I’m sharing a short story I wrote some years ago, I’m afraid, however, it isn’t particularly good, I’m sure it could be a lot better in fact– I think the story has some good potential, but lacks, perhaps I would say, ‘juice.’ I’d say be interested in any comments on what someone else would’ve done with a story like this.

And I do have other stories, better stories, one’s a humorous one about some bumbling assassins being sent to a convent to murder some nuns– but I need to revise it!

The Dead Monster

‘I want to see it Tsami, show me the corpse.’

‘You’re too much of a sissy, Han, you’ll probably scream if you see it.’

‘Just show it to me, Tsami, please.’

‘Na-uh’

‘Please.’

‘Oh fine, but only because you’re my best friend; and you gotta promise you won’t tell anyone.’

‘I won’t Tsami, I promise.’

‘Follow me,’ said Tsami and she shot off towards the woods just a little way off from them, Han in pursuit of her.

‘Hey, why we running!’ shouted Han.

‘I’ll only show you if you can keep up!’ replied Tsami and she led Han over a fence leading into the forest, taking her through a little-used trail littered with dead autumnal leaves, yellow and red, and deep through the maze of trees she led her friend, ‘hey wait up,’ shouted Han, ‘we’re nearly there,’ replied Tsami and she jumped over a shallow stream, past which they would find a monster’s corpse, laying in an unceremonious heap, crumpled on the ground.

‘That’s your monster? It ain’t very big,’ said Han scoffing at what appeared to be the diminutive corpse of a chicken with scales and a serpent’s tail. There were only a few flies around the corpse, and it seemed well preserved.

‘It’s a cockatrice,’ announced Tsami, ‘and if it were alive, it could turn you into a pile of ash with just a glance’

‘Er, should it just be left here, didn’t Katagiri want to move it in case it was still dangerous?’

‘He said no animal would touch it, that everything leaves alone the corpse of a cockatrice, except the flies of course; Katagiri didn’t want to move it because he said it would just cause a stir if everyone finds out about it.’

‘I know what Katagiri is like, he don’t like no bother.’

‘He said it’s best just to let it lie.’

‘Creepy looking thing,’ said Han, poking the corpse with a stick, ‘I wonder how it died, it doesn’t look damaged.’

‘Katagiri thinks it was lost and got sick and died.’

‘Yeah, well it worries me how it got all the way out here. I think Katagiri should tell someone else in the monastery, what if there’s more of them?’

‘Katagiri said they’re solitary creatures and that we’ll probably never see another one.’

‘Good thing you found a dead one, otherwise you might be a pile of ash.’

‘Don’t tell Katagiri I showed you.’

‘I won’t.’

Lodgehaven wasn’t just a monastery, it was an academy, situated in the middle of nowhere and educating its members in the philosophies of the bonzes, the mystics, and religious sages. They no longer called themselves Buddhists, because it no longer suited them, but merely ‘Students of the Way’; they espoused such things as the eternality of nature, the centrality of meditation to the spiritual life, the sacred blessedness of happiness, and the transformation of the enlightened soul. When asked about their beliefs and doctrines, they would reply, very certainly, that all is uncertain, that even human beliefs are like the currents of the sea and bound to change and dissipate.

It could be said, for all their delving into every philosophy, they were no longer sure what they believed; and if you studied with them long enough, you would either stop studying totally or come to the point where you believed you knew totally nothing. They said that the one of these happening, but never certain which one, was a key turning point in reaching enlightenment.

The monks also practised martial arts in their monastery grounds, daily exercising their bodies with the physical routine of throwing punches and kicks in the air, learning to control their breathing as they did so. All told it was a quiet life for the members of Lodgehaven, and they enjoyed the sanctity of their home, the oneness with nature it brought them.

Katagiri had been meditating with his eyes closed and legs crossed in front of the monastery, when Tsami and Han returned back, trying to sneak past without him noticing.

‘What are you two up to?’ said Katagiri opening his eyes.

‘Nothing Katagiri, we were just going inside to help prepare for lunch,’ said Tsami.

‘You’ve come from the forest, haven’t you?’ said Katagiri.

