Caged

“Tonight only! Come see The Creature of Telluride!”

At the edge of town, in a large field, a crowd had gathered to watch the man erect his tent. There was no barrier preventing them from watching up close. Still, they kept their distance, because where there was previously nothing now there was something, and they were afraid of losing it. Tom was afraid of losing it. 

The town wasn’t entirely without entertainment, but the variety was scant; there was Cole’s Theater, Scooby’s Malt Shoppe, and occasionally a basement party with pop and deviled eggs. But this man and his truck, this tent—this was a spectacle. It was the promise of something new, and this made it more than entertainment. It was an event. To Tom, it was freedom and—if only for a moment—a look into another world, one of magic and unpredictability. 

The war was over, the Nazi vanquished. The factory, once tasked with the manufacturing of munitions, now produced toasters, and the overall mundaneness of daily life in Beatrice had become oppressive. So, when that bright red truck drove down Main Street, honking, its driver yelling, “Tonight only! Come see The Creature of Telluride!”, every man, woman, and especially the children, watched. This was a big deal. Tom rode his bike faster than he’d ever ridden before, pumping the handlebars to the right, and then left, to gain momentum. When he’d arrived he wasn’t the first, but he wasn’t the last, and soon the field was full of kids, young and old, gazing down the field at the man.  

The forearms of the stranger, peeking out from cuffed flannel sleeves, reminded Tom of Popeye; large blue veins rolled beneath skin, like worms circling his bones. He wore his flat cap askew and pulled low, with one eye almost completely covered by the tilted brim. 

As he walked from his red truck to where he’d laid out his tools and tent, he did so with an air of forced purpose. Tom thought the man fit in well with the men and women of Beatrice: factory workers, bricklayers—hardworking folk squeezed of any dream of extended leisure. At seventeen, Tom was strong; he was captain of the wrestling team, just like his father had been, but he wasn’t yet made of the same stone as his father, his uncles, or this man with the tent. That stone came from toil and hard luck, two things Tom knew he was destined for. His father, a man of his time, had told him as much. “Life isn’t fair,” he’d said. Tom knew he was right, but that pill didn’t go down any easier for knowing. 

The man had laid out each tool and piece of equipment needed to do his job. He turned to face Tom and the rest of the kids watching at the edge of the field, and to Tom’s surprise, the stranger headed their way. 

He walked with a limp, at an angle like that of a man walking in a powerful wind. Diagonal, bracing against a phantom storm. 

“Which one among you has the brain and the brawn?” shouted the man. “There is always one. Don’t matter the town. There is free admission for one of you. Speak.” 

Several boys stepped forward, but Tom only watched. His father told him many times: there’s always a catch when someone offers things for free. 

The stranger walked down the line of boys, narrowing his eyes at them, sizing them up. He pointed at three of them and said, “You, you, and you. Back.” 

The boys stepped back, their white cheeks going red. 

Then, the stranger pointed at a young man named Carl. 

Carl was a linebacker for the Beatrice Coyotes, soon to be heading to Texas on a full ride due to his athletic prowess. Tom recalled seeing him effortlessly plow through a visiting team’s offensive line; they had to take the quarterback out on a stretcher. But, as strong as Carl was, he wasn’t known to be the brightest bulb. Many suspected his good grades were courtesy of a district wanting a sliver of prestige, having produced a star athlete. 

“So you’re my boy, then? You certainly look built for the job. Okay, let’s try out a simple riddle. It’s noon, and I’m wishing on a star. How can that be?” 

Carl looked at his feet, then raised his head, a grin on his face. “You’re on the other side of the planet?” 

“No. Get back,” said the man, and then moved down the line. 

Without thinking, Tom blurted out, “It’s the sun.” 

The man stopped and looked at Tom. He was silent for several moments.  

Tom started to feel awkward, but he knew he was right, so he shifted his stance to reflect his confidence.  

“Yes. The sun,” the man said, “You, come with me.”

Before Tom could ask any questions the man resumed his diagonal stride, this time facing toward his truck and tools. Tom followed, looking back at a despondent Carl with a shrug. 

The man said, “Name is Grady. I appreciate the help. I could do it myself, but I’ve found that the pace at which I’m able to has dramatically declined over the past five years. You play ball?” 

“Wrestling Team,” said Tom, craning his head to peek inside the back of the red truck. 

“You’ll take the fun out of it,” said the man through his teeth, closing the swinging doors. 

“The fun out of what, wrestling?”

