Whenever someone asks me what do a do for a living or what did I do after graduating high school, I always find myself answering that I hunt monsters, I look for the things that go bump in the dark.
But maybe I should give you the technical answer. For starters, I’m a forensic pathologist. I’m also a forensic anthropologist, with a minor in both Criminal law and Forensic psycology, this one with a second specialization in profiling, as well as a long-time project studying serial killers, school shooters and the pathology behind their actions. Althought right now I’m unemployed, in my line of work I’ve got the most of my experience with War Crime victims, sex crimes and domestic violence.
As I said, long story short, I hunt monsters.
Another recurring question I get is why. Why someone would want to be a forensic scientist of any kind, if not for the morbid aspects, huh? Or because they’re some kind of Dexter, waiting in the shadows. Gotta be honest with you here, it’s a question that both makes me want to tear my hair out and cry myself to sleep.
I always wanted to be what I am, but I entertained the idea of joining a Police Force and not be just a lab nerd. Something went wrong - and right, I guess, since I’m where I am today - along the way.
When I was still in high school, I was an edgy punk kid. No adult I knew said a thing about it because I got all straight A’s, so from their point of view I was the clever girl with a weird vibe. My classmates didn’t think the same. I’m not here to make a statement about bullying and harassment, that’s another whole horror story of sorts I’m not willing to relive today.
Today, I’m reliving the day I met Alex. Alex was a year older than me, popular kid that played on the soccer team. He had green eyes and a beautiful smile. And yet, as he bumped into me, breaking my chemistry kit all I could think was “what a total asshole”.
He didn’t get the hint, because he started to go after me not long after. I’m going to stop right here because I can see you picturing a cliche scene of a romantic movie where girl meets boy, girl is all beautiful but ostrasized for a non-sense reason and they fall in love and her life changes. Yeah, no. I was a flight risk with more than a few extra pounds, chubby and depressed because of the situation I was in, feeling lonely and almost suicidal. I didn’t believe a word anyone said because I knew first hand how cruel people can be and I couldn’t risk trusting anyone anymore.
Maybe that’s why it took so long - well, so long for teen-me, whole three months - to believe a boy like him could be interested in a girl like me.
I would like to say everything was perfect or horrible, but truth is the first three months it was… Fine. I felt loved and appreciated, he invited me home to meet his sisters, took me on dates. That’s why the day I saw the metamorphosis it took me by surprise.
It would be a lie if I said there were no signs. There was a day we were playfully arguing giving each other witty come-backs. I don’t remember what did I tell him, just that a moment earlier everything was just fine and the next his eyes flashed a dangerous black and his hand collided with my cheek. The black coal disappeared just as fast and he apologized profusely, saying he didn’t know what had come into him.
The second time, I swear something crawled under his skin, itching and scratching. I had interrupted him while he talked with his friends. I saw the bulbous mass forming on his neck, jaw-clenched and a 3 inch canine coming out of his upper mandible just as he closed his hand around my throat with a roar. Mere seconds later, Alex was back to the sweet boy I knew. I had to wear a scarf for two weeks.
There was a third time, and a fourth and a fifth… The day the metamorphosis happened, I trembled as a leaf. I saw skin stretching over growing muscles, bloodied bone protuding from where his old human bones used to be. Sharp knuckles on his hands that now looked like claws, covered in blood. Eyes totally black, that bulbous mass now all around his neck and upper chest, and the front of his skull too, painfully throbing with every heartbeat. I remember the feeling of the claws on my skin and how much time it took me to realize the horrible sound that I kept hearing was not Alex asking for help, but my own agonizing cries. I remember how I realized the blood on his knuckles wasn’t his, but my own, and the pressure of his boot on my knee when the back of it shattered with a wet plop along with my dream of becoming part of a Police Force someday. I remember how the monster tried to force himself on me.
What scared me the most was how his reflection looked perfectly human. I could see the monster that had replaced my boyfriend and yet in the mirror behind him he still look… him.
It took me three years to talk about what he had done and the abuse and stalking that followed after I broke up with him.
It took me five to trust another man.
It took Alex nine for the rest of the world to see the monster and end up in Court on 3 sexual assault charges and 2 of domestic violence. All of them happened after me, none were mine. I never came forward. It took me ten years to finally forgive myself for not to.
The thing is, I decided then I had to talk for those whose voice had been stolen. Victims, dead or alive, of the things that go bump in the night. Because the truth is once you see the monsters, you can’t unsee them.