‘Well maybe, Katagiri,’ said Tsami.

‘Did you show Han the corpse.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Of course you did,’ said Katagiri, neither disappointed nor angry with her, he was too pragmatic and too patient for either of those

‘How’d it get to the woods anyway Katagiri?’ said Han.

Katagiri looked in the direction of the forest, as if he were pondering the question. He didn’t have a clue where it came from, what could he say, that it escaped from a wandering circus exhibiting dangerous monsters, or that it was the missing pet of a mad sorcerer? Neither of those seemed much likely of course.

‘I don’t know,’ said Katagiri finally, ‘but I want we three to tell no one about it.’

‘But Katagiri, shouldn’t we really let someone else know?’ said Han

‘It will be a needless cause for curiosity if we tell everyone. No, it’s best not to, a cockatrice dead in the woods is just an anomaly, a freak occurrence of nature, we won’t see another one. And we need not frighten Gazuki, it would just worry his old heart.’

‘OK, Katagiri, sir, whatever you say, I won’t tell no one, I promise,’ said Han.

‘Sorry Katagiri,’ said Tsami, ‘I won’t tell no one else.’

‘Very good, now get to your chores.’

Two weeks passed and Tsami and Han had told no one about the dead cockatrice, and though they wondered about it, all things told the beast was something of an unspectacular sight, pathetically heaped on the dirt. Perhaps it wasn’t a big deal keeping it a secret, and, if someone else found the dead creature they could pretend like they never knew it was there. Now if it had been a dead griffin, a hydra, or certainly a dragon, it was very unlikely they’d be able to keep the secret; but, as unspectacular a sight as the dead cockatrice was, they might even soon forget about it. Maybe it was just an anomaly after all, like Katagiri had said.

It was a normal day when the stranger arrived at Lodgehaven, wearing a heavy hood, carrying a heavy bag and an oaken stave.

‘A traveller!’ had said Gazuki cheerily, ‘are you here to pay a visit to our splendid monastery?’

‘Indeed I am,’ said the stranger, removing his hood, his voice slow and raspy, ‘and forgive me if I come without invitation, but I have come a great distance to visit you— as you can tell I am not from your lands.’

‘Our home shall be your home. I am Gazuki, the master of Lodgehaven.’

‘And I am Mageiran, and I am honoured to be your guest.’

They went to one of the studies where they could relax and drink tea; surrounding them were shelves full of ancient literature, curious souvenirs and what could be described as spiritual knickknacks.

‘Tsami, Han, bring our guests some tea,’ said Katagiri, having greeted the strangers at the study door, and the children left to do as he ordered.

‘Do you monks drink, or does your, er, mortification forbid it?’ said Mageiran.

‘Ah, I have just the thing for my guest,’ said Gazuki, fetching some wine that was hidden within all the knickknacks on display, and pouring a glass for Mageiran.

‘Is your visit an academic one?’ asked Katagiri.

‘Erm, not exactly.’

‘But will have to see our esteemed library nonetheless, we are stock full of fascinating texts, tell me are you a philosopher by chance? You have the appearance of one,’ said Gazuki.

‘No, no I’m not; let me explain who I am and the purpose of my visit: I am a cataloguer and purveyor of exotic creatures, and bizarre beasts. I have clients who enlist my help in securing and receiving these said creatures for their various needs, however diverse. According to my, erm, research, there is a creature of strange origins in the area. Let me show you,’ and Mageiran produced a large book from his bag, and opened it up, flicking through the pages until he came upon what was a detailed sketch of none more than the cockatrice. Katagiri almost couldn’t believe it. Almost. But given how down-to-earth he was, he told himself he wasn’t surprised that someone had come looking for the creature.

‘Well,’ said Gazuki, ‘in that case I am sorry to disappoint you, but there are no such creatures in the area. I’ve never seen a cockatrice before, and there certainly aren’t any near Lodgehaven. I’m sorry if your trip has been a wasted one.’