“No. And here I thought you might be one of the brighter kids in this town. I’m talking about it. That filth in my truck. The Creature of Telluride.” 

Tom smiled. He liked the old man’s commitment to the trick, but did he really think a seventeen-year-old would buy it? 

“Alright, I won’t peek.”

The man handed him a mallet.

“Pound those in where I have them staked. Clear?” 

“Yessir.” 

As Tom hammered in the pikes, he looked over at the crowd of kids; they had grown restless, with some of them passing around a football, others forming circles and talking about the stuff kids talk about. 

“Grady?” 

“Yes?” 

“What’s it like?”

“What is what like?” 

“What’s it like to travel around the country? Bet you’ve seen a lot.”

“It’s all the same. This town—Beatrice is it? It’s nothing but the same.” 

Tom stopped hammering and looked at Grady, troubled. 

Grady, who must have felt the bubble of silence, looked over. He passed his hand over his face as if to wipe off the cynicism, and then added softly, “The town is the same, but the people are different. I’ve never met another wrestler who knew the sun was a star. Most of your kind are dumb as rocks.” 

Tom smiled and resumed hammering. 

“Itching to get out of dodge?” said Grady, looking up at the gray clouds moving slowly across the horizon. 

“I try not to think about it. Not too much, anyway.” 

“Why not scratch that itch?” 

“My mom says it’s the same as a mosquito bite, that scratching will only make it worse, but when I consider the world, how much of it I’ll never see…” Tom stopped hammering and looked back at the kids milling around at the far end of the field. "I feel trapped, y’know? The thought of it…it makes me want to…sorry I—”

“—can I give you a nickel’s worth of free advice, Tommy?” Grady pulled the thick rope connected to the center pole taut, and the tent billowed with life as it lifted into place. 

“I can’t promise I’ll take it, but I’ll listen.” Tom felt a surge of excitement as he looked at the towering tent. 

“The chains you wear are brittle.” As Grady spoke he rubbed his wrists. “If you want to leave, Tommy, then goddamnit…leave. You aren’t obligated to this town, to this life. This creature, waiting for me in that truck, those chains are real. You can’t tell me nobody ever leaves this place. I want to leave and I just got here.” 

“Some have gone, sure,” said Tom. “But to where, I don’t know. In this town, you either live your entire life here, or you just sort of…fall off the face of the earth. Nobody leaves and then comes back. Nobody talks about the ones who got away.” 

“I don’t suppose they would. They aren’t looking for hope. There’s no room in this cage for hope. No, the pain is dulled by routine. They believe this is their lot in life, but Tommy, this ain’t your lot. This here, it ain’t your cage.”

“But it is, though,” Tom said. “This is my cage. See, I don’t have the grades to get a free ride, and that’s what it would take to get out of here. Oh, I suppose I could enlist, but I’ve seen the men who come back from wars…I don’t think that’s freedom. So, here I am, destined to live hard and die cold, just like my father.”

A small thump came from within the truck. Grady didn’t look away from Tom, but his eyes narrowed momentarily at the distraction.  

“When did he pass?” Grady said. 

“He was born dead. Go talk to him and you’ll see what I mean. He’s as cold as a corpse.”

And then another thump, this one slightly louder. Grady looked toward the truck and continued speaking. 

“I see. And your ma?”

“It’s hard to warm the dead, you end up giving away all of your smiles and love until you’ve got nothing left to give but shrugs and offers of seconds at dinner.” 

Two loud thumps in succession. 

“Well, I hope you figure something out, son,” Grady said, laying his hand softly upon Tom’s shoulder. 

“You wouldn’t happen to need…”

But, before Tom could say any more, the man was up and wheeling the popcorn machine out of the truck. He barked at Tom to load the benches into the tent, and within minutes the show was ready to begin. 

The smell of popcorn made its way down to the end of the field, and as if being called by the Pied Piper, children started toward the red and white striped fabric beacon. As they got closer, their amble became a sprint. 

“Tonight only! Come see The Creature of Telluride! Your ticket includes the price of popcorn! Please, for the love of God, do not feed The Creature of Telluride popcorn—he’ll snatch a finger off your grubby little mitts!” The man made a quick motion to hide three of his fingers and barred his teeth. 

The children hesitated, then—seeing the sparkle in the man’s eyes—laughed and ran toward the popcorn machine. They plunged their hands into their hand-me-down blue jeans for loose change, smiling, carefree. 

“Get your popcorn, then make your way inside the tent and have a seat,” Grady said. “The show will be starting in ten minutes! Ten minutes until you see The Creature of Telluride!” 

