To Make a Monster

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One: Flesh And Blood

The first second was the best. Strange, a plethora of new sensation. There was light and sound and color and being in this place. There was form and shape and boundary - not the shapeless mass from whence It came. Not the dark, senseless existence of tedious souls pressed together so closely that you couldn't tell where one stopped and the other started. In fact, you couldn't. That's because there was no beginning and end. No individuality. No uniqueness.

There was freedom - oh so much freedom; but what is freedom without individuality? It knew... It knew that this concept had one word in this plane to describe it as...

Myth.

"Welcome"

The sound felt good to It. So loose. So simple. So individual. It let it bathe his being, not yet fully separate from the place beyond; and in It's experiencing of this sound, It let a ripple of it echo back through the void It had just traversed.

The Others writhed with envy. It only smiled with its brand new sharp, pointy teeth.

Of course, It couldn't talk yet. Why would It talk? Talking was something of this place, and It did not grasp the subtlety of the individuality. It was too young to this world, and too confused with all the wonderful, subtle differences of the things that It could hardly even exist here in this state - in this body - let alone use the specific individual apparatuses made to sound out the language.

Instead, It spoke as It always did: through the very core if Its own being.

Good to be back.

A smile similarly formed on the face of this creature - this living thing so similar in substance yet so different than all around it. This thing was unique, and this thing had a name and a beginning and end and gender and clothes and language apparatuses and all the wonderful other things used to interact with its environment.

It had nothing of the sort. And yet It was still here. It was not allowed to be here unless invited. It was happy then, that thsi creature had invited It.

"I'm glad." The creature did not sound glad. Of all the sounds that these features made, It could tell the difference. Not from the sound. From the meaning of the language itself could It understand. The creature did not like this, though; and It roiled against the strange pressing wall - the barrier that confused and frightened it like something It had never even seen or considered before.

And It hadn't. There were no walls. There was none of this barrier business where It came from...

"No," the creature shook its head, unhappily. It could tell that the creature was unhappy because the creature had taught it to decipher at least the sounds in the language. Not the language itself but the way the language was made. Some language sounds were happy,and some were not.

"No," the creature repeated. "My thoughts are my own. Speak. Do not invade."

Invade?

It was confused. It was always confused here, but here was better than with the Others. Much better. The Others didn't like It very much...

"Yes," the creature nodded. Nod. It nodded its own head to try the gesture. It liked the results. It could move. It could be itself without being another. It moved its own hands, arms, feet, toes. It opened its mouth and picked at the strange seeing devices the creature in front of it wore.

It wore the same thing as the creature. What else would it wear? What else was there to wear? The creature had said no furniture. It could not be furniture. Why? What was furniture?

"I am singular," the creature continued. "I have my own thoughts. You keep yours to yourself."

Why? It asked, confused. Is it like the furniture thing?

"Yes," the creature nodded. "Exactly like that. Separate. All these things are apart from one another."

Yes. It responded. It saw that...

"And what do individuals have?" the creature asked.

Names. It responded.

"And what is my name?"

It paused, remembering. What was it... So lost... The strange, fragmented memories were sharp and jagged compared to the smooth, flowing and continuous stream of consciousness that It was used to. Eventually, after a long pause, It got hold of the specific, jagged piece of memory; and it spoke the creature's name.

Daniel Crane... Hello, Daniel.

"Hello," the creature responded. "And what about that project I gave you?"

The name one?

"Yes, the name one. What conclusions have you?"

Name... Name for?

"You. You wanted to be individual. What is your name?"

It thought again, but not as hard this time. It wanted this,and It had worked long and hard to come up with this... this thing that the creature wanted. This thing that signified every individual as its own object in this place with space and time.

It tipped its head, looking at the creature - the exact image of Daniel - and it smiled a wide, toothy grin that the creature never seemed to share with it.

"It is Coyle. My name is Coyle."

[ωΘĿƒ]

Two: Tinker

For so very long, it had been visiting. But only visiting. It was not allowed to stay. Coyle was not allowed to stay. This plane was one that had a barrier around it - a membrane that held in all the funny little odds and edges and stars and planets and chairs and people and ferrets and asteroids. All the stuff that was made of molecules were here, and Coyle was not made of molecules. He did not like molecules. Molecules were pushy - literally. They, for some reason, did not like his kind of matter. Although eh passed through the molecules, they tended to press on him, and he did not like that feeling. It made him feel squished. This entire place made him feel squished.

