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I tap the page with my claw, then lift my hand.
“Ah, claws. Hard to hold a pencil, I guess.” He lifts the page. “How did it get ripped? Not that it matters, I guess. Anything useful so far?”
I shake my head. He writes about the pain of the change and how he thinks this place is hell and that he died somehow. But he doesn’t remember. He does remember choking his father with the whip he liked to use. After that, it’s a blur. He thinks he got drunk or had been drinking.
The next time he writes, it’s messier. He’d been so hungry he’d eaten meat picked off a carcass that was something like an alligator but with six legs. But he’d forced himself to throw up after seeing another monster eat a human, someone trapped in a puddle, while he had done nothing to help. That was when the fur started growing and his ears grew points.
He berated himself for being a pussy, just like his father said.
He realized he’s turning into a monster.
And he made the connection that all monsters were human. And that meant he’d eaten human flesh. That’s when he tries to leave by walking out.
He sketched a picture of the landscape and the last puddle. He sat there for days, sipping the water before returning. That was when he had his second fight and was rescued by Michael. Not that Michael knew his name, but the mention of the horns, even though there’s only six of them, is enough for me to know.
I smile.
He leans closer. “Something good happened, what?”
I point back at Michael.
“I’ve known him that long?” He shakes his head and sighs. “Yet I hardly know him at all.”
That was also the fight where he lost his glasses but no longer needed them because he grew the extra eyes—which was apparently like having a hot poker driven through his skull.
Those first changes happened swiftly once he started fighting. I go back to where he watched someone die. Much like the way I’d watched my ex die.
He’d been afraid of the other monsters, of his own claws and changes. He’d been too scared to do anything but watch. Even though he knew he should do something. He berated himself for being weak. That it would’ve been better to die trying to help. Even though his father was dead, he was haunting him and calling him a pussy for standing by, and for being scared. He’d lashed out, yelled to no one that he wasn’t. He’d thrown rocks at a monster as though wanting to pick a fight, then ran away to hide because he didn’t want to fight or die.
Tail thought he was a pussy.
And I believe I am a bitch. I know there is a connection that I’m missing. Tail should be able to figure it out. He’s smart. I point at the page.
“I can’t read.” He snaps like I’ve forgotten. “I’m just judging my deterioration by my handwriting.”
I go to stand and fetch Talon, but Tail slides his arm around me so I can’t move. “Let me pretend we have this for a little longer.”
He doesn’t believe that I want him. Has he forgotten this morning? It seems so long ago that I woke up in his coils and we had sex. Or did he think I was doing it out of duty?
I settle back down and read on. He falls apart much quicker when Michael and he have to fight to survive, and with each change, his writing gets worse. He notices, but doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to undo it. He tries eating nothing but weeds and meditates.
He argues with Michael and for a time they separate. There’s a small note about missing him, and how he wanted to be more than friends, but monsters don’t have friends. Oh…he liked Michael far more than Michael liked him. That’s probably something he doesn’t want shared. After a while Tail returns to the cave with the idea of going to the middle, since going to the edge didn’t work. He didn’t write what he did or where he went, only that he’s done sitting around waiting for death. This isn’t living.
He’s printing now. Each letter seems to be written slowly.
Michael thinks he’s wasting his time writing this shit, but Tail wants someone to find it. Maybe it will help them. At the very least, he hopes he won’t be forgotten.
In the margin, he’s written a small note, one I missed on my first flick through. RIP Joe and a date. What I assume is the date he was taken. It’s only a year and a bit after Michael disappeared.
I draw in a breath and point at the words. Excitement bubbles through me. Tail has a name, Joe.
He rattles. From annoyance or excitement? I’m not sure.
“Fine.” He twists around. “Get your asses over here.”
I haven’t finished reading. I turn the page, wanting to read the rest before Talon goes through the book. Whatever Tail, Joe, is doing when not writing is causing further changes. His writing goes from printing to the kind of letters a child learning to write might make. Words are spelled wrong and letters are misshapen.
Hunger is predominant.