Tommy sat up front. The glow of the flickering lantern made him feel like he was in another century. Another town. This was a hopeful, magical place. The tent flap opened and Grady appeared, pushing an oversized cage on a dolly. The cage was covered with a red velvet curtain. After carefully setting it down at the rear of the tent, he stood in front of it, facing the children. 

“Before I reveal to you this wicked thing, The Creature of Telluride, I’ll need your promise. Can you promise me something?” He leaned forward, and with the exaggerated motions of a showman, cupped his ear. The kids nodded, some mouthing the words yes but without any sound escaping from their lips. The crowd was mesmerized, giddy, fearful, and completely of the moment. 

“Good, good,” he continued. “You must swear to me you will not approach this cage during the show. It will speak, but only one of you will be able to ask it questions. The reason? Because I said so. I won’t have chaos in my tent.” The children sat tall and leaned to the side, trying to see around the man. 

“Five years ago,” the showman started. He was crouched low, at eye level with the children; he was their confidant. “While camping in the Rockies with my dog, Callie, I met The Creature of Telluride. Its face was buried in the neck of a deer. A fresh kill. It was cold out and steam rose from hot blood.” 

The crowd’s eyes widened. Tom couldn’t remember a time when a room full of so many people sat so still, and were so quiet. The closest comparison would have been church, but even in church the children squirmed and the women fanned themselves. 

Grady abruptly stood, startling the children, who nervously chuckled. “Callie ran at it before I could stop her. She might have saved my life that day, but it was at the cost of her own. Dogs are like that. Loyal, good.” Grady paused. A soft smile sat on his face as he thought about his dog and, for a moment, he seemed younger. Then, he snapped from his reverie, the age returning to his brow as he continued. “I would have killed that thing right then and there—in fact, I thought I had. I hit it with a branch I’d been using as a walking stick. It went limp. I took Callie’s body back to camp and buried her beneath a tree. Nobody would ever believe such a story, not without proof, so I went to retrieve the body of the creature I’d killed. But it was gone. I searched all day. Nothing. I drove down the mountain to town, and though I’d expected to be laughed at by the locals, eating their meatloaf and drinking their beer, they did not laugh at me. They did not tell me I’d had one too many. They said—and without a trace of doubt—‘It was The Creature of Telluride.’”  

“How did you catch it?” shouted Carl from the front row. 

Grady’s face drooped as he searched for the answer. 

“I didn’t. It found me. I went back to my camp, sat near the fire with my hunting rifle on my lap. I’d bought hamburger meat in town, placed it on the ground in front of me. I knew it would come, and when it finally did, I pointed my rifle at it. I was moments from squeezing the trigger, but then it spoke to me.”

And with that, Grady yanked the cover from the cage, revealing The Creature of Telluride. The kids clamored.  

It was like nothing Tom had ever seen before, but was it scary? No. It was pathetic. It huddled in the corner of the cage, its head turned so that only one bloodshot eye was exposed. It pulled itself close to the bars with thin arms, its ropey muscles tensed. On its back were two pinched wings, cracked and peeling like dried-out leather. 

There were bones on the ground in front of it, gnawed and yellowed, and a bowl of murky water. Tom wasn’t scared or excited; he felt pity. While the other children jeered, Tom sat quietly in dissent. 

He looked over to Grady who stood in the shadows at the rear of the tent. He was glaring at the creature, and it seemed to Tom that the man was seething. This creature killed his dog, but did it deserve a life sentence for defending itself? Did it deserve to be exploited? Tom felt his own anger bubbling within him. 

“I will decide who speaks with The Creature of Telluride!” shouted Grady as he stepped back into the light. His face and demeanor had returned to that of a showman. He glanced around the room, his eyes momentarily landing on Tom, then moving down the row of kids in the front row. “You, the strong boy who didn’t know the sun is a star. Are you prepared to be our speaker?”  

Carl was up and standing next to Grady before the showman was finished speaking. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Grady said. “Here are the rules. Only…what’s your name?” 

“Carl.” 

“Only our friend Carl here is allowed to speak with this abomination. Clear? So, then, Carl, what would you like to ask it?” 

Before Carl could speak, Grady had picked up a metal cup, and he rasped it against the bars. The sound made the kids jump, and it made The Creature of Telluride stand, its leathery wings expanding to fill the cage. Fully extended, Tom could see deep scars that lined the creature’s fur-covered chest and spindly legs. Its face and coat reminded Tom of a hyena, with a mixture of black stripes and spots on tan fur, its muzzle pudgy and black. It barred its teeth at Grady, and this brought the man some sick satisfaction, Tom could see it as plain as day, but the other kids didn’t look at Grady; their eyes were trained on the creature’s teeth. At its feet, drool pooled on the floor. 