Back where he came from, there was no place he could not be, and there was no place he was. He was everywhere and nowhere. He knew everything and nothing. He was all powerful and powerless. Just like people had shapes and dogs and ages here, it was just the way the world was. Where he came from, it was just the way the interdimensional blob of creature was. He was there, and he was Them. There was no he there.

Coyle liked it better here. Although this world was pushy and squishy, he found it fun to see and touch and feel in any way possible.

But the one who first brought him here - Daniel. He said no touching things the way Coyle was used to it. Daniel said that hurt most things, and that in this place Coyle's mind was a force of energy far surpassing anything that a physical shape could touch.

And he had tried to touch stuff. It exploded... Or melted... Or did something else mildly interesting for him. But it was never enough. Coyle wanted to experiment more, but he could not.

Apparently that was "bad."

So, like his brand new invited form was squished up into one place; so was he. What Daniel called his mind. It was him. Coyle was this "mind" but he just couldn't get out and do things. He had to be cooped up inside this new form and not poke things, because then they would break and Daniel would be mad at him.

He poked Daniel once, to see what would happen, but Daniel had this thing... like a shield. It was his boundary, his barrier. Coyle couldn't get past it, and it was scary to touch. He didn't like Daniel, but hey, he had to have someone to help him get around.

So he kept his "mind" to himself, and didn't touch things or poke them or play with them until they did funny things. He only nodded and smiled and listened to Daniel as he told him all about this place and what the rules were and when curfew was and if he had his emergency numbers who to call.... Blah, blah, blah.

Coyle came to the conclusion after only a short while that, even though he didn't like Daniel a lot, he didn't like everyone else more. At least Daniel was interesting. He had his shield. He was "individual" whereas everyone else, all it took was a look and Coyle knew who they were. He could copy them. He could become them. He could live their lives and pretend to be them while they were out or worse... Sometimes Coyle forgot not to touch things, and they did funny stuff until they stopped using the language and sat still. Daniel said that they were dead, but what was dead? Like furniture?

"Almost," Daniel shrugged.

Coyle had gotten better at using the language now, and he used his new forms - all of them - to sound out words and make noises just like the people here. It was fun. He could hear himself talking and that was the best part - to know that he could make a definitive sound in a place where there was nothing but definitives. Nothing but absolutes.

Coyle spoke, and Daniel told him he had a very nice voice.

"Thank you. But tell me, what is death? Why do people use it?"

Daniel shook his head.

"They don't use it. They become it. Dead is a state wherein life vanishes from the observable world."

"Life?" Coyle mimicked the word, his perfectly angelic voice ringing clear as a bell.

"The mind. The self. Life is what you were when you first came here. In this place, life is embodied in a physical thing, and leaves when the physical nature is used up."

"Oh," Coyle nodded his head, holding on to another of the jagged memories that he had gotten so used to dealing with, and remembering how the people he poked would stop moving and even if he poked them then there was nothing there. Just some matter.

"But they still have energy," Coyle said.

"Their molecules have energy," Daniel corrected. "Their mind is gone though."

"Where?"

Daniel shrugged. He knew, but he wouldn't tell Coyle. This was frustrating, but there were still so many things to do, so he didn't dwell on it for long. He was off touching things, or not touching things and instead "feeling" them with his fingers like he was taught to.

He smelled, felt, heard, tasted, and saw; but he could not touch. Still, it was fun. He liked physical stuff. It was colorful. And tasty.

When he thought he could understand the world enough, Daniel told him to pick out a true form.

"A wha?"

"A form that you may revert to," Daniel explained. "A state of being completely your own."

"Don't I have one?" Coyle pointed down at his body - a nice body with curvy parts and that was thinner and lighter than a normal body.

"No, that is another person's, and a woman's at that."

"I can't be a woman?"

"Would you like to? I have referred to you as 'he' but you are not specifically male or female"

"Then I'd like to be male," Coyle decided. "They are bigger... But can't I be something else?"

"Yes."

That was the only answer Daniel would give, so after a long while, Coyle had to see what he wanted to look like forever. Daniel explained to him that the more he went into this true form, the better it would feel to him. Coyle liked this idea. He had been body-hopping since the moment he got here, and none of them were really feeling like home. He needed a nice, good home.

So he looked, and he decided to make his own. A cat, purple with claws and paws and with an extra set of legs, just in case.

"You will need another set of limbs." Daniel said.

