Domum Ire Volo!

When Frosty begins screaming, his captors are summoned to Cell-223 in the complex’s maximum-security section.

Three months ago, Frosty killed four E.B.I. (Extraordinary Bureau of Investigation) agents from the Tennessee Division by sucking the life out of them. Agents Karl Conner and Patrice Pangborn subdued Frosty by freezing him.

What made Frosty so dangerous at that time was that he resembled a friendly, pleasant-looking, dark-haired man in his thirties, the type of successful Millennial more at home sipping champagne than blood.

Frosty’s appearance faded after two months in captivity, taking on the look of a grey-haired, bent, and sickly old man.

***

Karl and Patrice watch Frosty on the security camera. Balling up his fists, Frosty shrieks, “Domum ire volo! Domum ire volo!” pounding on the cell’s impenetrable picture window.

“I’ll say one thing for him. He’s consistent,” Karl says.

“Yeah, he desperately wants out. He’s not content with what we’ve been feeding him. He knows we’re only giving him enough to keep him from transforming into his true form.”

“Yep, he wants filet of sole a la human,” Karl replies.

“Well, nobody’s going to volunteer to have the life sucked out of them just to make him young again.”

“Maybe we could feed him a six-pack of cadavers. That way, he could regress all the way back to being a zygote, and we’d be rid of him.”

Karl and Patrice have been partners for eight years. They’ve proven that missing writer Ambrose Bierce was a changeling who reverted to his natural form as a cactus; that D.B. Cooper, who hijacked an airliner for ransom and was never apprehended, was a time traveler from 2145; and they discovered that Salma Hayek owes her youthful appearance to being an android.

Karl enjoys his clandestine lifestyle, dressing his forty-three-year-old fit frame in tailored suits, getting his dark hair styled weekly, his teeth whitened and capped, and staying tanned. A hard-bodied adventure seeker, thirty-four-year-old Patrice hides her tranquil personality behind her kohl-rimmed eyes, dark, fishtail braided hair, and black attire.

“Domum ire volo!”

“Why do we keep such a dangerous creature alive?” Patrice wonders aloud.

“To learn how to kill it,” Karl responds.

“All we have that can control it is the Clement Seal.”

“Yeah, and what exactly is that?” Karl asks.

“Dr. Emil Clement created it. You see that red emblem on the door with the cross in it? It emits a dampening field that lessens the creature’s natural urge to kill humans. What worries me is that while we’ve been studying Frosty, he’s been studying us. We’ve encountered a lot of unique creatures, but few are as lethal as a Monolo. He’s on a mission to destroy humanity.”

“And to think, we could have been allies instead of enemies.”

“We were,” Patrice replies. “Once upon a time, thousands of years ago, when mankind was in its infancy, we encountered the Monolo in what is now the Orangeburg Preserve. They were a race of intelligent children, or so it seemed. They protected us from predators, Native Americans, and ourselves… But there was a price. They took one of every five male children. No one knew what happened to them. We assumed the Monolos were raising the boys to be like them. Historical records, what there were of them, say a hunting party came across a pile of human bones and debris. One of the hunters recognized a medallion he’d given to his son. Others recognized rings and clothing that had belonged to their children. They tracked the Monolo the next time a boy was taken and witnessed him having his life force drained from him.”

“…And so, the war between humans and the Monolo began…”

“Right. And we won because our leaders realized they needed human flesh to stay young. We laid siege to their village in Orangeburg, keeping them from killing so much as a deer to sustain themselves. One by one, they grew old and died. The remaining Monolo, the one we call Frosty, escaped and swore he’d destroy us. It took us centuries to track him down.”

“But like all the creatures we’ve encountered, the Monolo have one glaring weakness,” Karl points out. “Their aversion to cold. Good thing we had the polar ray gun with us the last time he got loose.”

“Right. And it’s a good thing there’s only one of them,” Patrice replies.

***

The automated feeding robot stops in front of cell C-223. Stuck in the form of a seventy-five-year-old man, Frosty licks his lips, eagerly pressing his hands against the glass.

