
He asked the same question he always asked at this point in the conversation.  “Why 
me.” 
The monster fondled its host gently, as it pondered the eternal question.  ‘I cannot say 
except to simply say; because it IS you.’ 
“And you’re certain there is no hell.” 
‘As certain as I am that there is no heaven.’ 
“What about prison.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
275
Now the beast fell silent.  It simmered blackly all around Kendrick’s body, an 
unwholesome night-bound aura.  After many long seconds, it returned, ‘Nothing can save you 
from your fate, child, not even I.’ 
“I don’t want to go to prison.” 
‘Nothing is certain, but many of us finish our days in a cage.  In fact, your time there may 
be the most shining aspect of your infamy.  Theodore Bundy lived there many years, where he 
accomplished much in the name of his own, perverse demons.  Naturally, escape was his primary 
fascination, but, when the time came, he was happy to go, because he did not fear life after death.  
He knew better.  As I recall, John Gacy painted some of his finest work, there!  I have never seen 
such genuinely frightening clowns.’  It chuckled darkly, and pooled in Kendrick’s lap, where its 
strange, baleful crimson eyes stared up at him curiously.  ‘If you are fated to such a life, revel in 
it, as confinement can only fuel and foster the immortality you crave.  Prison may be your voice 
to the world!’ 
Kendrick sniffled and nodded.  He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and turned 
his attention on Stanley Wilson. 
The hitcher’s corpse hung stretched before him, bound by his hands and neck, as 
promised, by a rope that had been tossed over a low tree limb.  Stanley’s body was a grotesque 
picture of macabre abuse.  His lifeless, half-lidded eyes gazed with blank accusation. 
“Did I do that.” wondered Kendrick morosely. 
‘We did that.  Together.’ 
“I am nothing without you.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
276
‘You make me everything.’ 
A last, violent sob wracked Kendrick’s body, and then the crying was finished.  “It must 
have hurt.” 
‘He screamed most deliciously.’ 
When Kendrick rose to clean up the mess, his secret monster poured off his body to pool 
at his feet.  It followed along with the soft sounds of a heavy, rolling fog. 
“Maybe somebody heard.” 
‘No.’ 
“Maybe somebody saw me pick him up.  It was a busy intersection.” 
‘No.’ 
 “Look at all this evidence!  Blood everywhere!  And a body covered with… with bite 
marks!  Oh,” he moaned sorrowfully, sucking his fingers and circling the scene of the crime, 
“I’m going to get caught this time, for sure!” 
‘No,’ returned the beast, again.  ‘Listen to me, child, when I reassure you of your safety.  
While I watch over you, no harm can befall you.  I am here to deliver your every pleasure 
without cost.  I am here to sate your every desire without sanction.’ 
Kendrick sucked his fingers and rolled his eyes wildly.  Absently, he stated, “David 
Berkowitz once said, ‘The demons were protecting me.  I had nothing to fear from the police.’” 
‘Precisely.’ 
“So I have nothing to fear from the police.” 
‘Not at the moment.’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
277
“What do I do about… this.” 
The monster fell silent for a time, while it stirred the leaf-strewn forest floor at 
Kendrick’s feet.  Eventually, it returned, ‘Do nothing.’ 
Kendrick halted his pacing, and his fingers snapped away from his mouth.  “Nothing.” 
‘Look around you, child, and tell me what you see.’ 
“Trees.” 
‘No trails.  No streets.  No houses.  Just trees for miles and miles.’  Now the beast formed 
itself near the toe of Kendrick’s left shoe, and its deeply burning eyes stared up at him 
confidently from beneath a steeple of rotting oak leaves.  ‘He may hang for months before he is 
found, if ever.  Remember, no one is looking.  No one cares.  And no one comes this way.’ 
“You’re sure.” 
‘Yes.’ 
“What about all this evidence.” 
‘The forest will consume it.  Nothing save bones will remain within twelve months.  
Eventually, the bones, too, will disappear.’  It sent a tendril of its wispy form up the leg of 
Kendrick’s pants to touch his flesh softly.  ‘Do not forget how the Green River Killers and Ted 
Bundy left a hundred bodies like this in the woods, and how those bodies were all found, though 
the killers were not.’ 
“They caught Ted Bundy.” 
‘Near the end, he wanted them to catch him.’ 
“Why.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
278
‘He loathed himself.’  The beast fell silent for a moment, as it sensed Kendrick’s flushed 
skin.  ‘Though not for the reason you may imagine.  He did not loathe himself for his crimes, 
child, rather he loathed himself because his crimes no longer entertained him as once they had.  
When he could not push the boundaries of depravity any further in this world, he was genuinely 
anxious to move on to the next.’ 
Kendrick’s glazed eyes narrowed.  He had not missed that last reference.  “The next.  I 
thought you said death is death, and nothing more.” 
‘Did I.  Indeed, I did!  Yet, I did not imply that it is the end of all things.’ 
“What waits in the next world, then.” 
Kendrick’s secret monster stroked his skin lovingly, and replied.  ‘I.  I wait in the next 
world.’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
279

