Hunting the Monster Who Made Me

As long as I could remember, I knew my mother had thrown me away.

But Pa always spun a different yarn. Hed tell me she loved me more than anything, that she only left because she had to, and that the moment I was old enough, I needed to go find her. For years, I thought it was just his twisted way of letting me dream of a mothers warmth.

That was until social media found its way deep into our mountain holler.

One night, Pa was scrolling on his phone when he let out a sudden, jagged whoop. Weed, look at this! This is your Ma! Get your things, girl. Were going to the city to get her back.

I stared at the glowing screen. The woman in the video was striking, her features sharp and elegant, carrying herself with an effortless, old-money grace. For the first time, a seed of doubt took root in my chest.

My mother was a Boston socialite? A professor?

How could a woman like that have anything to do with our rotting cabin in Black Creek Holler?

Still, I packed my meager belongings into a plastic bag and followed Pa onto the long-distance bus heading northeast.

As the rusted bus rattled its way out of the Appalachian foothills, I pressed my face against the smudged glass, greedy for every glimpse. This was the very first time I had ever seen the world beyond the tree line.

Beside me, Pas voice droned on, thick with chewing tobacco and self-importance.

You see, Weed? Nobody loves you like your Pa does.

Any other family wouldve sold a useless girl like you off to be married by now.

Ain't I good to you? Taking you all the way up to Boston to find the bitch who dumped you.

I kept my head bowed, my dirt-caked fingernails digging so hard into the seams of my jeans that my knuckles turned white.

I knew the truth. Pa wasnt taking me to find a mothers love. He was using this trip to squeeze more money out of my own flesh.

Just a few nights prior, Id crouched outside the kitchen window, listening to him drink moonshine and strike a bargain with Harlan, the hollers patriarch.

Twenty grand. Cash. Not a penny less, Pa had slurred. Your half-wit boy ain't ever gonna find a girl wholl wipe his chin and warm his bed for the rest of his life, 'cept my Weed. Don't you worry, Harlan. The girl ain't never stepped foot out the holler. She ain't been corrupted by the outside. Shes dumb as a stump and obedient as a dog.

I glanced over at Pa, who had finally snored himself to sleep against the rattling window, and I let a small, bitter smile touch my lips.

Pa didnt know me at all.

I wasn't dumb. And I certainly wasn't obedient.

My first teacher had been the crazy woman chained up two cabins down. Crazy Helen, they called her. Everyone in the holler said shed lost her mind. But I knew better.

When the men were out hunting, she would slip me old, crumpled newspapers her captors used for kindling. Through the cracks in the floorboards, she taught me the alphabet. She taught me how to add and subtract. She painted pictures with her words, telling me about a world beyond the mountainsa world of glass skyscrapers, airplanes, and bullet trains. She told me that little girls were meant to be more than just breeding stock.

It broke my heart.

Last winter, she begged me to help her run. I stole some of Pas sleeping pills and laced the meat for the guard dogs. But the mountains were too vast, the snow too deep. They caught her before she reached the highway.

They dragged her back to the center of the holler and beat her to death in front of everyone. The frozen ground drank her blood until it was entirely red.

Truth be told, only two women had ever made it out of Black Creek. Me, and my mother.

But our holler was a graveyard for brilliant women. Besides Helen, there was Donna. She lived in the hog pen behind Harlans property. She was the one who taught me where to strike a man to make him drop.

She used to stroke my tangled hair, her eyes heavy with a sorrow I couldn't quite name. Youre so sharp, Weed. You learn so fast.

It wasn't until Pa showed me that video that it clicked. I was sharp because I got it from my mother.

Thinking of this, I turned my head to study Pas sleeping facehis slack jaw, the yellowed teeth, the greasy hair.

A familiar, intoxicating urge surged up the back of my throat. It was the urge to reach into my backpack, pull out the packet of rat poison Id hidden there, and empty it down his snoring throat.

Just a few grains. Thats all it would take. He would foam at the mouth and seize up, twitching until his heart stopped, just like the black rats in our barn.

My hand slipped into the bag. My fingers brushed the cold, crinkling paper.

But slowly, deliberately, I let go.

Not because I was afraid. I let go because I needed to see my mothers face, just once.

People like Pa and me, people born from the mud and the rotwe probably both deserved to die. But there was a new girl theyd brought into the holler just three days ago. A beautiful girl with terrified, bird-like eyes. She deserved to live.

I was going to save her.

The bus drove on, eating up the miles through the night.

Eventually, the endless trees gave way to concrete, and we pulled into the massive, echoing cavern of the city terminal.

Pa jerked awake, wiping drool from his chin, and dragged me off the bus by my elbow. We stepped out into the crushing wave of Boston commuters. He looked around at the towering buildings and the sea of moving bodies, then snapped his gaze down to me.

Well, Weed? You like all these fancy people? You like the big city?