“Well, Carl, ask away,” said Grady. 

Carl started to move toward the cage, but the showman’s hand shot out, keeping him in place. “Ask from here.” 

Carl sneered but complied. “Tell me my future.”

The creature sniffed the air but did not speak. 

“It’s not a fortune teller. Ask it a different question,” said Grady. 

The children laughed. Carl blushed. 

“Okay, okay. Demon—”

“There is no God here, boy, so there are no demons.” 

“Are you going to let me ask a question?” Carl said, glaring at the showman. “Creature, tell us your real name.” 

The creature’s wings relaxed. It moved to the front of the cage and wrapped its long, delicate fingers around the bars. “Many names,” the creature whispered.

“Have you ever killed a human?” 

“I am servant.” 

“But have you ever killed anyone? Answer the question or I’ll have the old man whip you,” Carl said, looking back at his friends, who were laughing along. 

Tom did not laugh. 

“Yes. For my life, I have killed,” the creature hissed. 

The night was wearing on. The creature began to pace, and the children, now out of popcorn, also were growing restless. 

“Creature, where are you from?”

“We live within the mountains.”

“Why don’t you break free of this cage and kill the old man?” Carl said, then nodded in Grady’s direction. 

Grady’s face looked heavy. It was the same heaviness Tom’s dad wore. The same face his mother wore. It was the face of Beatrice. 

“Show is over,” Grady said, abruptly. And he threw the curtain back over the cage. “Everyone, leave. Everyone but Carl. I have a prize for you.” 

Carl was thrilled. He’d never won anything unrelated in some way to his size.  

Kids filed out of the tent and headed to Scooby’s Malt Shoppe. Tom trailed behind, but stopped at the edge of the field. He thought about what he’d just experienced. It’s not right. Why wasn’t this thing free to hunt deer? To parade it around, make money off of its misery like this—it wasn’t right.

Tom looked at the tent glowing in the night. Popcorn littered the grass like snowflakes, and the smell of excitement lingered in the air. Before he knew it, he was walking back toward the tent. To what end, he was not sure. When he got to the front tent flap, it had been sealed, tied from inside. He circled around until he found another opening at back of the tent. He could hear Grady’s voice, low and raw. 

“I can’t do this. Not ever again. I’d rather die,” he was saying. “I can’t bear it.” 

Tom was confused. Do what? He opened the flap, and there within the cage—where the creature was pacing moments before—stood Grady. Tom looked at the man, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Beside the cage was The Creature of Telluride, its black mouth coated in a wet crimson that glistened in the lamplight. Pinned beneath him was Carl, his breathing slow, or was he already dead? 

Sensing Tom’s presence, the creature looked up from where it feasted on Tom’s classmate. 

Tom was paralyzed with fright. 

“Tom, run!” Grady shouted. 

As he ran, he could hear the creature’s wings beating above him, and before reaching the edge of the field, it landed on him, and the force was so great he’d thought it had broken his jaw. He felt its hands first; they twisted and pulled at his neck with the strength of five men. Then, its teeth, like razorblades dipped in hot oil, tearing at his arm.

 Had Tom ever prayed before this moment? No, not with intent, not with desperation and the desire for God to be a real thing, a being who cared about him. Now, he prayed hard. 

His life flashed before his eyes, but how much life fit into seventeen years? It was a blurb, a novella at best, and the ending might as well have been the beginning, because he was leaving this world screaming like a baby fresh from the womb. All of his ambitions—what ambition?—all of his hope—what hope? All gone. 

No! Not like this! He might die this night, but he would die a fighter. 

Tom tucked his knee under his chin to keep the weight over his hips, just like he’d been taught, just like Coach had drilled into him over and over. In two abrupt moves, the same moves he’d used at last week’s match, he was on his butt sliding forward on the grass, and then a move he’d always loved the name of, the hip heist, his body twisting in the air, leaving him standing face to face with the creature. Its mouth was covered in blood and bits of Tom’s own shoulder. 

Did Tom run? No. Did Tom cry out for help? No, he did not. He ran at The Creature of Telluride. He wrestled the beast into submission, cranking its neck until finally, with one final guttural howl, it lost consciousness. 

He stood over the sinewy demon hyena, heart pounding, shoulder throbbing. After a few moments, he grabbed the creature by the ankle and dragged its limp body to the tent. 