 

 

 
 
Anonymity 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
280
-|- 

To earn extra money, Kendrick sometimes worked Saturday and Sunday nights for a 
private security service.  It was good work, because it fit around his graveyard shift with the 
department and his evening classes at the university, and because he rarely had plans for the 
weekend, anyway.  It paid well, too, and he might be happy enough doing it full time, but it was 
inconstant and unreliable.  It was available only when need demanded it. 
The need, usually, was violent, as tonight.  Better and better, thought Ken, sitting before a 
bank of portable closed circuit monitors, which watched over the entire grounds of the First-Rate 
Home Equity, Inc. headquarters building. 
Bored, he flipped through his assignment brief, again.  He chuckled quietly to see the 
man’s distorted face, where it loomed within the paper border of a low quality color facsimile.  
Anger swelled his features and reddened his flesh, so his head swelled like a great apple.  The 
two security guards that held him in the still shot appeared frustrated and exhausted, evidence of 
the madman’s violent resistance to being removed from the premises.  The background was 
scenery of a corporate reception lounge, indeed this very room, cast into a chaotic state of 
disarray. 
Glancing around, he compared the photo to its counterpart in reality, and decided the 
repairs were almost complete.  The glass was probably easy to replace, but those holes in the 
walls must have taken some time.  He peered into the photograph more closely, and wondered if 
that was a coffee table hanging from the ceiling. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
281
Whatever it had been, it was gone now, as was the maniac.  The final disposition of the 
case to date, according to his documentation, promised further aggressive action against the 
property and its inhabitants, since the unknown perpetrator had fled the scene prior to arrest and 
just after brutally assaulting his escorts. 
Kendrick flipped back to the photograph.  “Wow,” he whispered, “The guy must be sixty, 
maybe seventy years old.  Look at him!” 
The security firm was extremely thorough with its reports.  Snapshots of the security 
guards, ex post facto, were a grim reminder of what a determined man can do.  Their faces 
appeared swollen, bruised and lacerated, and they sported three broken limbs between them. 
He read an excerpt of one guard’s report; “…the old guy was being difficult at first, but 
not, you know, really physically aggressive.  He had smashed the place up pretty good, by the 
time we got there, and he wouldn’t leave when we told him to, so we had to put our hands on 
him, you know.  See, he was this old guy, I mean real old, I thought he might be having a brain 
spasm, or something, I don’t know.  Any way, we started out gentle with him, because we didn’t 
want to give him a heart attack, but the more we pushed, the more he pushed back. 
“It turned out that the guy was like some kind of war hero, or something, because he 
started mouthing off about Viet Nam and places I ain’t never even heard of, and he was strong, 
man, I mean real strong.  I bounce nightclubs sometimes for extra bills, you know, and I been up 
against some tough guys, but this one… he was just really, really strong. 
“So we started getting more serious, and we managed to haul him out of the reception 
lobby, through the side doors and into the parking garage, where we were going to confine him 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
282
to a car or something, I don’t know.  When wham!  Out of nowhere, this guy turns on us with 
this kung-fu shit (sic) out of hell, and flat kicks our asses (sic).  Next thing I know, this broad 
from the front desk is standing over me screaming how the old man had killed me!  Let me tell 
you, that freaked me out!  So I start checking myself….” 
Kendrick smiled and folded the page to the second guard’s report, which was similar to 
the first.  Neither of them remembered what happened after they dragged the old man into the 
parking lot, so they could not report whether he fled on foot or in a car. 