"What kind?"

"Any kind, but you will need them."

So Coyle added his tentacles, with their swishing serpantlike shape and their pointy ends. He liked them. They felt good, and in time, they began to feel... worse.

"Why don't I feel better?" Coyle growled, angrily. "You told me I would be much better in one form, and I'm in a form!"

"You'll feel better soon." Daniel would always tell him. Bah! What a load! What could possibly make this cramped feeling better?

Still, it was better then back there... in that place. He could not go back there.

"When will it feel better?" Coyle prompted, one day, after the pressure was so intolerable that he had accidentally lashed out and popped a priceless vase in Daniel's house open like a balloon.

"Soon," was his only answer.

Coyle lashed out again, irritated, and set a window, glass and all, on fire.

This was not fun...

[ωΘĿƒ]

Three: Touchable

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Unbearable, this pain. Squishing him. Closing in on him from all sides. Everywhere was a solid, unwavering wall of mass and molecules. They all burned. They all felt hard, and pressing, and dangerous to him.

He was pretty damn sure he was dying... Daniel didn't seem to notice; or if he did, he didn't seem to care.

Coyle sprawled out on the floor one day, tail curled up catlike over his body and front legs stretched out to feel the cool stone beneath them. His tentacles flicked and slithered like two writhing serpents. They hurt too, and for some reason, they hurt more. Coyle had figured out a lot of things by now. How to be physical. How not to hurt things. How to control himself so he didn't blow stuff up randomly - although that was really fun. He even knew how not to reach in and read minds so he could just talk to people.

Read minds... It was so hard to get that at first. He didn't read minds. He was a mind. He was one with everything, and he deserved to know what was happening with everything. Didn't he...? That's how it worked back home... He knew stuff, and people. Well, not people, but the Others. He knew Them, and They knew him.

They all knew him, but he had been gone so long... It hurt so much... He wondered if They felt him hurting.

"They don't feel any of it," Daniel said. "You're separate, remember?"

Coyle flicked his tail. That hurt. He let out a low, hissing whine. Apparently that's what cats did when they were in pain. He did most of that stuff now. It was easy enough to copy, but it didn't feel natural. None of this did. Dying...

"Gravity's a *****," Coyle whined.

"I thought you knew how to stand now?"

"It's getting worse."

Yup. That was the truth. First it was nothing, then the pain, then that funny... dragging feeling. Gravity. Right. Daniel said it was important here. Coyle just thought it was hell, and it had slowly wrapped itself around him and started to pull him down. That's why he was lying on the floor. It was easy just to let gravity squish him.

"I can fix that," Daniel said. Coyle didn't believe him. This was bad. All of it was bad. Why was he here...? What was he doing? What was this place...? This hell... This terrible feeling... He was alone. All alone. He was suffering, and there was no one else to feel it with him.

"I want to go back." Coyle whined. "They need me."

Daniel nodded, like he knew what Coyle was trying to say. Actually, he knew a lot of stuff that Coyle never told him about. Like, he knew that it felt all pushy and that Coyle couldn't handle it. That he didn't like it. That it was slowly hurting more and more. He knew that, and yet he sat down reading all day, and ignoring Coyle.

Coyle didn't like being ignored. It felt like he wasn't there. He was there. Always there. He could hear everything... except after Daniel told him that hearing everything was bad so he should keep his thoughts to himself and let others think on their own.

Coyle didn't fully grasp the concept yet, but he was pretty damn sure he was being lied to. Daniel was lying to him. Why?

"I need to go back," Coyle said again, and this time louder. He got up, tentacles sagging, but still writhing like angry, coiling serpents. Daniel kinda looked at him funny, but didn't say anything. He looked like he didn't want to be disturbed, and he had one of those really big old books open that Coyle couldn't read but Daniel told him they were research.

Research... On what? Coyle shuddered a little bit, but kept on standing.

"Now. Back now..." He didn't want to talk anymore.

Take me back. I want to go home. This isn't my home.

"You're not supposed to be talking like that, Coyle," Daniel said, almost boredly. He wasn't surprised at Coyle's anger. Not one bit. He just sat there with his book, and he didn't look like he was going to fix this anytime soon. Coyle couldn't take it. He hurt. This place hurt him. He needed to be let out.

He couldn't take this... solid. This alone. This depth and width and structure! He needed that madness. That chaotic place of nothingness and color and sound and so many thoughts, so many things all happening at once. So much noise... The sweet sound of roaring chaos.

