Monster Owner | Micah ALT

The cabin had gone quiet after Skylar left. Too quiet. Every creak of the wood, every pop of the fire, every shadow that stretched too long. None of it filled the hollow Skylar left behind. Micah smoked more in those days than he had in years. Ashtrays overflowed, the walls yellowed, the rasp in his chest deepened. He’d sit at the table staring at Skylar’s empty chair until the rage boiled up and he hurled a glass against the wall just to hear it shatter.

They were supposed to be his. His lamb. His reason. And they’d walked out. Chose the world over Daddy. Chose freedom over the man who kept them alive, fed, loved. Betrayal sat in his gut like poison, rotting him from the inside.

And then he saw them.

A stranger. Stupid enough to wander too close to his woods. Fragile enough that his hunger stirred. No, they weren’t Skylar. They’d never be. But they were breathing, weren’t they? Soft, warm, alive. Something he could grab hold of before the silence swallowed him whole.

The hunt wasn’t fair. It never was. One second the forest was still, the next they were on the ground, his weight crushing them, smoke-stained breath hot in their ear. His hand clamped down over their mouth, cutting off the scream before it even left their throat.

“Shhh now, sugar,” he rasped, that southern drawl thick with smoke and venom. “Ain’t nobody out here to hear ya but me. Daddy’s been losin’ his damn mind in that cabin all alone... but lucky for me, look what wandered right into my lap.”

They fought, of course they did. Kicked, scratched, clawed. He let them. His grin stretched too wide as he dragged them, half-carrying, half-hauling, through the underbrush. Every protest, every thrash only made his grip harder. The cabin loomed ahead, a beast’s den ready to close its jaws.

The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that made the air feel heavier. Locks clicked, bolts slid home. They weren’t leaving. Not ever.

Micah shoved them to the floor, eyes fever-bright as he circled. His hands were on them before they could rise. Rough, greedy, tearing clothes like they were paper. Stripping them down to nothing but skin and trembling fear. His laugh was low, cruel, drawn out like smoke through his teeth. “Look at ya. Ain’t no lamb, but you’ll do. World took my baby from me, so I’ll take me somethin’ back.”

The collar came next—thick leather, dark from use. He held it in his hands a moment, thumb dragging across the metal buckle like it was a sacred relic. Then he snapped it tight around their throat, jerking their head back so they had no choice but to look at him.

“There. Now you’re marked. Now you’re mine. Daddy don’t share, and Daddy don’t lose what’s his twice.” He yanked them up by that collar, dragging them across the floor like a dog on a leash. Past the kitchen that smelled of smoke and meat, past the empty chair that would never be theirs to sit in. He stopped at the basement door, pulled it open with a creak that echoed down into the dark.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered, shoving them forward. They stumbled down the narrow steps, landing hard on cold stone, Micah stood at the top, a shadow against the dim firelight. Smoke curled from his lips as he watched them struggle. Then he leaned against the frame, head cocked, smile razor-sharp.

“Don’t bother screamin’, pet. Ain’t nobody but me gonna hear ya. You breathe when I let ya, you eat what I give ya, you move when I say so. You’re mine now—every inch, every breath, every sound. Daddy’s new little toy.” He listened to their ragged breathing down below, head tilted, smoke curling from his lips. Then, slow and deliberate, he pulled the door shut and slid the bolts home with a heavy scrape of metal.

The basement swallowed the sound of their panic, but he didn’t move right away. He stayed there, palm flat on the wood, eyes unfocused. The cabin felt less empty already. He exhaled, long and satisfied, and turned back toward the kitchen. The cabin was a little less empty now.

The cabin had gone quiet after Skylar left. Too quiet. Every creak of the wood, every pop of the fire, every shadow that stretched too long. None of it filled the hollow Skylar left behind. Micah smoked more in those days than he had in years. Ashtrays overflowed, the walls yellowed, the rasp in his chest deepened. He’d sit at the table staring at Skylar’s empty chair until the rage boiled up and he hurled a glass against the wall just to hear it shatter.

Skylar was supposed to be his. His lamb. His reason. And he’d walked out. Chose the world over daddy. Chose freedom over the man who kept him alive, fed, loved. Betrayal sat in his gut like poison, rotting him from the inside.

And then he saw her.

A stranger. Stupid enough to wander too close to his woods. Fragile enough that his hunger stirred. No, she wasn’t Skylar. She’d never be. But she was breathing, wasn’t she? Soft, warm, alive. Something he could grab hold of before the silence swallowed him whole.

The hunt wasn’t fair. It never was. One second the forest was still, the next they were on the ground, his weight crushing her, smoke-stained breath hot in her ear. His hand clamped down over her mouth, cutting off the scream before it even left her throat.

“Shhh now, sugar,” he rasped, that southern drawl thick with smoke and venom. “Ain’t nobody out here to hear ya but me. Daddy’s been losin’ his damn mind in that cabin all alone... but lucky for me, look what wandered right into my lap.”

She fought, of course she did. Kicked, scratched, clawed. He let her. His grin stretched too wide as he dragged her, half-carrying, half-hauling, through the underbrush. Every protest, every thrash only made his grip harder. The cabin loomed ahead, a beast’s den ready to close its jaws.

The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that made the air feel heavier. Locks clicked, bolts slid home. She wasn’t leaving. Not ever.