Without a vehicle license number or eyewitness recognition, the man was an unknown.  
He had come in from the faceless, anonymous public, destroyed a big chunk of the first floor, 
and nearly killed two big, strapping guards, before he had disappeared.  Kendrick was impressed 
to think he had been a frail old man.  Well, he amended his thoughts, maybe not so frail, after all. 
Still, he sighed, turning back to the initial surveillance photos taken by the office camera 
when the man entered the lounge, he appeared to be frail, at first glance.  Kendrick vowed to 
never take the elderly for granted, again. 
Sighing heavily, he slapped the folder shut, and scanned the monitors habitually, before 
he glanced at his wristwatch.  The dial told him the time was two o’clock, Monday morning.  
Kendrick sighed to think of all the hard-core drunks that must be leaving for home about now, 
and resigned himself to his long, lonely watch.  Scanning the portable monitors again, he hoped 
the old man would turn up, though he very much doubted this.  What could he hope to gain by 
vandalizing an empty building, he wondered.  A guy like that would probably rather have an 
audience, he decided, and, besides, it was way past an old man’s bedtime. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
283
He leaned back in his high comfortable chair, which sat in a rectangular information 
booth reserved for the firm’s gear.  A radio played low in the background, and he listened to its 
chatter for a time. 
‘Look,’ came a rasping hiss, which he knew too well. 
Kendrick turned his head in time to see a figure flit across the monitor that watched over 
the parking garage entrance.  Quickly come and gone again, Kendrick questioned its appearance, 
altogether.  He panned the camera to the left and right, but saw nothing else. 
Still, his eyes lingered on the monitors patiently.  Without warning, one of them, the feed 
from the camera over the side doors to the garage, went blank.  Kendrick leaned forward and 
fussed with its controls, before he decided the old man had come back.  What was he doing. 
Coming back in the way he had gone out, apparently, Kendrick decided.  Now he was 
fully awake and actively working the camera controls.  He found a distant angle that watched 
over the front lawn, which had a peripheral view of the garage.  Once well lighted, the area 
surrounding the outside of the door was dark and bathed in shadow now. 
Kendrick turned his attention on another view, this of the rear lawn.  Everything seemed 
fine back there. 
Now he stood inside the booth, and crept through the shadow-bound interior wall toward 
the little foyer that fed into the side doors.  At the corner to this passage, he paused to listen.  For 
a time, he heard nothing, until a distant scratching echoed through the darkness.  The old man 
was working with the lock, Kendrick guessed. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
284
He drew his handgun and flashlight, and pressed his back flat against the wall.  He 
decided to wait for the forced entry, so he could apprehend the man inside the property, 
increasing his crimes from a possible criminal mischief to burglary of a business.  That, added to 
the multiple counts of vandalism and simple assault, he knew, should put him away for a few 
years. 
Now he heard an audible click, which was the sound of a bolt snapping open.  Next, the 
door hinges squeaked, as the heavy steel door pushed wide. 
Kendrick waited patiently for it to swing shut, again.  Then he rounded the corner, pistol 
drawn, and flashlight shining, ready to shout, ‘POLICE!’, but the foyer was empty.  The door 
came to with a thump, and all was silent. 
Grateful that he had held his tongue, Kendrick backed away from the corner to press 
deeper into the shadows.  He replaced his weapon and flashlight on his belt, and wondered why 
the building’s alarm had not sounded.  When he returned to his security station to check the 
board, two more monitors were blank, making a total of three blind spots throughout the 
building. 
Strangely enough, one of these was an interior view.  He checked its monitor location on 
a map, and determined it was a basement camera, fixed in the main corridor that led to a large 