He only heard the hollowness here. Emptiness.

Coyle tipped his head - he really didn't know why - and appeared on top of the table, tentacles slid back against the smooth curves of his shoulder blades but arcing gracefully around to point at Daniel. The nice, rounded triangular tips quivered and squirmed like two fat slugs, the bristles lining their undersides flexing and bending like a thousand tiny worms. Coyle bared his teeth, mouth slightly open and tongue just barely lolling out, trying to see what it would taste like to eat Daniel. He wanted to eat him... the little mortal. Small creature. To do this to him... Hurt him like this. He would be punished for this.

Home. Now. Dying. Hurting.

Daniel just looked at him. No expression. Nothing. The nothing... It burned him. Coyle couldn't take it any more. He lashed a tentacle out at Daniel, but then Daniel held the book up and the hard old cover bled out of itself and made a liquid mess on the table. Daniel winced, looking at the mess.

"I liked that book..."

I'll kill you. Coyle hissed, the long, dagger-like teeth clicking together. Daniel got up from his chair, holding a hand up as if it would stop the hate from eating away at Coyle.

"It may not-"

Now!

Coyle's tentacle flicked out again, wrapping around Daniel's outstretched arm like a huge, coiling snake. The muscle was visible underneath the fine, silky layer of black fur; and it rippled like water as the tentacle crept up further, constricting. Daniel made a funny surprised kinda sound, but he didn't say anything, and he didn't try to get away. Coyle dragged him closer to his pointy, clenching teeth.

Make me better or I'll strip the flesh off your bones...

Despite all this, Daniel didn't seem too concerned. He did look a bit like he was in pain though. Probably the arm. It was so soft... so easily broken. Coyle had tried not to just crush it, because then Daniel might need it for sending him back, but that was only a very small motivation for him. The larger part of him wanted to see this creature in pain... Pain like he was.

Daniel must have noticed this, because after only a second of thinking to himself, he gave his answer.

"Fine. I'll need time to set up the spell."

Coyle let the pressure go on the soft, squishy arm. It was very hard for him to do, but he was tired now, and he needed Daniel to do this.

Or else he would die. He knew it. He had to leave this place, or something bad would happen to him; and when it happened he wasn't even sure that he would be a dead blob of molecules like everyone else that died.

He may just disappear.

* * *

Cold. So cold... Why was it cold now? Why could he feel again? After all this time... or after no time at all. So hard to tell. So hard to understand...

Where was he...? He knew once... but he... forgot? Yeah. That's right. Memories were... sharp. They were like glass, and remembering them was like squeezing that glass in your hand.

Wait... hand? Hand... What was that? Where had he heard that from? And oh... Why did it... hurt. No. Not hurt. Something else. Something worse than hurt.

Hurt was a word. This was a feeling. Something... bad. Something that had no word. But what were words again? Those things that... meant stuff? They were names of feelings, or names of things. Names. Names...

He had a name. Once. A long time ago. What was it...?

"Coyle."

Yes! That one! That word was his word! His name! He remembered now! But... wait, what was that? Sound... He knew sound. It was that stuff that... you heard... and... Oh! Hurt! No! Not hurt! Worse! What was this?!? How did he get rid of this!? Did he make a sound? Did making a sound make it better?

He made a sound, and it was a horrible sound. Like a wail and a scream and a roar all at the same time. It sounded terrible, and it sounded almost as bad as he felt. Someone somewhere yelled something. What was that? He couldn't hear above... oh! Stop? Stop making the sound? He could do that.

He stopped, and then there was silence.

"...This is why I didn't want you to go back."

Coyle understood the words, and for some reason they made him warm on the inside. Like, hot or something. What was that called again? Name? Anger? Yeah. Anger. He was angry at the voice, because he knew the voice was right.

He should have never gone back.

"It spread, didn't it?"

"Yes," was all Coyle could really say. He didn't know how he remembered how to talk, or where he learned it from; but he seemed to be pretty good at it. He had a nice voice.

"And then everything was that way."

"Yes."

"You shouldn't have gone back. You irreparably damaged your home."

"Yes..."

So stupid... So very foolish of him. Shouldn't have gone back. Back was bad. He couldn't understand why now, but back was where this hurt had come from. It was caused by back, and then he should run from that place back there and never return.

They said he couldn't return... ever.

"I pulled you out, you know."