Grady’s eyes were closed in prayer when Tom dropped the creature at the foot of the cage. When the man opened his eyes he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for minutes. 

“Where is the key?” Tom asked. 

“In that satchel. But how did you…” 

Tom unlocked the cage door and Grady stepped out. Together they dragged the creature into the enclosure. Again, it looked pathetic, but this time it wasn’t an act. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth like a sedated dog, and its eyes, rolled and white, looked like jawbreakers, the color sucked from them. They locked the cage door and stared at its limp body. 

Tom left the tent without a word and walked to the edge of the field. He considered leaving, fetching the police, telling someone—anyone—but then what? A month of excitement as reporters descended upon the town, notepads at the ready? A month of gossip, or of being the local hero? Before he knew it, he was heading back toward the tent. 

“I thought you’d gone,” Grady said in a quiet voice as Tom came into the tent. “I’m a good man, you know? I didn’t want this. It forced me.” 

The soil beneath Tom’s feet had become mud. Carl’s blood. Jesus. His stomach churned as he looked at the mutilated body of his classmate. He’d seen a dead body before—his uncle had an open casket—but this was different. 

“How did it force you? How could you let it do…this?” Tom asked. 

“I pulled the trigger,” Grady said, looking at the unconscious creature. 

“What do you mean?”

“I pulled the trigger that night it had come to my camp. It was like I’d shot it with a potato gun. And this monster, it looked at me while it chewed its hamburger meat, and it smiled at me. I’m not proud, but I begged for my life. Until then, I didn’t know exactly how much I truly wanted to be alive. At first it wanted any flesh. So I hunted for it. Brought it deer, pheasant, rabbits…and in return, I got to live. Then, one night, while it slept, curled up by the campfire, I escaped. Drove down that mountain just about as fast as was possible without getting into a wreck. All the way to Pagosa Springs. I checked into a motel, and just when I’d finally managed to drift off to sleep, I felt something at my feet, and there at the foot of my bed was this creature, its teeth exposed, mouth opened just enough that I could see its small, purple tongue moving from side to side. I clawed my way up the bed, pulling the sheets around me—useless armor—and it snatched me by the ankle, pulled me toward it. It cut open my stomach—” Grady lifted his flannel shirt. A scar snaked across his belly up to his first rib. Tom winced. 

“And then, it spit into the wound. I didn’t understand at first…” 

The Creature of Telluride was on its feet now, its rubbery knuckles pink as its hands clinched around the bars. “Open, now!” it hissed. 

Grady scowled at it. “The next day, as it slept, I left the motel. But this time, I found myself right back at the very place I’d just left. Back in the same motel. Back in the same room.” His eyes stared past Tom as if a projector played a movie on the interior of the tent. “And before I knew it, I’d curled up on the bed beside this despicable creature, and when it woke up, I begged it to spit into my wound again. And over the weeks, it made new wounds,” he lifted his shirt. Across his back were hundreds of fingernail shaped scars, some healed and some newly scabbed, “and it spat into them. I craved it. Don’t look at me that way…” 

“How should I look at you?” asked Tom. 

“Not with pity. Look at me with contempt, it’s what I deserve.”

Tom looked into the creature’s eyes. They were much like his own, with gold flecked irises moving from side to side with reason and curiosity. 

He asked, “What are you, really?”

“Show you the world,” it said. 

“Give you the world,” it said. 

“Unlock the cage,” it said.  

When the sun came up over Beatrice, the red and white striped tent was gone. The only evidence of the event was popcorn and foot prints. The only evidence of the truck was two impressions in the grass leading from the field out to the street. 

The men and women of Beatrice went to their jobs and the children to school. Two young men had gone missing, but nobody was entirely shocked. Because people either lived their entire lives in Beatrice, or they fell off the face of the earth. Nobody talked much about it. 

---

I wrote Caged for a Globe Soup contest. I was named as a finalist (out of 1800+ submissions!), which is pretty darn cool, right? Check out the winning entry if you get a chance! The reason I enter these contests is because they push me outside of my comfort zone, and that’s the place where I like to live (creatively).

For this story, I hired the wonderful editor

S.E. Reid

. She helped me spot a couple of holes in my original draft. She also had great suggestions on how to make things easier for my readers. I’d highly recommend working with S.E Reid or another editor if you get the chance. You’ll walk away with more tools in your toolbox (as King would say).

Love ya - Seany.

Further Reading -

Apple Snake

The Fox and the Snipe