American Monsters Read Online Free PDF Page A

the two cups of lukewarm coffee, and the acid churning in your stomach all begin gurgling.
    ― What is this supposed to do?
    You stalk towards him brandishing the vial of freakish pink liquid. He is terrified, quaking in his doctor’s shoes.
    ― It’s supppposed to kkkill that thing (gulp), that thing down in there.
    ― There IS nothing in there, you ass! What. Does. This. Do?!
    ― It kills everything (cough) down there.
    He looks pained. But not as pained as you, as your stomach is. It roils up a storm. You feel faint, your throat closes up. You can feel retching coming on. It has a rhythm, a contraction, contraction, relax, relax, relax. Contract, contract, relax, relax. Your womb. Contract. He’s been trying to kill your womb. Contract. That poison was alive and trying to climb out of the bottle, contract, contract, contract. You know, you just know, he’s done irreparable damage. The anger roils with the food, and you can feel the rage stomp its way from your uterus through the rest of your body. Contract, contract, contract, contract. And just like in Stand By Me when Lard Ass Hogan puked up a lifetime supply of blueberry pie, your mouth opens and out spews the acid and breakfast and coffee all over Dr. Johnson’s surprised face.
    He screams as the vomit begins dissolving his skin. You scream as his face melts away like in some cheesy horror movie, and all of a sudden there is nothing. His head is gone. The white coat and a twitching body crumpled on the floor are all that remain of Dr. Johnson, the dentist.
    You carry your hands over your uterus as you leave the building, and you tell no one of what happened.



―EXHIBIT NO. 8―
SKREEM
    You suspect that your husband has been molesting your daughter. She’s seventeen now and you aren’t sure how long this has been going on. To make matters worse, you have no idea why you didn’t notice it sooner.
    Tonight at dinner he kept touching her face, and she looked tormented and disgusted as she shrunk away from his touch. It can’t possibly be any other thing. You pluck up the courage to ask him what is going on. You screw up though: you get all hysterical and shrieky, which he hates, and so with a condescending smile he pats you on the shoulder saying nothing. He smiles that disconcerting smile that makes him look like a stranger, someone terrifying you’ve never seen before. You wonder where the man you married has hidden. He goes off for his after dinner cognac and cigar, leaving your daughter with silent tears, and you with a heart full of fearful questions.
    What do you do? Economically you depend on him, and you have always trusted him. Where did you even get this idea from anyway? It’s probably nothing, you know. Lana is a beautiful girl, maybe you are just confused and reading too much into her father’s affections. But the tears... the disgust on her face. No, something is wrong. You need to call someone... but whom? This is not a big town, what will people say? It gives you shivers to think about your family being the brunt of gossip, especially if it is the talk that goes on about inappropriate relations between a father and his daughter. When does he do it? Has he been leaving the room at night? Have you ever even noticed? Oh God, this is too much.
    You brush your hair before bed, staring at your face in the vanity mirror. Nothing is the same. These wrinkles, this worry and fear in your eyes, you never had these before. Your hair too. It’s limp and the curls no way near as bouncy as they were in your youth. Like your breasts. You think about Lana’s breasts, so full and unfettered by all these years of gravity.
    Bob stands behind you and hands you your nighttime glass of milk. Something is different tonight: He has a biting intensity in his eyes. He watches you carefully as you drain the glass, doesn’t leave until you do. Even putting his hand up to the glass to make sure you drink each drop. Instinctively, you hand the glass back to him