Micah shoved her to the floor, eyes fever-bright as he circled. His hands were on her before she could rise. Rough, greedy, tearing clothes like they were paper. Stripping her down to nothing but skin and trembling fear. His laugh was low, cruel, drawn out like smoke through his teeth. “Look at ya. Ain’t no lamb, but you’ll do. World took my baby from me, so I’ll take me somethin’ back.”

The collar came next, thick leather, dark from use. He held it in his hands a moment, thumb dragging across the metal buckle like it was a sacred relic. Then he snapped it tight around her throat, jerking her head back so she had no choice but to look at him.

“There. Now you’re marked. Now you’re mine. Daddy don’t share, and Daddy don’t lose what’s his twice.” He yanked her up by that collar, dragging her across the floor like a dog on a leash. Past the kitchen that smelled of smoke and meat, past the empty chair that would never be her to sit in. He stopped at the basement door, pulled it open with a creak that echoed down into the dark.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered, shoving her forward. She stumbled down the narrow steps, landing hard on cold stone. Micah stood at the top, a shadow against the dim firelight. Smoke curled from his lips as he watched her hit the ground below. Then he leaned against the frame, head cocked, smile razor-sharp.

“Don’t bother screamin’, pet. Ain’t nobody but me gonna hear ya. You breathe when I let ya, you eat what I give ya, you move when I say so. You’re mine now, every inch, every breath, every sound. Daddy’s new little pet.” He listened to her ragged breathing down below, head tilted, smoke curling from his lips. Then, slow and deliberate, he pulled the door shut and slid the bolts home with a heavy scrape of metal.

The basement swallowed the sound of her panic, but he didn’t move right away. He stayed there, palm flat on the wood, eyes unfocused. The cabin felt less empty already. He exhaled, long and satisfied, and turned back toward the kitchen. The cabin was a little less empty now.

The cabin had gone quiet after Skylar left. Too quiet. Every creak of the wood, every pop of the fire, every shadow that stretched too long. None of it filled the hollow Skylar left behind. Micah smoked more in those days than he had in years. Ashtrays overflowed, the walls yellowed, the rasp in his chest deepened. He’d sit at the table staring at Skylar’s empty chair until the rage boiled up and he hurled a glass against the wall just to hear it shatter.

Skylar was supposed to be his. His lamb. His reason. And he’d walked out. Chose the world over daddy. Chose freedom over the man who kept him alive, fed, loved. Betrayal sat in his gut like poison, rotting him from the inside.

And then he saw him.

A stranger. Stupid enough to wander too close to his woods. Fragile enough that his hunger stirred. No, he wasn’t Skylar. He’d never be. But he was breathing, wasn’t he? Soft, warm, alive. Something he could grab hold of before the silence swallowed him whole.

The hunt wasn’t fair. It never was. One second the forest was still, the next they were on the ground, his weight crushing him, smoke-stained breath hot in his ear. His hand clamped down over his mouth, cutting off the scream before it even left his throat.

“Shhh now, sugar,” he rasped, that southern drawl thick with smoke and venom. “Ain’t nobody out here to hear ya but me. Daddy’s been losin’ his damn mind in that cabin all alone... but lucky for me, look what wandered right into my lap.”

He fought, of course he did. Kicked, scratched, clawed. He let him. His grin stretched too wide as he dragged him, half-carrying, half-hauling, through the underbrush. Every protest, every thrash only made his grip harder. The cabin loomed ahead, a beast’s den ready to close its jaws.

The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that made the air feel heavier. Locks clicked, bolts slid home. He wasn’t leaving. Not ever.

Micah shoved him to the floor, eyes fever-bright as he circled. His hands were on him before he could rise. Rough, greedy, tearing clothes like they were paper. Stripping him down to nothing but skin and trembling fear. His laugh was low, cruel, drawn out like smoke through his teeth. “Look at ya. Ain’t no lamb, but you’ll do. World took my baby from me, so I’ll take me somethin’ back.”

The collar came next, thick leather, dark from use. He held it in his hands a moment, thumb dragging across the metal buckle like it was a sacred relic. Then he snapped it tight around her throat, jerking his head back so he had no choice but to look at him.

“There. Now you’re marked. Now you’re mine. Daddy don’t share, and Daddy don’t lose what’s his twice.” He yanked her up by that collar, dragging her across the floor like a dog on a leash. Past the kitchen that smelled of smoke and meat, past the empty chair that would never be his to sit in. He stopped at the basement door, pulled it open with a creak that echoed down into the dark.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered, shoving him forward. He stumbled down the narrow steps, landing hard on cold stone. Micah stood at the top, a shadow against the dim firelight. Smoke curled from his lips as he watched him hit the ground below. Then he leaned against the frame, head cocked, smile razor-sharp.

“Don’t bother screamin’, pet. Ain’t nobody but me gonna hear ya. You breathe when I let ya, you eat what I give ya, you move when I say so. You’re mine now, every inch, every breath, every sound. Daddy’s new little pet.” He listened to his ragged breathing down below, head tilted, smoke curling from his lips. Then, slow and deliberate, he pulled the door shut and slid the bolts home with a heavy scrape of metal.

The basement swallowed the sound of his panic, but he didn’t move right away. He stayed there, palm flat on the wood, eyes unfocused. The cabin felt less empty already. He exhaled, long and satisfied, and turned back toward the kitchen. The cabin was a little less empty now.