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whumpster-fire · 3 years

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Athanasia Part 1: The Creature In the Cage

Re-posting this story that started out as a Whumptober 2020 entry because I’ve made a few edits and also I have more content for this OC planned so I want to give her a proper re-introduction.

The character featured here is Tansy, currently anonymous because she hasn’t gotten her name yet in-universe. Link to her refsheet here

CONTENT WARNINGS: Monster whumpee, Animal Whump, Animal Cruelty, Animal Death Mention, Mention of predators being predators, Gore, Infected Wounds, Vomit

The cage is much too small for the little creature trapped inside it. Much too small to leave her in it this long, at least. How long has it been? She doesn’t know anymore, but it has been many, many days, and many, many nights. She is not sure she remembers what grass feels like anymore. It is just barely big enough to turn around in, but she cannot sit up without hitting her head on the ceiling, or stretch her tail out. It is far too small to pace back and forth from one end to the other like she could in the last cage. Her legs are weak from lack of use.

The first night she came to the village, she only hunted the rats and mice and other small vermin. She looked longingly into the windows of the houses, wishing she could be in there with the warmth. But the people didn’t want her. They threw her out long ago. It seemed like the family had loved her at first, but then the preacher told them what she was, and they got rid of her. She came back to the old village once, to see if the children had grown, but a plague had swept across the land and everybody had either left or joined the pits of bones.

For a long time she lived out in the woods, in the wild, but there was less of it with every turn of the seasons, and something drew her to the new village, with its cobbled main street and windows of real glass in the houses, and she thought she could live in humanity’s shadow again.

But the people hadn’t changed. Not at all. She lived off the mice and rats for a while, but one day the hunting horns sounded and hooves thundered and hounds bayed. She wasn’t what the men were looking for, but they set the dogs on her all the same, chasing her down and digging out her burrow and tearing and biting until there was nothing but scraps of fur and bone, which they left in a ditch to rot.

The next night the creature came to the village, she left the mice and rats alone. Let them eat the people’s grain and spread disease among them, she thought. If they hated her, hunted her for sport, then why should she help them? That night, she went to the henhouse, and she came again every night for a fortnight until the dogs caught her. The people hunted her down again, and chased her up a tree. A man brought out a new weapon that hadn’t existed when she first knew the people, an iron tube that exploded with fire and smoke, and knocked her from the tree. They took her back to the village by force, and strung her up on a gamekeeper’s gibbet with the rotting carcasses of the foxes and stoats and all the other creatures they called vermin.

The night after she chewed through the wires binding her, the creature came to the henhouse again. She ate her fill, and then painted the walls with blood. She left the village alone after that. She didn’t want anything to do with the people anymore. But they hunted her, they searched for weeks before they finally caught her. And they must have figured out that there was only one of her, because that was when they put her in the cage.

She has been in the cage for a long time now. She was a curiosity to them at first, but they never loved her. At first it amused them to hurt her, to shoot her or drown her or build a fire under the cage, but now she is only a nuisance. They moved the cage out of the cellar to the barn after her screeching kept them up at night, and out of there too when she frightened the horses. So they put her in this smaller cage, barely big enough to turn around in. She hangs from a post in the town square, which is really on the edge of the village by the old dirt road leading to other places. The grass is so close, just a man’s height below her, but she can never reach it.

She cannot get out. She cannot get out. The cage is rusty, but the iron bars are thick, and she has broken her teeth and claws trying to gnaw through them. Her paws are always bloody and scabbed from the rough iron under them. She has been out here for so long, with nowhere to hide from the rain and the cold and the heat of the sun.

People used to come by and feed the creature in the cage and give her water, but they have fed her less and less as time went on. It has been many days since anyone has bothered to do it at all. Her body is weak from starvation. Her ribs stick out, and her skin is loose on her bones. Her coat is dull, and the fur is matted with grime: blood, and the rotten fruit and eggs visitors sometimes throw, and the dust and dirt kicked up from the road, and rust from the bars above her, and the many, many times she has been sick in the cage. It falls through the bars of the floor, but they still get dirty, and there is nowhere else to lie.

