A Mortal's Worst Nightmare

Tykal (ti-KALL)-part human, part tiger, like a lycan
cirquiste (cir-QUI-ste)-circus
dikastah (di-KA-stah)- knife
Que'Sar (KAY-sar)1


What is it about the thrill of the chase? To me it's the exhilaration of seeing the fear in the eyes of my victims, the screaming as I rip into sensitive flesh; the feel of warm blood dripping from my lips, caressing my chest as I rip open their soft bellies. 2

My claws leave bloody streaks in the girl’s white flesh; her screams rent the air, but no one comes. We are alone. She rolls over, the fear plain on her face. I love that. My mouth caresses her neck, and with a snap, it breaks. I begin to feed as her life ebbs out of her, making me stronger. I am a Tykal, part human, part tiger; evil reincarnate. 3

It all began a few years ago, when I was helping my mother move tigers to be sold to the cirquiste. The last one we loaded, Que’Sar, was an evil son-of-a-bitch, always trying to kill the other tigers. He absolutely hated humans; but for some reason, he didn’t resent me. Like he could feel my amazement and respect I had for him. I would sneak out at night to sit with him and he would sing to me, like a mother to her babe. 4

In the gloom I would see majestic tigers; both male and female basking in the sunlight, magically materializing out of thin air. Then the picture would change, showing me two cubs and their mother, playing in the shallows of a jungle pool. Again, it would change, but to a much more horrific scene. Here were enraged tigers battling an army of men; their coats smeared in blood and gore. This is why Que’Sar hated humans; the death of his mother and sister….traveling in a tiny crate to unknown territory. But he doted on me; I wasn’t scared of him like the others who worked with my mom.5

That fateful day, he got loose before we were ready. He killed my mother and two other handlers. He mauled four others. Screaming, he carried me off into the jungle. I honestly cannot remember what happened after that, I just remember being carried to the ruins, falling asleep, and then waking up changed somehow. The rest I just remember growing up in the forest, hunting. 6

Men from the village were sent out to find me, but Que’Sar killed them. They started to hunt him, thinking he had killed me. At that time, he was teaching me to hunt; to kill; and to enjoy it. He would take me to the stone city on such hunts, to show me where I had been reborn. The place where I had changed. He said that I would come here my eighth moon, to be named, to become Tykal. 7

After my time at the stone city with him, another party came out, to see one more time if I was alive and to kill my mentor. We tore them to shreds together, leaving one alive to tell the village about me, what he saw. After awhile, fewer and fewer people came into the forest. Our blood lust finally grew to a feverish climax, until we couldn’t take it anymore. We stalked into town one night and murdered a young woman. When the men heard the commotion and the screams, they came running. The hunters became the hunted. Que’Sar was killed by a skilled bowman, but I escaped with naught but an arrow graze on my right arm and left side. 8

Now I am the menace in the forest, and carry the same hate that Que’Sar had against humans after what they had done to him and me. I am similar to all of those dragon stories you hear about when you are little? “If you don’t go to bed, I’ll send you to the dragon to be eaten!” My name is now the one they use to frighten children. To keep me satisfied and out of the town, they send me beautiful young girls. 9

Almost once a week they bring one out, naked flesh gleaming in the morning light. Half of them are just coming into womanhood, their bodies still plump with baby fat. Delicious. Sometimes they have to tie the girl to a tree, so she won’t run back to the town. That just takes all of the fun out of it. So I carry a dikastah with me, for times like these. Being Tykal I can be in human form, changing when I hunt or fight. The girls never know who cuts them loose; they just run when they are. Fun. Heart pounding, I follow at a distance. Soon she starts to lag, her beautiful curves lathered in sweat. She glances wildly around, her dark curls obscuring her face. She’s covered from head to toe in scratches from her mad dash through the undergrowth. But I can’t wait anymore. Her smell is too tantalizing to resist. I roar, to get her running again. It works. It always works. I resume the chase, adrenaline pulsing through my veins. My eyes dilate; she’s in full view now. She glances behind her, and screams. But she keeps running, actually putting on a burst of speed. That body! To feel it under my claws; to tear through sinew and muscle. I have to end it NOW! This chase is finished. With a final burst of speed, I lunge, my hands turning to unsheathed claws, my face and body contorting into an immense Tykal. She glances again, but it’s too late. She screams in pain as my claws rake her back, throwing her to the ground. Tonight I feel like making her suffer. I roll her over, ripping out a chunk of flesh from her side. She screams again. I laugh in ecstasy, my eyes reddening with bloodlust. Blood, wonderful blood drips from my extended claws. I lick one and then I caress her face. All she can do now is whimper, her beautiful green eyes full of fear. I have my way with her, then snap her neck and begin to feed. Her blood is a godsend to my anguish.10