‘I think I am near it, see this,’ said Mageiran, and he showed him his staff which was topped with a sphere containing a golden-purple liquid and a strange organic thing amid it, ‘that’s a dragon imp’s tongue kept alive in the enchanted blood of a fire phoenix, it speaks to me, tells me things I need to know.’

‘And it knows the location of cockatrices?’ said Gazuki.

‘Why yes it does.’

‘There must be some mistake, we don’t know of any cockatrices, do we Katagiri.’

‘Actually I do know of one,’ replied Katagiri, who had long ago decided it was best to always tell the truth when asked, even if he kept secrets.

‘You do?’ said Mageiran.

‘Forgive my friend, he must be struck temporarily mad. I tell you, we don’t know of any cockatrice, they are very rare creatures,’ said Gazuki, and just then Tsami and Han returned with the tea and set it on the table and stood to attention.

‘But you say you have seen a cockatrice, Katagiri?’ asked Mageiran.

‘I have, and so have Tsamia and Han here, haven’t you,’ said Katagiri.

The children said nothing then looked at Katagiri who nodded at them, as if giving them permission to mention it, and they said they had seen the creature dead in the forest.

‘I don’t think I believe this,’ said Gazuki, astounded.

‘Will you take me to it?’ said Mageiran and Katagiri agreed to.

Gazuki was still in disbelief as Katagiri led Mageiran through the forest to where the dead cockatrice was, the children following behind. Katagiri was in some wonder as to what the creature was required for, cockatrice gloves perhaps? Or a nice cockatrice hat, or belt? Or perhaps it was required as a vital spell component for some sinister spell of a becrazed wizard. Whatever the case, Katagiri supposed he would hand the creature over to the stranger and have him be on his way and let that be that; he didn’t want a fuss.

The cockatrice was still there, were they left it, and remarkably well preserved, it was as if even the flies were reluctant to disturb the corpse of a cockatrice. Gazuki took a good long look at the dead creature, looking over at Katagiri afterwards, as if hurt, and as if to say, not, ‘you should’ve told me,’ but ‘why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Excellent,’ said Mageiran, ‘of course a dead cockatrice is useless to my client.’

‘Well then that is unfortunate for your client, this is the only cockatrice I know of, a dead one’ said Katagiri.

‘Not with this,’ said Mageiran, producing a vial of more of the golden-purple liquid, ‘there are ways around death nowadays. The spell is actually quite a simple one and cockatrices as magical creatures are receptive to, erm, resurrection magics, phoenix blood being useful for that of course; but it’s best to get to work right away, the longer a corpse is left, the harder it is the magic to work.’

‘The only problem, Mageiran, is that if this cockatrice were to be resurrected, there is a good chance it could kill us all. It certainly wouldn’t be wise,’ said Katagiri.

‘I have a solution to that,’ said Mageiran, producing a small satin cloth, ‘it’s breath is quite potent, but it’s gaze is deadly, which is why I simply bind this around its head and eyes,’ and they watched as Mageiran wrapped the satin cloth around the cockatrice’s head.

‘That should quite suffice,’ said Mageiran, ‘after it is reanimated, it will fit nicely into my bag, yes, yes, I don’t see this being a problem.’

Mageiran proceeded to produce what could only be a spellbook from his bag and started to flick through it, mumbling to himself as he did so.

‘Still, despite your… precautions, I don’t think I can allow you to do this,’ said Katagiri, quite deciding he didn’t want a madman reanimating the corpse of a cockatrice, after all what if the binding its eyes wasn’t good enough and they were all reduced to heaps of smoking ash and rock?

‘Well, that’s not within your power to decide Katagiri,’ said Mageiran, having landed on the page he was looking for in the spellbook.

‘I won’t allow this,’ said Katagiri placing a hand over Mageiran’s spellbook.

‘Listen, Katagiri, I can tell you my client is paying extremely handsomely, I would be happy to make a sizable donation to your monastery if you allow me to proceed to my spell unhindered, please.’

‘It’s too dangerous, I can’t let this happen,’ said Katagiri, now snatching away the spell book, Mageiran sighed and suddenly took hold of his staff, which had been tucked under one arm, and slammed the end into Katagiri’s stomach, forcing him to double over, dropping the book.