The people she hates most are the children. The adults have mostly stopped paying attention to her, except when they are drunk, which is admittedly quite often. But the children think it is funny to poke her with sticks through the bars, or rattle her cage around so it sways, or tease her by holding food just out of her reach. The gaps in the bars are just big enough to fit her paws through, and many days ago she clawed angrily at one of the boys and cut his finger. But he dropped the piece of meat he was taunting her with, and he hit her foreleg with a heavy stick before she could get it back through the bars.

That leg is broken now. It was broken so badly the bone came out through the skin, and she is so weak and hungry that it hasn’t healed. Instead, it is slowly rotting. For many days there has been another cage nearby with a man in it, who was convicted of murder and sentenced to die by being hung in the cage and not fed. For a while he was company, and tried to talk to her. But many days ago he died, and the creature in the cage envies him for it. His rotting body has driven most of the people from the square with its stench, but she cannot get away from it. It has brought more company in the form of kites and crows that pick at his flesh. They try to pick at hers too, but their beaks cannot reach through the bars, except for small wounds they have given her. The body has also brought swarms of flies, buzzing and biting and laying eggs in the creature’s wounds, including where her leg is broken. There is no way to escape from the cruel maggots in the tiny cage. But they are the only thing she has eaten for a long, long time.

Today, they took the dead man away. He was little more than bones and dried-out skin anyway. It is not night yet, but the sky is dark. Thunder rolls and lightning flashes. The creature cowers in her cage, her little heart racing. She has always been afraid of lightning, and there is no escape from it. She flinches with every bolt, afraid it will strike the gibbet. No one is outside in the village but her.

Rain pours down, finally washing her fur. She wants to be clean again, but it is so cold, so terribly cruelly cold. There is nowhere in the cage to get away from the driving rain, and she is soaked to the skin. She wants to drink the rain, because she has had no water for days, but she is shivering, so hard her teeth clatter together, and she is afraid she will bite her tongue and it won’t heal. The shivering is taking all her strength. She curls into a sodden ball of fur, whimpering and begging the storm to go away. The howling wind makes the cage sway violently, tossing her around inside it and beating her against the bars. Lightning flashes off the church steeple, so close that her ears ring.

The wind gets worse, and worse. The rain is going sideways now. The cage sways, and the gibbet creaks. Then, suddenly, it gives way. The cage is falling, and she is falling with it. She splays her paws out and braces herself for the landing. But one of her paws goes through the bars in the cage, and it snaps.

She is hurt, she is broken, but so is the cage. The heavy wooden beam of the gibbet has fallen on it and smashed the iron bars open, nearly crushing her. Freedom is so close. She drags herself through the gap which is really too narrow for her, crying out as the jagged edges catch and tear her skin. She collapses onto the ground, but there is no grass under her. There is only the cold, deep mud the heavy rain has turned the dirt road into. She drags herself through the mud for a few paces, but that is all her starved body can manage before her strength fails her. All she can do is keep shivering, and breathing, and holding her head out of the mud and rainwater, but even those will not last long.

The creature waits for death to claim her there in the cold mud. But then, she hears heavy boots splashing in the puddles, slowly getting closer. She looks up, astonished. Someone is out here after all. A figure in a cloak stands over her, sheltering his lantern from the wind. It is dim, but lightning flashes and illuminates a weathered, bearded face lined with confusion, then sympathy. Pity. He reaches down. The creature hisses, and screams, and snaps at his wool glove. What would a human ever do but hurt her?

“What in God’s Green Earth are you?” the traveler wonders aloud. Then: “What in hellfire did they do to you?”

Lightning flashes again. The wind puts out the man’s lantern as he reaches for her again, but his eyes glow with their own yellow light.

Just like hers.

The creature that was in the cage begins to cry, but she doesn’t stop the traveler from picking her up and bundling her into his cloak. She just shivers, and cries against his chest, pressing herself into the first warmth she has known for many, many years.

#whump #my writing #Tansy (OC)#monster whumpee #animal whump tw #immortal whumpee #animal cruelty tw #starvation #vomit tw #broken bones tw #hurt no comfort #(yet)

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