Algorithm by Samuel Gregory
The monster died after 427 days in captivity. Its breathing stopped for the first time on record and its immense neck went limp, its head slumping forward to rest on the ground. The monster was summarily thrown into a deep pit, still encased in the concrete that had bound it in life and covered in quicklime. The hole was filled quickly, but the workers paused every so often, making sure the monster’s eyes stayed unfocused and glassy. Afterwards, the ground above was heavily salted and covered in barbed wire. The few low-ranking soldiers who actually saw the monster were reminded of the consequences for disclosing classified information and reassigned to other positions.
It had appeared like a sudden storm in that small, Midwestern town, a town now only present on maps. Cattle were slaughtered by the dozens; farmers were maimed beyond recognition; entire cars were shredded into ribbons of metal and rubber by terrible claws. Strangely enough, bodies lay strewn over the roads and on the remains of shops and houses, showing no signs of predation. Scores of vultures, which flew in a distant circle, seemed hesitant to approach the bountiful scene. The monster stood taller than any building that had once stood in the sleepy town. Calling it troll-like was practically an insult to those fictitious creatures, as no man, no matter his inner turmoil, could have ever dreamed up such a hideous face. By the time the armed forces arrived, the beast had taken to tearing up the asphalt and underground power lines and the vultures had just begun to feed. Upon seeing the soldiers pouring out of trucks, the creature proceeded to treat the military just as it had the deceased farmers and countryfolk. Countless bullets sunk into its flesh, only to ooze out moments later, covered in green ichor and horribly corroded by whatever substance flowed in its blackish bulging veins. Fire did little to deter the beast as well, and any flesh scorched by flamethrowers peeled off like dandruff, revealing healthy and undamaged skin beneath. Trails of discarded flesh littered the ground, crisscrossing the swaths of bullet casings. Massive rotary cannons mounted on large trucks managed to damage the beast quite significantly compared to conventional firearms, but every time an appendage was shredded to oblivion by a hail of bullets, a new limb was quick to grow in its place. Eventually, a quick-thinking general, hoping to try a new tactic that wouldn’t involve the use of nuclear weapons, ordered several trucks to surround the monster and to each target a different limb with its mounted cannon. Every time a limb was regrown, a storm of bullets chewed it off. Strangely, the most appalling thing about this scene was the monster’s silence. No screams. No groans. Not even a grunt escaped its mouth. There was only gunfire and soft thuds as its limbs fell to the ground over and over again. As the monster writhed in the background, the soldiers not tasked with firing the cannons or ferrying ammo to those who were, had been ordered to dig a massive pit. Some dug with their hands, others with debris from the town, but all glanced over their shoulders at the monster. Its eyes were so large that simply looking in its general direction entailed making eye contact.
After hours of nonstop digging and shooting, a large truck backed up and rammed into the bloody torso. The monster fell unceremoniously into the newly made chasm, where it lay for only a moment before trying to claw its way out with new limbs. Any body part crossing the lip of the hole was immediately gunned into paste. Before it could dig its way out, cement from commandeered mixers poured into the hole, and as it stiffened, the beast struggled less and less, eventually becoming absolutely still as only its large head poked out. From afar, the whole scene appeared a dark parody of Easter Island. A sea of dark green blood covered everything, and the only movement came from the vestigial twitching of the amputated limbs.
The government wasted no time in covering up the monster and the devastation it caused. The media were told that a freak tornado in combination with a forest fire had led to the wanton destruction, leaving no bodies for friends or family to recover. The soldiers’ deaths were attributed to an explosion at a munition storage area, leaving the area too contaminated and thus off-limits to any non-government officials. A massive warehouse-like building, not unlike the one covering the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, was constructed around the captured behemoth. Inside, at the very center, was the beast’s head, poking up out of the floor in a comical fashion.
Despite a stern memo from the president’s cabinet to destroy the monster, all conventional methods had failed. Flame and bullets had already been tested in the field, but electricity, radiation, and even vast amounts of rat poison could not cause any lasting damage. To defeat the fiend, a vast team of literary experts, folklorists, and historians was commissioned. Each distinguished member was tasked with listing every single ghoul, boogieman, and specter they had heard spoken about in hushed tones in dusky taverns or found fearsomely described in ancient writings. After the lists had been compiled, the academics were tasked with writing down how those monsters were defeated, or at the very least repelled, in their respective tales. The end result was a document listing thousands of creatures and possible execution methods from six different continents and dozens of cultures. At the end of the list were monsters that couldn’t be defeated, beings that could not be stopped by any method known to man. These creatures weren’t spoken of and were quietly left off of the final document given to the less important personnel. Morale was low enough as it was, no one wanted a reminder that the monster may very well be unstoppable. First on the list of potential weapons was a crucifix. Hundreds were commissioned. Some were of wood, others of metal, and others of plastic, uranium, even ice. They ranged from painstakingly intricate to exceedingly simple. Each failed. No response was elicited from the monster, even when they were driven into its eyes, throat, and head. Silver bullets were tried next. They ranged from pure silver to silver plated and were discharged from every conceivable firearm. They, like the crosses, had no effect.
Each day saw the experimenters grow more and more frantic. The fact that the monster could prove invincible didn’t frighten them as much as the fact that if another one of its kind were to appear, there would be no real way of stopping it. On day 427, however, a stake made of ash was driven into the monster’s neck. This was the 79th stake driven into the monster that day and was the first of the wooden ones to be tried. To everyone’s shock, the monster went limp almost immediately, seemingly dying in a mere blink of an eye. The technician “administering” the stake sank to her knees, relieved.
After it had sensed enough time had passed, the monster opened its eyes. It flexed its enormous body, pulverizing the concrete around it to powder. As it emerged from its resting place in a cloud of dust, dirt, and debris, it looked down at the barbed wire and fencing that had been erected around its grave. Sharp spears made from ash trees had been placed by the hundreds in widening circles. The monster bared its teeth in a grin, confident that its ilk would be severely underestimated in the days to come.
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Samuel Gregory is a mechanical engineering student who enjoys history and anything paranormal. His favorite animals are frogs.