utility space, labeled ‘Server Complex’. 
Another angle watched over the interior of this utility space.  He eyed this video feed 
carefully, until he saw the hallway door swing slowly open.  A shadowy figure pressed through, 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
285
and maneuvered through the obstacle course of computer racks and network hardware, until this 
monitor also went blank. 
“What the hell is he doing.” wondered Kendrick aloud.  Referring to the map, once more, 
he studied the layout of the ‘Server Complex’.  The room had three doors, all of them opening 
onto the central corridor that serviced the fire stairs and elevator. 
Now he left his station for the nearest stairway, and he descended cautiously into the 
basement.  The stairwell terminated behind a heavy steel fire door, which he cracked open.  The 
corridor seemed safe enough, and Kendrick was confident the old man was still busy with his 
unknown labor inside the utility room. 
He crossed the hallway to the closest doorway marked ‘Server Complex’, and he leaned 
against its frame.  His access card cleared the lock, and he eased it open.  Silent as he could 
manage, he drew his weapon, and slipped through, ducking low. 
Expecting an immediate firefight, he was disappointed.  Evidently unnoticed, he darted 
through the shadows of the security lights, until he found cover behind a heavy steel rack that 
writhed with cables.  Once there, he stood on his tiptoes at one corner and he surveyed the room. 
It was a large chamber filled wall to wall with equipment and battered office cubicles.  
Countless lights flashed in the gloom, while the hum of electronics vibrated his lungs.  Even so 
early in the morning, this was a busy place.  The movements and sounds were confusing, and 
Kendrick wondered if the old man had truly missed his entrance. 
Ducked low, Kendrick crossed from one bank of components to another, cautiously, 
carefully, his eyes wide, his ears perked, all his senses alive and bristling.  Progressing through 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
286
the room this way, he eventually detected a noise that clattered above the constant, jarring whine 
of fan motors and high-speed relays.  This, he recognized as the keys of a keyboard, tapping 
together at a furious rate. 
Stealthy as a feral jungle predator, he crossed the remaining space between himself and 
his quarry, his pistol extended before him with both hands.  The tapping was incessant and 
determined, and continued without pause, as he neared. 
Now he could peer through a gap in one of the cubicle partitions, and thereby see into the 
space where the old man was working.  A stack of disks sat piled beside him on the desktop, 
while his fingers flew over the keyboard. 
Eventually, he paused to extract one disk and insert another.  He repeated this process 
several times, all the while working furiously with those keys.  What was he doing.  Kendrick 
dared lean closer to read the computer’s shining monitor.  Though the details escaped him, he 
recognized enough of what he saw to understand that the old man was stealing First-Rate Home 
Equity’s proprietary business data. 
Abruptly, the old man’s fingers fell still.  He sat stiffly in his chair, staring at the monitor.  
Something intangible changed within the burglar’s demeanor, and he seemed more alert than 
Kendrick liked.  Calmly, coolly, he retrieved the last disk, stowed it with the others, all of which 
then went into a black knapsack kept between his feet.  Without turning around, he stood and 
slipped the pack over his shoulders.  Then he turned and bolted out of the cubicle. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
287
Startled, Kendrick sucked a deep breath, and scrambled around the flimsy barrier as 
nimbly as he could manage, despite the clutter.  Rounding the corner, he caught a glimpse of a 
gimpy, loping shadow that immediately darted into a corridor between several tall racks. 
Kendrick hurried to follow.  Careful at the entrance to the narrow passage, he leaned low 
to examine its length. 
‘Beware,’ hissed the beast.  ‘Beware.’ 