‘Now, if you excuse me, I have a spell to cast,’ said Mageiran, picking up the spellbook, but Katagiri managed to pull himself up and swing a punch into Mageiran’s face, sending him sprawling, then proceeded to go for the spellbook still in Mageiran’s hand, but a wrestled match ensued as Mageiran grabbed hold of him and they grappled on the ground, punches being thrown by both parties.

Gazuki, who had taken a vow of non-violence, placidly watched the combat ensue, one hand over the other, flat on his stomach. Tsami and Han decided since Gazuki wasn’t getting involved neither would they, but anxiously watched the fight, their hands balled up into fists, nervously hoping Katagiri would win.

‘Come on Katagiri!’ yelled Tsami, followed by Han shouting, ‘that’s right, punch his head in, you got this one!’

In the fight they managed to get back on their feet, more suiting Katagiri and his agile martial art skills; he shot a knee into Mageirain’s stomach, who responded by sending a blow with his stave to Katagiri’s head, which was just blocked with upward palms, then he smashed Mageiran with a roundhouse kick to the face, sending him back to the ground.

On the ground, Mageiran rifled inside his cloak pockets and produced one of his vials, full of a strange, misty liquid, he managed to uncork it and splash it over Katagiri’s face before Katagiri fell on him again. Katagiri yelled out loud and turned clutching his face in pain at the burning sensation now throbbing violently through his face.

‘I’m sorry I had to do that,’ said Mageiran, who proceed to deck Katagiri in the gut with his staff and then knock him over the head with it, leaving him groaning in pain on the ground, ‘now, where was I,’ Mageiran said picking up his spell book once more and dusting it off, ‘ah yes,’ and he proceeded on with his spell. The children went over to Katagiri to help him while Gazuki just watched on in stunned silence at the whole spectacle.

Mageiran had found his spell and was chanting the words, and pouring the phoenix blood on the ground next to the cockatrice, steam rising from the spot; and, slowly but surely the cockatrice seemed to move, twitching a leg here, a wing there. Mageiran was keeping an eye on the creature as it returned to life via the powerful resurrection magics, taking note of it’s every squirm and wriggle, while he still chanted his spell. However, very abruptly, and before Mageiran could grab it and stuff it in his sack, the creature shot up and sprang away, blind as it was with the satin cloth tied around its head, but full of life and energy, moving at a speed Mageiran hadn’t anticipated.

Mageiran cursed and ran after the creature, but it sprang further away, forcing him to continue to chase it. At this point Katagiri was sitting up, recovering, and watching what was happening along with everyone else. The cockatrice continued to outstrip Mageiran like a nuisance hen, who couldn’t lay a hand on it for every curse he muttered and made its way deeper in the thick of the forest, and, eventually, they both disappeared from sight.

They all stood around, as if confused as to what to do. Finally Gazuki walked up to Katagiri and said, ‘why didn’t you tell me there was a dead cockatrice in the forest?’

‘I’m sorry Gazuki. I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Let’s make our way back to the monastery.’

‘Yes.’

‘This has been most peculiar,’ said Gazuki as they made their way back to Lodgehaven.

‘Indeed,’ replied Katagiri.

‘And now we don’t have a dead cockatrice in the forest but a live one.’

‘Do you suppose he’ll catch it?’

‘It would be very wise if he did.’

‘What if he doesn’t?’

Gazuki didn’t respond but looked quite worried at the thought.

When they got back, it was an interesting event telling other members of Lodgehaven about what happened to the stranger and the cockatrice. The other monks could either hardly believe them or believed them a bit too much, for just the next day the story had spread through Lodgehaven with fantastical embellishments already.

Three or four weeks later, with no sign of the stranger or the cockatrice, Katagiri was out for a walk, crossing the meadows that ran near the forest, when he came across a large pile of ash and rock, replete with Mageiran’s vials and spell accessories.

Obviously catching the cockatrice hadn’t gone as planned.

And, Katagiri, knowing that Gazuki was a worrisome soul, decided it best not to say a word of discovering the stranger’s remains.