Warning: This story contains death, mentions of eating a human being, and descriptions of body horror. If you do not wish to read about this, do not read further. Thank you!

I have never understood humans. I’ve lived with them me whole life, but I’ve never really sat down to think about what makes them behave in the queer ways they do. I guess now is a better time to think than ever, since I’ve been shot in the shoulder with a silver bullet, and I've nowt else to do afore I rot away in the woods.

Me name is Oscar Johnson. I never got a job because I chose a rugged life of individual survival. I live in the woods, sleep in the woods, hunt in the woods, and eat in the woods. I am, by birth, a monster, so that means when I eat, I eat people. Y’know, human beings. I didn’t really think about it until just now, and, to a degree, I regret never thinking about it. I would have acted differently if I did, and maybe still be alive.

Since I was young, I discovered that I loved the taste of fear. So, when I ate, I always scared the hell outta the poor fools, maybe tortured them a little afore I ate them. I don’t know how other monsters hunt, I don’t right care to know now neither, but this worked mighty fine for me for a good 40 or so odd years. I never really thought “what if that was me? What if I was the prey?” I’m a simple creature, so I think simple thoughts. I thought “blimey, this bloke tastes tremendous when I make him roar, I should do this more often.”

It's in my nature, I suppose. I do things based on what I learned, and no one ever really taught me to think about other people. No one ever taught me other people feel pain. No one ever even taught me what pain felt like until just recently. It's right frustrating. How was I supposed to know? Nobody told me; I was just thrown into Yorkshire with nowt but two eyes, a thirst for blood, and hands made for killing.

I almost want to be angry at the lady who got me shot. She was another monster, she had stolen a kill of mine a few days ago. A right fine piece of meat she was—a young lady, built thick and juicy. I was doing me normal routine with the young lass when the other monster came in and started jabbing me in me chest, and after a short kerfuffle she skewered me eyeballs on her claws. It was bloody painful, but I was able to escape with me life.

I was right upset, so I tracked her down and, today, tried to get revenge. She ran out into the street, I followed her, and, boom, I was shot in the shoulder. I can still feel the bullet nestled deep in me body. I can feel the sickness spreading to me chest. T'was a dirty trick, a right dirty trick, but it was effective. I said I want to be mad at her, but I can’t bring mesen to. I wouldn’t have done nowt different. She’s a clever lass; far smarter nor I’ll ever be. Even though she got me killed, I find mesen rooting for her in me final moments.

I feel me arm fall off of me shoulder and thump onto the ground. The infection is working its way up me neck. The air in me lungs gets heavy, and trying to push it out hurts more nor just holding it in, so I take me final breath and hold it tight. To think, I did this to people. I caused other people to feel this way—to feel hopeless and alone. I wonder what might've been different if only I knew.

I feel the once violent, erratic thumping of me heart abruptly slow to a crawl, then a stop. I become dizzy, and the forest around me fades into a brown and green blur. Me head falls back and I look to the sky, a blot of blue broken by fuzzy green. All I can think about is that monster. I hope she's okay. I hope she learns what I've learned afore she too tastes the sting of a silver bullet.

My name is Oscar Johnson. I think, for once, I understand humans, and, for once, I understand mesen as well. Farewell, Fifelthorpe. Tha's been far too sympathetic to me, and I thank thee graciously.