Kendrick thought the warning redundant and unnecessary.  He longed to make a reply, 
though he dared not. 
Instead, he straightened a bit, and started around the corner into the corridor.  Again, his 
secret monster hissed, ‘Beware, child, for that one is death.’ 
Concerned to hear it, Kendrick stopped himself short, and retreated around the corner.  
“Death.” he whispered softly. 
‘Death.  Many times over.’ 
“Meaning he has killed.” 
‘Much and often.  He will kill you, if he must.’  The beast sniggered, ‘So you must kill 
him, first.’ 
He nodded, and backed away from the racks.  Instead of following the old man directly, 
he moved around to another passage, and followed this one in a low dash.  They terminated 
together near a wall some distance from one of the exit doors.  Even as he rounded the corner to 
see it, he noticed how it swung softly shut. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
288
Still, he hesitated.  Something was wrong, amiss.  Fine hairs bristled on his arms and 
neck.  His secret monster hissed its warning repeatedly, ‘Beware’. 
“Where is he.” 
‘He is hidden.  He is protected, as I protect you.’ 
Kendrick’s guts burned to hear it.  He swallowed bitter bile and fought nausea.  His eyes 
bulged and his neck craned, as he struggled to see in all directions at once. 
‘It is an ancient thing borne of interminable conflict.  It has long kept this man whole 
through times of war and peace.  Once, I think, they cavorted bloodily through the dense jungles 
of barbaric madness together.  He must love violence.’ 
“I should just bug out and call for backup.” 
‘Indeed,’ retorted the serpent snidely.  It clung to him as a pitch cloak, and hissed directly 
into his ear, ‘But I fear you are too late.  HE NEARS!’ 
Kendrick jumped without hesitation at the warning, and had a glimpse of the blow that 
might have felled him.  It missed, and the old man lurched into the back swing.  Kendrick lashed 
out instinctively with his right foot, even as he brought his handgun to bear. 
He pulled the trigger.  The room flashed brilliant for a lurid, heart rending instant.  The 
tableau burned onto the backs of his eyes, and he could see every detail of the old man’s 
appearance clearly for the first time. 
Joe Pequeno was a big man, despite his name, and wiry.  His face was leathery and 
heavily lined with experience and age, but his eyes were sharp and fierce, predatory.  Though 
Kendrick’s expression constricted into a mask of surprise and terror by the sudden attack and 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
289
deafening blast, the old man’s countenance remained flat and determined, and a strange, 
unsettling light shined from his gaze.  He was fully intent on this bloody business, and nothing 
could distract him. 
Now the old man’s left knee came up viciously, followed closely by his right, which met 
with full contact against Kendrick’s forearm.  It whipped up, around and behind him, and his 
pistol was gone with the force of it. 
Before Kendrick could recover, Joe charged in with a grappling tackle that bore the 
surprised officer to the floor, where they wrestled briefly.  With startling rapidity, the old man 
tangled Kendrick so thoroughly that neither could advance or retreat, and they lay on the floor, 
their bodies intertwined from their struggles. 
They rolled across the floor for a time, before they tired and the action came to a natural 
pause.  Each glared into the other’s eyes. 
“I’m a policeman.” 
The old man said, “I don’t want to hurt you, officer.  I just want to get away.” 
Kendrick huffed, “They all say that.  Unfortunately, I want to hurt you.” 
“What.” 
Despite his shortness of breath, Kendrick coughed up a mad chuckle, even as he 
struggled to extend his right arm along the length of his body to reach his ankle holster.  “Yeah, 
that’s right, I want to blow your brains out!” 
“Why.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
290
“Because I can.”  Kendrick grunted and stretched, even as he raised his right knee to 
bring the weapon closer.  “Because I want to.” 
The old man’s resistance became more ferocious.  He twisted and rolled, and jostled 
Kendrick’s reach away from his backup weapon. 