The robot pushes a caged, bleating goat into the feeding compartment.

Trent Thornton and Marvin Slaughter, the night shift guards for Cell Block 3, observe the routine process on a security camera.

“Poor goat,” Trent comments. “Sounds like he knows what he’s in for.”

The robot presses a button on the security pad. The cage opens, and the goat scampers into the Monolo’s cell.

Frosty kneels in front of it.

A blinding light emanates from the Monolo’s eyes. The frightened goat’s bleating intensifies as it locks eyes with the creature.

It shrivels into a dried-out husk that falls to the floor.

“As many times as I see it, I still can’t get over how that thing can suck the energy out of a living creature,” Marvin says.

“I’m just thankful we’ve got robots to feed him. It freaks me out because Frosty looks so much like my Uncle Elmer. My Uncle Elmer lost his thumb in a tractor accident, so he’s only got four fingers on his right hand, too.”

Trent moves closer to the monitor. “Say, what’s going on with the robot?”

The robot repeatedly slams its claw against the large red seal on Frosty’s cell door.

“Must be some sort of malfunction,” Marvin replies. “The creature could get out if he breaks the Clement security seal.”

Grabbing a polar ray gun from the weapon’s cabinet, Marvin heads for the door.

“Wait! Don’t go by yourself! Lemme call for back up! Trent says nervously. “Frosty may look like your Uncle Elmer, but he’s a killing machine!”

“We don’t have time!” Marvin shouts, running down the hallway.

He reaches Frosty’s cell door as the Clement seal cracks. Pushing the robot aside, Marvin raises the polar ray gun.

The Clement Seal breaks in two. A pair of liver-spotted hands pulls the door apart.

Frosty swats at the polar ray gun as Marvin presses the trigger. The minus one-hundred-degree blast of energy harmlessly hits the ceiling.

The creature’s glowing stare bears down on Marvin.

***

Breathing heavily, Trent rounds the corner leading to Cell 223.

The robot is slumped next to the Monolo’s open cell door.

Icicles hang from the ceiling.

Marvin’s shriveled husk lies curled up on the floor.

***

Bull Corrigan clicks his tongue in disgust at the old man devouring a bowl of stale pretzels at the end of the bar.

“Hey, grandpa, you got the munchies or somethin’? Leave some for the rest of us!”

“Domum ire volo!”

Bull pulls his jeans up around his protruding belly. The other men in the bar recognize what the gesture means and fade into the far corner of the room.

“Oh, an immigrant, eh? Too busy collectin’ welfare and breedin’ babies to learn English, eh?”

“Domum ire volo!”

Bull looks at the man’s right hand.

“Can you still make a fist with them four fingers? Let’s find out.”

Rolling up the sleeves of his work shirt, Bull closes in on the man.

The old man rises from his stool, his glowing stare locking on Bull’s bleary eyes.

A blinding light passes between them. Screaming, Bull’s bulky body folds into itself.

***

Nick Spano, the owner of Nicky’s Retreat, continues to wring his hands as he answers Karl and Patrice’s questions.

“Yeah, he was maybe seventy-five or older.”

“Bent over? Shaking, like he has palsy?” Patrice asks.

“Nah. Even a mook like Bull Corrigan wouldn’t take advantage of a cripple. He was straight as an arrow when he stood up and… and…”

Nick points to Bull’s husk.

“…And did that. You should have heard the shriek this guy let out. I’ll never forget it, like he was some kind of crazed animal. Everybody else ran out of here like the seat of their pants was on fire.”

“And the old man?”

“I hid behind the bar so he wouldn’t suck the life outta me, too. Strange though, when he left, I saw his reflection in the mirror hanging by the front door. I would swear his hair was darker, and that he looked a lot younger.”

***

Don Preston answers the front door to his apartment. A handsome man with jet black hair smiles at him.

“Domum ire volo!”

Don’s annoyance melts when he sees the man only has four fingers on his right hand.

“You lost? You wanna use our phone?”

***

Frosty steps over the corpses of the Preston family, going into their bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he smiles, pleased at the sight of the reflection of a dark-haired boy staring back at him.