In a fraction of a second, I shrank into myself, pulling my shoulders to my ears. I put on the pathetic, terrified face of an ignorant hillbilly.

I shook my head frantically, letting my voice tremble.

No, Pa Im scared. I whimpered. Theres too many folks. Its too loud, it hurts my head. I wanna go back. I wanna go feed the hogs.

Pa stared at me for a long moment before his face split into a wide, rotten grin.

Thats my girl. He spat on the pristine concrete. A golden palace ain't nothing compared to your own dirt floor. Now you remember, were just here to fetch your Ma. Once we drag her back, Im locking her in the root cellar till she gives me a proper son. Then nobody in the holler can call you a motherless stray no more.

He dug out his shattered phone, swiping through the app with a dirty thumb until he found her profile again.

On the screen, my mother stood at a university lectern, wearing a sharp, tailored blazer. She was speaking with such poise, radiating a quiet, luminous confidence.

It was a version of womanhood I didn't know existed.

The more I watched, the more awestruck I became. She was a respected academic, an elite. The contrast between her world and the sour, unwashed stench radiating off the man beside me was nauseating.

But then I clicked on the comment section.

Isnt Dr. Prescott the one who went missing for a year in her twenties?

Yeah, she went down south to volunteer in some rural school and got abducted. Took her years to recover mentally when she finally got back.

Its a tragedy, honestly. If she hadn't lost those years to trauma, shed be tenured by now. I heard she still struggles with the administration.

My heart violently seized. My fingernails bit into the meat of my palms.

The old women in the holler always gossiped that my mother abandoned me when I was barely a year old.

Which meant if she hadn't stayed that extra year just to nurse me, to keep me alive, she could have escaped sooner. She could have soared even higher.

Pa, entirely oblivious to the storm raging inside me, yanked my arm. We navigated the labyrinth of the subway system, the stench of our clothes earning us disgusted glares and wide berths from everyone we passed.

As we walked, Pa leaned in close, his breath hot and putrid against my ear.

When we find her, you listen to me. You throw yourself right at her. Grab her legs and wail like a stuck pig! You scream, Ma, why did you leave me!

His eyes gleamed with malicious excitement. Ill make a massive scene. Ill holler for a DNA test right there in the street. These rich city folks, they care about their reputation more than their lives. Once I threaten to drag her name through the mud, shell do anything to keep us quiet. Shell come right back to the holler just to shut us up.

Suddenly, his grip on my arm tightened like a vice.

But if you screw this up, Weed or if you get any funny ideas about running when we get back, Im putting you up for Holler Law.

The blood drained from my face. My body betrayed me with an uncontrollable shudder.

Holler Law. The ultimate punishment. When a woman tried to run, the men would strip her naked and throw her in the shed out back. They would take turns for three days and three nights.

Aside from Donna, who now dragged herself through the hog pen on shattered legs, no woman had ever survived it.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, keeping my eyes fixed on the pavement. I hear you, Pa.

By the time Pa had asked enough horrified strangers for directions, the sun had set. We finally stood outside the wrought-iron gates of the prestigious prep school where she taught, but the campus was dark and locked down for the night.

Pa hocked a glob of phlegm onto the manicured brick walkway. Fancy school, my ass. Closing up before dark.

A security guard stepped out of the booth, resting his hand on his belt, and sternly waved us off. Pa tried to put on a greasy smile and step forward, but the guards unyielding glare stopped him dead. We weren't getting in.

Pa patted the wad of crumpled bills in his pocketthe money from selling our last breeding sow. He refused to spend a dime on a motel.

Instead, we found a dark, damp underpass not far from the campus. Above us, the rhythmic rumble of city traffic pounded like a mechanical heartbeat, headlights bleeding into a river of gold across the wet asphalt.

I curled into a tight ball on a bed of discarded newspapers, shivering as the Atlantic wind whipped through my thin jacket.

A little ways down the sidewalk, a family was taking an evening stroll.

The little girl was dressed in a fluffy pink coat, clutching a pristine porcelain doll. She was riding high on her fathers shoulders, giggling like a princess surveying her kingdom.

Daddy, I want that ice cream!

You got it, sweetheart, the father laughed.

Mommy, I don't want to go to ballet class tomorrow, she whined.

The young mother reached up, affectionately squeezing the girls hand, her eyes melting with absolute adoration. Be a good girl for class, and well go to the aquarium after, okay?

I stared. I couldn't blink. I couldn't breathe.

So this was what life was like out here.

Girls out here didn't have to haul water. They didn't get beaten with fire pokers. They could ride on their fathers shoulders and whine about dancing.

My mother she must have grown up just like that. Loved. Sheltered. Radiant.

She was meant to be elegant and untouchable. She was never meant to be chained by the neck next to a trough of pig slop, treated worse than an animal.

What the hell are you staring at? Keep your eyes to yourself!

Pas harsh bark shattered the quiet moment. Hed caught the desperate longing in my eyes, and for a second, something like guilt flickered across his rugged face before hardening back into resentment.

