Sam stares at herself from her computer’s shitty camera. Her ring light isn’t working, and her room’s light is more of a vibe light, not a recording light. Maybe this is a sign. She didn’t want to record herself anyway, but she feels so desperate. Maybe if she shows her face, shows her humanity, people will listen. Her story is bonkers enough to get attention; she knows that for sure, but by whom is what she’s worried about. I don't

  Sam saw a literal monster a few months ago. He was huge, with dark gray fur, somehow had abs of steel, yet sharp teeth and claws that were ready to rip her entire head off if he wanted. His eyes were a pool of dark red, staring into her essence. She knows she didn’t dream it. It wasn't a coincidence when he showed up to try to intimidate her. He doesn't only exist in her mind.

  The worst part is that she has a sick hunch as to who he is. Her uncle's murderer. Something within his monstrosity that she was able to click with the human version of himself by the way he breathed. She replays that rough breathing over and over, and she knows she's seen it before. Nobody believes her, or more likely, they're too scared to. Of course, she's grieving, but despite what everyone thinks, it's not her anger towards the way everything played out manifesting in false memories.

  She was the one who hired the brute five years ago. She’ll never forgive herself for that. Uncle Kim would still be alive. But how would she prove any of this? Her uncle passed in a car accident that was ruled as just that, a accident. He left all of his business and his nice, new condo by the beach, not to her, not to her brother, not even to her mom, but to his employee.

  Granted, she can't deny he was a good worker, and yes, he did help expand their small family businesses with the vending machines. He was always pitching Uncle Kim a new way to expand, something her own brother, who worked there until this tragedy happened, never thought of. Still, that was no excuse to leave that stranger with everything.

  Sam feels a ping in her stomach. She’s not mad at all the material things her uncle left to someone else. They are fine without it, even though that monster has convinced everyone else otherwise. She’s mad that she could’ve done something sooner. She saw the signs. In his eyes, in his breath, there was evil. But what could she have done? That's the most frustrating part, knowing that she could have done something, but not knowing what that is.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Instead of her computer, she grabs her phone. Her exhausted face invades the screen, reminding her that maybe she should step outside and brush her long, messy, straight black hair with awkward-length bangs. Ignoring her appearance, she hits record.

  “Ok y’all, let me tell you some tea.” She shakes her head, ashamed of herself. What the fuck is she doing? This isn’t celebrity gossip. Her uncle is dead because of a literal beast.

  Her hand shakes. She’s had to put on a strong face for her mom, and her dad, being old school, never has time for feelings. This mask feels comfortable, so it gets easy to fall behind it and ignore the raw emotions brewing inside her. She hasn't had the time to scream, or to ugly cry until she can't breathe. She swallows the thought of that.

  “This is hard for me to do… but maybe someone else out there has gone through the same,” she says, thinking carefully about her next words. “I know my uncle was murdered… by a… monster.” She takes a second to think about how far into the monster story she’s going to go, picturing him in her head, in the middle of the night, in the dark corner of her room, the day she told him to quit and leave their family alone. The paralyzing fear that ran through her spine as he stepped closer to her in her most vulnerable state makes her shiver. “I can’t prove that he did it… But I know he did. I know he did!” she yells.

  Tears threatened to escape her eyes. No. This won’t work. It’s too outrageous. She’s a fucking journalist, damn it. The skills she has to bring real stories to life, that’s the same thing she needs to do now. Investigate. Gather her sources. Her 30 Under 30 Journalists Creating Change award taunts her, placed on her wall as a sick reminder that she's always pushing herself to achieve more.

  She looks at a picture of her uncle placed nicely on the altar she has for her deceased loved ones. He was the calmest person she’s ever known. He never showed any signs of frustration, even under pressure. He kept his sweet smile. Even when he started balding, he didn’t fall into a midlife crisis and buy a sports car to compensate. He continued on with his old but well-kept silver compact car. The condo was his biggest dream since he always wanted to live by the beach. It wasn't all that big, with just one bedroom and one bathroom, but he was so happy being able to renovate it to his liking. He hadn't ever done something like that, and it was so fun helping him make this place his own. It was years of hard work that finally paid off. Too bad he didn't enjoy it for long.

  Sam takes a deep breath. She won’t post tonight. Instead, she will do research until her eyes give out. Her bullshit meter is sharp even when she's tired. She can't become desperate now and throw everything away that she's worked hard for, but she won't give up. There are mysteries in the darkest corners of the world, and she will find them.

  People out there know about these monsters, they're just too scared to come out and say it. It's understandable.

  “I’m going to bring you down, Gabriel. I don’t know how, and I don't know when, but I will.”