***

Upset that the Preston family is holding another one of their loud parties, Catherine Christian calls the police. Officers Luca Esper and Temple Suarez are the first to arrive at the apartment building. Officer Suarez holds the door open for a dark-haired boy as he exits the building.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Suarez calls after the boy. “It’s close to midnight. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

The boy nods, smiling.

“Domum ire volo!”

“What?”

“Hey, Temple!” Esper calls out. “Get in here! You’re not gonna believe this!”

Officer Suarez watches the boy saunter off, feeling sorry that he only has four fingers on his right hand.

***

Karl and Patrice arrive at the scene in time to see Officer Suarez run outside and get sick in the bushes.

“Inside. Apartment 1-A,” Suarez gurgles. “I don’t know who or what did this, or how he did it, but it ain’t natural.”

A boy in a state of shock sits in a corner of the living room, shivering, his knees pressed against his chest.

The pair finds Officer Esper standing over the flattened forms of the Preston family.

“Whoever it was sucked the blood, bones, and guts right out of them,” Esper exclaims. “All that’s left of them is their skin. You folks with the E.B.I?”

They show Esper their credentials.

“You see this kinda stuff regularly?”

“You should see a flying blobfish. It spits manure,” Karl replies.

Karl and Patrice examine the remains.

“He killed the four adults but left the boy alive,” Patrice notes.

“Maybe there’s some good in him after all.”

“He’s drained enough energy from these people to return to his original form as a boy. Our helicopters are in Wilmington chasing a smoke monster. We’ll have to chase him down by car.”

“All we have to do is follow the shriveled corpses, Karl replies grimly. “Where do you think he’s headed?”

“When people get in trouble, where do they go?”

“Home.”

***

Karl slows the Crown Victoria to a crawl. “Looks like an accident ahead.”

Karl tries to bypass the police roadblock but is stopped by a rangy officer in sunglasses.

Officer Harlan Wolf peeks in the driver's side window. “You goin’ to a fire or somethin’, mister?”

Karl and Patrice show him their badges.

“We need to pass through,” Patrice says. “We’re in pursuit of a dangerous fugitive.”

“This dangerous fugitive wouldn’t happen to be a boy about ten years old with jet black hair, would he?”

“That sounds about right,” Karl replies.

“Sounds ridiculous that a kid could be public enemy number one,” Officer Wolf says.

“You know what we do, right?” Karl asks.

“Yeah, and I don’t envy you. Follow me. You’re gonna hear a doozy.”

Officer Wolf escorts Karl and Patrice to a man sitting on a guard rail. He’s pressing a damp towel against his pallid face.

“Mr. Temple, these folks are from the Extraordinary Bureau of Investigation,” Officer Wolf says. “They’re after the boy who assaulted you…”

Temple spits out a stream of tobacco juice, his voice etched with an Arkansas twang. “Wasn’t no kid who jumped me. It was some kinda animal, a psycho. I saw the kid walkin’ along the side of the road and felt sorry for him. I should’a let him keep on truckin’. I offered him a ride. When he got in the truck, he said…”

“Domum ire volo,” Patrice concludes.

“Yeah, that was it. It was Greek to me, so I just kept drivin’. I felt him starin’ at me in a way no little boy should, like he was tryin’ to hypnotize me. I looked over at him. I swear, the look he gimme made me feel weak. I almost blacked out. Next thing I know, he’s lungin’ for me. Mind you, we’re doin’ 65 down the straightaway. Strongest child I ever tussled with. I finally took my Big Gulp and threw it at him, ice, and all. He covered his eyes and shrieked like I’d hit him with holy water and he was a vampire. Jumped outta the truck while I was still doin’ 65. That sorta impact should’a killed him. But he bounced right up. I floored it. Left him in my rear-view mirror, yellin’, ‘Domum ire volo!’”

***

The Crown Victoria races up the deserted, winding back road.

Karl glances at the polar ray gun in Patrice’s grasp.

“Is that thing fully charged?”

“Yeah.”