He grunted, digging a crumpled dollar bill from his pocket. He marched over to a corner bodega and returned a minute later, tossing the cheapest, chalkiest lollipop he could find into my lap.

Eat it. Don't ever say I don't provide for you.

I peeled the plastic back and put it in my mouth. It tasted like artificial strawberries. But no amount of sugar could wash away the suffocating bitterness coating my throat.

Pa lit a cheap, unfiltered cigarette. In the orange glow of the cherry, his face looked monstrous.

You remember this, Weed, he growled through the smoke. Were sleeping in the dirt tonight because of your selfish bitch of a mother. If she hadn't run off, if shed just stayed and done her duty to the family, we wouldn't be begging on the streets.

He took a drag, his eyes narrowing. Or, if she loved us, she wouldve brought us to the city to live like kings. Its her fault were poor. All her fault.

I kept my head down, rolling the candy around my tongue.

On the outside, I nodded meekly. Youre right, Pa. Its all Mas fault.

But deep in my chest, a quiet, terrifying fire began to burn.

Youre pathetic, I thought. Every man in the holler was a parasite feeding off the blood of women. Old Man Higgins built his new cabin by selling his eldest daughter to a miner. Harlan bought his truck by pimping out his terrified wife to the logging crews. They drained the life out of us, stood on our cracked bones, and called us worthless.

My mother was a scholar. She belonged under the warm glow of a lecture hall, changing the world. She never should have been forced to wash the mud off this monsters boots, and she certainly never should have been forced into his bed.

Suddenly, a bright, melodic laugh cut through the noise of the traffic.

My heart skipped a beat. My head snapped up.

Across the street, bathed in the amber glow of a streetlamp, a woman was walking beside a man in a tailored wool coat. She was holding a stack of books against her chest.

It was only a profile. It was fifty feet away. But I knew.

It was her.

Under the city lights, she looked like a painting. Alive. Free.

But then, as if feeling the weight of my stare, she paused. She turned her head and looked directly toward the shadows of the underpass.

Our eyes met.

The beautiful smile vanished from her face in an instant. Her pupils dilated. Even from across the street, I could feel the sheer, unadulterated terror radiating off her.

She recognized me. She recognized him.

Before I could even process what was happening, she grabbed her companions sleeve, her breath catching visibly in the cold air. She spun around on her heel, stumbling over her own feet as she half-ran, half-dragged the man into a dark alleyway, disappearing from sight.

She fled like prey spotting a wolf.

I pulled my gaze away, my entire body violently shaking. I was vibrating with a chaotic mix of adrenaline, awe, and heartbreak.

She was right there.

What the hells wrong with you? Why are you shaking? Pa eyed me suspiciously, squinting into the dark street where Id just been looking. But the pavement was empty.

I bit the side of my tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. I used the pain to anchor myself.

I pulled my knees to my chest, making myself look small and frail.

Pa Im freezing I chattered, letting a pathetic sob slip out. The wind down here Im scared.

It was a convincing performance. Pa relaxed, sneering in disgust. He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the heel of his boot.

Useless little runt. Can't even handle a breeze. Go to sleep! We gotta be up at dawn to ambush that bitch.

He cursed under his breath, rolling over on the cardboard, turning his back to me.

I leaned my head against the freezing concrete pillar, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

My mind raced, replaying the image of my mother. She looked so brilliant. So full of life, just like all the other women walking these city streets. Not like the women in the holler, with their dead, milky eyes and hollowed-out souls.

If Pa dragged her back

No.

Never.

Thinking about what I had to do tomorrow made my stomach twist into knots. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me.

The next morning, I squatted alone on the sidewalk outside the academys wrought-iron gates.

Students in crisp, pressed uniforms walked past, shooting me curious, disgusted glances. I was wearing an oversized, threadbare jacket, my jeans splattered with mud, my hair a matted nest. I looked like a feral animal dropped into a country club.

I didn't care. I just watched every face that walked through those gates.

Minutes bled into hours. The morning bell rang, a sharp, piercing sound.

The courtyard emptied. The heavy iron gates slowly rolled shut.

My chest caved in.

She didn't come.

Panic, cold and suffocating, began to rise in my throat. I couldn't just sit here.

I took a deep breath, pushing myself up from the pavement. I locked eyes with the campus security guard. He was wearing a dark uniform, a badge glinting on his chest, a heavy radio on his hip. According to what Donna had taught me, he was the law.

I sprinted toward the gate, slamming my hands against the bars.

Arrest me! I screamed, my voice tearing through the quiet morning. Please, arrest me! I killed someone!

The guard jumped back, eyes wide in shock.

I closed my eyes, gripping the cold iron, bracing myself for whatever fate had in store for me now.

But then, a trembling, fragile voice whispered from just over my shoulder.

Is that you?

I whipped around.

My mother.

She was standing right there, not even two feet away, her face pale as a ghost.