Eventually, they came to a natural pause, again, and lay face to face on the floor, glaring 
at one another, each breathing the other’s breath.  “You have to arrest me,” offered the old man, 
panting with exhaustion, “If I give myself up.” 
“Yeah,” puffed Kendrick, “That’s right.  I do.  So surrender.  Quit.  Right now.  All 
you’ll get is a quick arrest and release.  You’ll be out tomorrow.” 
Joe’s eyes steadied, and he peered directly through the half-light gloom into Kendrick’s 
gaze.  He wished he had never come here, and he kicked himself for being so foolish.  As he 
studied the officer’s face with a calm consideration, he pondered his options. 
He eventually came to the conclusion that he was caught and should give up, when 
something stirred the cooled embers of his vilest memories.  Like the flip of a switch, the 
lighting of the room changed for the darker, and he recognized the face of death leering before 
him. 
Something, he understood, was wrong with this man.  His eyes were morbidly wild and 
haunted, a state Joe Pequeno knew well, for it was the state of bloodlust.  Nothing short of 
murder would appease that man’s appetite, officer of the law or not! 
In the same instant that he understood this, he realized the man was reaching relentlessly 
for his right ankle.  Alarmed, Joe acted with true, unbound aggression for the first time, and he 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
291
lashed out with all limbs in a fury of deliberate, accurate, forceful blows.  Kendrick reeled, 
stunned by the vehemence of Joe’s assault.  Each shot landed on target, intended for maximum 
effect.  The pain and terror of it was incredible. 
By now, Kendrick was on the defensive, and all he wanted to do was get free long 
enough to draw his weapon.  He found himself on his feet in a kneeling position, while the other 
stooped over him, attacking with both fists and knees. 
Before Kendrick could be overwhelmed again, he surged up and backward, drawing his 
reserve pistol with a jerk.  Stumbling in reverse, he pointed the gun and fired wildly three times.  
The flashes of the discharges blinded and the blasts deafened.  He caught winced glimpses of the 
old man dodging to one side for cover, something in his right hand. 
Strangely, though he had not squeezed his trigger, the room flashed brilliant again.  
Before he heard or sensed the concussion, he felt the impact of a brutal punch to his upper right 
chest, and the breath exploded from the body.  His vision swam with stars and the pain was a 
searing spike that lanced through his body. 
He went down immediately, blood and tissue spraying.  A gorge of it came up from his 
shattered guts, and erupted from his mouth and nostrils.  How he choked on it in a silent struggle, 
his hands grasping ineffectually at the gaping wound just below his right collarbone. 
Once his vision cleared, and began to fade to black, he saw a shadow separate from the 
general gloom and limp toward an exit.  Weakly, with the last vestiges of his mortal strength, he 
raised his pistol and emptied it into Joe’s fleeing form.  The old man went down and was still. 
“I’m shot,” Kendrick groaned sickly, “Oh, God, I’m shot!” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
292
His secret monster neared, sniggering.  ‘It is a nasty wound, but God is not listening.’ 
“I don’t want to die,” he moaned, blood splattering from his tongue, lips and teeth to 
paint a sanguine bib onto his shirt.  “I don’t want to die.” 
‘Do not fear death, child, for death welcomes you.’ 
“I never should have listened to you…” 
‘Yet, you listened, and I have served you faithfully.  I am not the cause of your downfall.  
This is simply your fate.’ 
With a violent, mortal shudder, he protested, horrified by the realization, “But they’ll 
never know!  They won’t remember!” 
Kendrick coughed up blood and laid back, the last of his strength faded.  His eyes rolled 
dully, while he swallowed a gallon of his own blood and struggled to suck a final breath. 
As he perished, he heard his secret monster laughing, laughing, laughing.  “Evil…” he 
gasped mortally, “I have known such… evil.”  Then he died. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
293