Karl points to a boy walking by the side of the road ahead of them. “Good. Because I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

Frosty turns to face the pair of agents as they cautiously exit the vehicle.

Patrice points the ray gun at the Monolo. “Stand still, Frosty, this will only hurt for a second. You’re coming with us.”

“Domum ire volo!”

Patrice mocks the creature. “Domum ire volo… I want to go home… Is that all you ever have to say?”

The Monolo glares at Karl. A blinding light emanates from his eyes.

“Look away, Karl. Look away!”

Karl groans, his voice fading. “It's… It’s got me…”

Patrice glances at Karl, watching the color drain from his face.

Patrice steps into the stream of light, breaking the contact between Karl and the creature. A scalding pain runs through her body. She staggers away, freeing herself from the creature’s stare.

Karl spasms, his body dropping to the ground.

Patrice falls beside him. Looking up, she sees Frosty closing in on her.

She presses the trigger on the ray gun. The beam hits the ground in front of Frosty, turning the pavement to ice. The line of ice rebounds off the ground, clipping Frosty on his arm.

The last thing Patrice remembers before passing out is hearing Frosty shriek as he runs away.

***

The waitress places a third plate of steak in front of Karl.

“Is this some sort of bet, mister?”

“No, he’s just very, very hungry,” Patrice responds. “Scoot.”

The waitress takes a last bewildered look at Karl.

“You okay?” Karl asks. “I mean, you stepped into that soul sucking stare of his.”

“I wasn’t in contact with it long enough for it to affect me. Feeling more like yourself again?”

“Yeah. A few more bites and I should be ready to burn Frosty. He stole all the nutrients and hemoglobin from my body. I was seconds away from turning into beef jerky... You should have gone on without me.”

“Nonsense, Karl. We’re partners. We finish this assignment together. But the Orangeburg Preserve is over 100,000 acres. It could take us days to search through it. So, I sent for help.”

***

Karl and Patrice enter the Orangeburg Preserve, descending into a goldenrod-dotted valley.

Cerberus, the agency’s three-headed hunting dog, sniffs and chuffs at the ground, stopping. Each of Cerberus’s three heads can speak a half dozen languages, with English being the most prevalent.

Cerberus’s heads bark nervously in tandem.

“What’s the matter, boy?”

“First off, the smell of this creature turns my stomach,” Cerberus replies. “What’s it been eating?”

“People,” Patrice replies.

“I hope it doesn’t like dogs.”

A high-pitched scream cuts through the air.

“People who come here say the valley is haunted,” Cerberus says. “They hear disembodied voices and screams like that one.”

“Wild animals can make freaky sounds,” Karl replies. “You ever hear a sheep scream? It sounds like a woman being murdered.”

“This isn’t exactly sheep country,” Cerberus counters.

“It’s not like you to be afraid, Cerberus,” Karl notes.

“Not afraid, just cautious. One thing this job has taught me is to expect the unexpected. If this is where the Monolo lived, who knows what else inhabited this valley?”

Patrice points across the field. “No need to speculate.”

A boy stands in the center of the field. Raising his hands, he howls.

Cerberus’s three heads bark loudly at him.

“Well, don’t just stand there, you two. Get him!”

“Remember, Karl, don’t look into his eyes.”

The agents race toward Frosty. Karl tackles the boy, knocking him to the ground.

“Cuff him!” he shouts at Patrice. Rolling Frosty onto his stomach, he jams his knees into his back.

“I’ve got a better idea.”

Patrice jams the ray gun against the back of the boy’s head, pressing the trigger.

A frigid cloud rises, and the grass beneath him freezes over.

The pair back away, watching in disgust as Frosty’s body cracks into pieces. The pieces dissipate, seeping into the frozen ground beneath him, until all that’s left of him is his clothes.

“There. The Monolo is officially extinct. Now what?” Patrice asks.

“We move on to our next assignment.”

A series of mad howls fills the air.

Cerberus whines, saying, “This assignment is far from over.”

Patrice looks at the dozens of boys surrounding them.

Karl turns to Patrice. “I thought you said there was only one of them.”