David Lapage, Jr. has written several short stories and quite a few school papers. He has never been published and looks forward to the day he is. While not writing something, he enjoys watching movies, tinkering in the garage, and geocaching. He is a huge fan of Local H and enjoys reading. He lives in Illinois with his wife and two cats (one that’s a sweetheart and the other’s trouble).
You can find more of his work Here.
THE WHIMPER
by
David Lapage, Jr.
If you are a good person reading this, then we will never meet, as I am destined for hell. I have done a bad thing, and it has cost me everything dear.
I was gathering firewood near the woods on the edge of my Jersey farm. My wife was cooking and the twins, Maria, and Marcus, were playing in the yard. I heard a small whimper in the grass nearby. I investigated and discovered a puppy. At least I thought it to be a puppy.
It was hideously malformed. With a long face, paws that looked like hoofs, and two small bumps where its shoulder blades were. It was crying softly, and I assumed that its mother had left it for dead. As I brushed some dirt and leaves away from it, the puppy nipped at me, but its teeth were too small to hurt.
I decided to take the puppy home. The children fell in love with it immediately. They had always wanted a dog, but I had avoided one because of the chickens and ducks that I kept on the farm. The twins started to argue over a name for the pup.
My wife was against it at first. She claimed that it was ugly and maybe not a dog at all, but some kind of wolf or coyote with mage. I told her that it would probably die anyway and that we should keep it for now.
The puppy did not die and over the next few weeks, it acted like a pet. Running around the house and yard chasing after the laughing twins. They had settled on the name Lucky, for obvious reasons.
Lucky was getting bigger, and I started to see some changes in him that concerned me. The long face started to look horse-like. That and the hoof-like paws, made me begin to think that maybe Lucky was some kind of equine. My wife suggested he was a mixed breed of horse and dog. I had never heard of such a thing. The tail did not look like a horse or dog. It was long with a strange point at the end.
All those changes were mild though in comparison to the small bumps on the shoulder blades. They looked like wings and had gotten much bigger. The skin on them was hairless, like bat wings, and light could pass through them showing veins and such.
I was questioning whether to get rid of Lucky one night with my wife. We don’t know what he is, I argued. She disagreed that it didn’t matter. He was getting along fine, and the children loved him. He was a part of the family now. I pointed out how much she was against it when I first brought him here. Things change she said, and I could tell that she was done. Lucky was staying. The decision sat heavy in my stomach.
The next morning, I woke up to screams. Rushing out, I saw a scene that would forever be burned into my memory. Lucky, no longer resembling any creature I knew, stood in the center of the room. His long face stretched into a horrifying grin, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. The children lay still on the floor, their faces drained of color. My wife, her face etched with terror, pointed a bloody finger at Lucky.
The bat-like wings unfurled, leathery and vast. My wife screamed again, a sound that ripped through me as Lucky launched itself at her. I tackled him mid-air, a scream escaping my own throat. We crashed into the wall, the force knocking the wind out of me. My wife was still.
Panic surged through me. I scrambled away from Lucky, who hissed at me, his eyes glowing in the dim light of the morning. He was bigger now, towering over me on his hind legs. I stumbled towards the kitchen, the closest place in the house I knew had a lock.
Every step was an eternity. Lucky was faster than I thought possible. He was close, the fetid smell of its breath reaching my nostrils. I slammed through the kitchen door just as he lunged. The lock clicked into place just in time. I slumped against the door, gasping for air, tears streaming down my face.
Lucky beat against the door, but the door held. I knew it wouldn't for long.
Then, I saw it. A glint of silver in the sunlight, a cleaver hanging on the wall. My heart pounded in my chest, both with fear and a sliver of hope. This was it. My only chance.
As the creature slammed against the door, splintering a corner, I grabbed the cleaver, its weight cold in my hand. The door shattered, and the beast lunged for me. In a desperate move, I swung the cleaver, its sharp edge meeting the creature's leathery wing with a sickening thud. He screeched a sound that shook the very foundation of the house and reeled back, clutching his wound.
That momentary pause gave me the opening I needed. I lunged forward, plunging the cleaver into his chest. He gurgled, a sickly sound, and took off, from the house, into the woods.
I stood there, panting, the cleaver slipping from my fingers. It was over. But at what cost? I looked at my family. My wife lay there, her eyes staring vacantly. The children... I can’t bring myself to say.
As the weight of my actions pressed down on me, I knew I was destined for hell, not just for bringing the Devil into our home, but for failing to protect my family from him. This isn’t just my story; it’s a warning. A chilling reminder of the price of a misplaced sense of kindness. Don't be fooled by a whimper or playful innocence. This is not kindness, it's a death sentence. And you will never find forgiveness in the depths of hell where I am bound.