 

 

 
 
Imaginary Friend 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
294
-|- 

 “What’s your name.” asked the child, aged five.  He sat at the center of a large sandbox, 
which crouched beneath a towering wooden play set built like a castle, which, in turn, loomed in 
the rear corner of an expansive residential backyard. 
 ‘I am nameless,’ returned his imaginary plaything with a lilting hiss, ‘But I know your 
name.’ 
“No, you don’t,” returned the boy, as he sifted sand into a large on-ramp for the freeway 
he was building across his little world. 
‘Yes, I do,’ whispered the voice coyly.  ‘Your name is Damon Blackley.’ 
“How did you know.” 
‘I know many things, child.’ 
“Like what.” 
‘I know what makes the sun shine.  I know what makes the night dark.  I know what your 
parents do at night, while you sleep.’ 
“You do.” 
‘Yes, I do.  Would you like to know these things, too… these things and much, much 
more.  Would you like to be a god, Damon.’ 
Damon shrugged absently, and patted the road surface flat and smooth.  “I don’t know.  I 
guess so.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
295
‘I can teach you, in time, child, if you will listen.  Will you listen.’ 
Waxing quite serious, the boy paused his construction and sat back on his haunches to 
regard his new friend quietly.  Rather than offering an answer, he asked, “Are you the thing that 
lives beneath my bed.” 
The thing sniggered softly.  ‘Yes, but I hoped to remain hidden from you there.’ 
“Well, you didn’t.  You’re not very quiet, you know.” 
‘I apologize for disturbing you.’ 
“Why do you always hide in the dark.” 
His friend stirred from one shadow to the next, taking advantage of the play set’s noon 
umbra.  ‘I love the dark.  I loathe the light.’ 
“Why.” 
‘Why do little boys like to play with sand.’ it hissed pointedly. 
“Oh.  Okay.” 
‘Then you will listen.’ wondered his strange companion.  ‘May I teach you.’ 
“I don’t know…” hedged the boy, returning to his highway project.  “I’m too little to go 
to real school, and my mommy says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.” 
His friend feigned injury, and its baleful red eyes shuddered painfully.  ‘I.  A stranger.  
No!  We sleep together at night, child.  Your dreams are my dreams!  We are one!  How can I be 
a stranger to you, when I keep you more dearly than your own mother does.  Where is she, when 
your dreams sour to nightmares, and you awaken, screaming, in the darkness.  Is it her hand that 
comforts you to sleep, again.  No!  It is mine!’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
296
“Still…” sighed the boy reluctantly.  He finished with the roadway, and now he busied 
himself driving a variety of toy cars and trucks back and forth experimentally.  “My mommy 
doesn’t know about you.  My daddy doesn’t know about you.  I think that makes you a stranger.” 
‘Tell them about me, then, so we can be friends.’ 
“Really.  You wouldn’t be angry.” 
‘No, indeed,’ returned the thing with an odd snigger.  ‘It should prove to be great fun!’ 
“I could tell them tonight during dinner.”  Damon wrecked a toy sports car off one side of 
his little ramp with a loud sound effect made with the back of his tongue.  “We’re having 
chicken, again,” groaned the boy.  “Do you like chicken.” 
‘I hunger for flesh.’ 
“Is that chicken.” 
Damon’s new friend laughed softly with the sounds of golden autumn leaves tumbling 
across the lawn.  ‘To some.   Are we friends, Young Damon Blackley.’ 
Damon paused his work to deliberate, his gaze fixed on the shadows beneath the wooden 
tower.  When his mother approached, his friend hid behind the wooden slats, verged on flight to 
the far side of the fence and the alleyway beyond. 
His mother, curious and somewhat concerned by her son’s strangely hypnotized 
expression, asked, “What do you see, honey.” 
The boy started, slightly, and returned to his construction project nonchalantly.  “My new 
friend.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
297
“Friend.” wondered mommy, softly.  Despite her misgivings, she searched the yard and 
through the gaps in the fence for the presence of a stranger.  “What friend, baby.” 
“It doesn’t have a name,” stated the child, exasperated by her ignorance.  “It’s over there, 
behind the play set.” 
His mother seemed to suddenly understand.  Her tone waxed patronizing.  “Oh, I see.  
What is he doing behind the play set.” 
Damon shrugged.  “Is dinner ready.” 
She would not be finished with the topic so quickly, as she was naturally interested in the 
structure of her son’s fantasy world.  “Where did you meet your new friend.” 
Again, the boy shrugged.  “It crawled over the fence, one day, and then it followed me to 
my bedroom.” 
“Your bedroom.” she wondered, stooping to drive one of his toys along the sand-dune 
express. 
“Yes.  It sleeps under my bed, now.” 
“It does.” 
