CHAPTER EIGHT

The Figure in the Woods

I left for Geneva that day. It was a sad, horrible journey. All I thought about was my sweet little brother, and the pain my family must be feeling. They had lost my mother, and now William, so soon! But as I came near to Geneva, I became afraid. When I arrived at the gates of the city it was very late. In my sadness, I had forgotten that people could not enter the gates after ten o'clock at night. I decided to find a room for the night at an inn on Lake Geneva. I could not sleep, so I found a boat and sailed across the lake. The Plainpalais forest, where William had died, was on the other side of the lake. For some reason, I wanted to see the place where my brother had been killed. "Maybe there will be a clue there," I thought. Close by, I could see a storm in the mountains. By the time I had reached the forest, rain had begun to fall. There was loud thunder, and so much lightning in the sky that it seemed like daytime. When I stepped out of my boat onto the ground, I saw the figure of a man near me. As the figure stepped out from behind a tree, I stood still, trying to see whom it was.

The next flash of lightning lit up the sky. Then I saw him. It wasn't a man—it was the monster I had created! After one year, what was he doing here? Then I had a horrible thought. Suddenly, I knew the answer to my question. The monster had killed my brother, an innocent little boy! I was so upset that I had to lean against a tree so that I would not fall down. When I looked up, I saw the monster running away. I tried to follow him, but he moved extremely fast. I saw him begin to climb a mountain. Then he was gone, into the darkness.

I stood against the tree, remembering the night I had given the monster life. I was filled with pain as I thought, "Did I create this thing so that it could kill? What other terrible things has it done? Oh, my God!" I ran through the forest all night looking for the creature. When morning came, I went to my father's house. I thought about telling the police my story. Perhaps they could find the monster. But what story would I tell them? Could I really say that I, a young student, had created a horrible monster from dead human bodies? Could I tell them I had seen that same monster in the woods last night? The police would never believe me. Besides, who would believe such a strange tale from a man who had spent many months sick and almost insane?

I knew that if someone tried to tell me this kind of story, I would not have believed it. I would think he was sick. And no one could stop or kill a monster that was as large and strong as this one. I had no answers, so I said nothing.

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