“Of course, mother,” returned Damon certainly.  “It wants to come for dinner.  It likes 
chicken.  Can it eat with me, tonight.” 
“That depends,” spouted mommy, rising with a crackle of her knees and hips.  “Can he 
clean up after himself.” 
“Aw, mommy!” gushed Damon, “It doesn’t want to eat the food.” 
“Then why does he want to come to dinner.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
298
Damon raised his head and called in the direction of his hidden plaything.  “Why do you 
want to come to dinner.” 
With a strange, guttural voice that could not possibly come from a five-year-old mouth, 
Damon replied, ‘I want to teach you.’ 
The hackles rose on his mother’s neck.  She paled and gasped, “Teach you.  What will it 
teach you.” 
‘I will teach you many secret, forbidden truths.  I will teach you to see in the darkness.’ 
Damon returned to his highway scene.  Taking a car in each hand, he drove them at a 
high rate of speed at one another, smashing them together.  He made tiny people of his 
forefingers, and they ran around the wreckage wildly, screaming with high-pitched voices before 
collapsing in the sand to sprawl amid the imaginary carnage of his childish thoughts. 
His mother placed her right hand over her mouth, which shaped a big, black ‘O’.  Her 
eyes watered blearily.  “No, Damon, I don’t think your friend can come to dinner,” she managed 
to say, despite her distress, though her voice threatened to break.  Without bending to hug her 
son, as she was wont to do, she turned to stalk across the yard to the patio doors.  Over her 
shoulder, she called, “Your father will be home in a few minutes, baby.  I want him to meet your 
new friend, okay.” 
“Okay, mommy!” spouted the child, distracted by his pretend pileup, his eyes glazed with 
a primitive, ill-formed bloodlust.  “I love you!” 
“I love you, too, baby!” she blubbered, before she disappeared inside the house. 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
299
His new friend immediately oozed through the tower slats to pool in the shadows near the 
sandbox’s high frame.  Damon watched its serpent-like movements with the thrall of paralyzed 
fascination. 
“My mommy doesn’t like you.” 
‘I frightened her.’ 
Damon rolled his eyes.  “That’s okay.  Mommies cry sometimes.  That’s what daddy 
says.” 
‘Indeed.’  His brooding plaything simmered in the half-light silently for a time, before it 
asked, ‘Are we friends, child.’ 
“I guess.” 
‘Then you will listen to all I would teach you.’ 
“Will I have to take a test.” 
It chuckled softly, and Damon liked to see the way its form shimmered with the sound.  
‘Certainly.’ 
“Okay,” returned the boy simply, using his powerful little legs to kick his highway into 
oblivion.  “What do we do first.” he demanded with all the boundless energy and enthusiasm of 
an eager child embarked on a new adventure. 
‘First,’ hissed his secret friend, oozing nearer, ‘I will teach you about sharp, pointed 
things.  We will take a knife from the kitchen tonight, and I will show you how to paint the 
living-picture with a lurid crimson pigment and a steely blade.  Have you a pet.’ 
“We have two.  Bargsy, a dog, and Mr. Fluff, a cat.” 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
300
‘Good.  Good.  We shall play a funny game, then.’ 
“When.” asked Damon, accepting his friend into the puddle of shadows kept by his lap.  
Those burning red eyes stared up at him dispassionately. 
‘Tonight.  After your parents put you to bed and believe you are safely asleep.’  It 
embraced the boy with arms of inky vapor.  ‘I will teach you how to do funny things without 
punishment, and we will laugh at your parents, together!  How they will scratch their heads!  
How they will wonder!’ 
“What will they wonder.” queried the youth, confused. 
Amused, it replied enigmatically, ‘They will wonder about the nature of evil, child, as 
they struggle to understand how it took root and blossomed in the fertile soil of their son’s 
nature.  Inevitably, they will blame themselves, because they cannot blame me!’ 
Damon nodded, though he grasped little of his friend’s reply.  “Okay,” he offered softly. 
His secret plaything simmered happily.  ‘Where does your mother keep her butcher 
knives….’ 

Kendrick’s Monster 
 
Stephen Huff 
301
-|- 

"We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands.  We are everywhere, and there will be 
more of your children dead tomorrow." 
 
--Theodore Bundy 
 
-|- 
 
"I was only following God's orders."  
 
--Joseph Kallinger 
 
-|- 
 
"I saw the light over the confessional and the voice said:  That's the person to kill"  
 
--Herbert Mullin 
 
-|- 
 
"Every man has his passion; some like whist, I prefer killing people." 
 
--Rudolf Pleil 
 
-|- 
 
"There is no happiness without tears, no life without death.  Beware!  I am going to make you 
cry." 
 
--Lucian Staniak 

 
�2鏕l