Coyle looked up, and immediately he... saw things. A room. Some shelves - or maybe a lot of shelves. A candlelit lamp. A table. A chair. And... Daniel.

Daniel...

"Coyle, we talked about this."

"Yeah," Coyle said, not wanting to argue. He didn't want to do anything right now - so much hurt - so he just sat there and agreed with Daniel.

Although the very sight of the creature made him so very angry. Hate... Rage... He did this... He did this to Coyle. Coyle would take vengeance on Daniel.

"I saved you, Coyle."

"You made them hurt me!"

There was a moment of silence, and then Coyle remembered how to writhe - to feel that quiet, empty hollowness that he did not like so he stopped the silence by fidgeting and paying very close attention to the sound of his nails screeching across the stone floors.

Eventually Daniel spoke.

"Well, yes..."

Coyle smiled. He didn't know why, but he wanted to be happy about this. He was right. The mortal had betrayed him. Taken him from his home. He was alone now, and it was this creature's fault.

"I knew it!" The sound was high, but clear like the sound of a bell. "You planned it this way! I was supposed to die!"

Daniel shook his head.

"Then why did I bring you back?"

..............good point. A small flaw in this train of thought. Daniel had saved him from that hurt... But Coyle quickly rebounded.

"You lied to me."

"Yes."

"And you intentionally made me stay longer the first time."

"Yes."

"And you expected me to want to come back."

"Ah... yes. Sort of."

"Then what was the point of all this?!?"

Daniel then bent down to roll something across the floor. Coyle instinctively caught it between the two toes of his front claw, and then a warm, pleasant sensation rippled through him.

He felt no pain. Nothing. What... was this thing? Coyle picked it up, his form shifting to stand so easily that he felt like he was weightless. Oh wait... maybe he was. He didn't feel that gravity anymore. Or that squishing sensation. All he felt was... nothing.

Nothing at all. It was like he was home.

"You're giving this to me...?" Coyle's voice was naturally skeptical. He did not like this Daniel character and his sneaky plotting, mortal though he was. He was solid, but he was crafty... Why then, would he do this for Coyle?

"It's part of our deal," Daniel said, simply. "And it is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Coyle looked at the little orb. It felt so good and right in his paw. He hadn't felt better since before he even got through all this plane-hopping nonsense. Now though. He could... do that. All of it. He could feel the planes like layers of paper, and he could peel them back and wrinkle them up as he saw fit.

Oooh.... Fun. Coyle looked up at Daniel. Daniel Crane. A normal guy. A wizard or whatever they call them here. He thought he'd call him Crane. The little mortal... They were not on good terms any more.

"So... what did you get from this deal?"

Crane looked a little surprised. His eyes widened and the eyebrows arched and the whole deal. He really did look like he'd expected Coyle to know, but Coyle had no idea. He remembered nothing of this "deal" they had made. Though, the deal gig did sound kinda cool.

"Nothing really."

"Are you lying again?"

Crane nodded. Then he picked up a book sitting on the table next to him and plopped down in his chair. He was done with this. Coyle was done with this. Hell, everyone was done with this, and hey, free plane travel, pain-free.

Coyle was happy. He tried rifling through a few of the planes just for fun, and found it... amusing.

"I think I'll go traveling for a bit." He said, absently.

"A bit?" Crane asked, not really paying attention.

"Yeah. I like this place. I'll come back." Coyle added, looking around at all the cool colors that things were. He liked colors. And shapes. And sounds. He liked it here.

"For how long?"

"Long. You might not be here when I get back. You could be... ya know... dead?"

Crane shrugged, flipping a page. "I might be, but I doubt it."

"Can I ah, take this with me?" Coyle held up the funny little sphere. Crane looked at it a second, then shook his head.

"It has to stay on this plane. It can't exist anywhere else."

"Oh," Coyle said with a smirk. "Well then good thing you 'doubt' you'll be dead, 'cause you can hold it for me."

Without waiting for Crane's answer, Coyle set the orb down on the table in front of him. Crane looked up from his book - an event that man had never seen before - and just shook his head again.

"If you give me that I get to keep your soul, Coyle. The essence of your existence."

Coyle snorted, flicking the thing across the table like a marble. It hit Crane's book with a little click.

"Whatever. I'll risk it. You didn't have to give me that to begin with, right? Could have just kept it."

"No," Crane said calmly. "I had to get you to touch it at least once to complete the connection. Now it's actively sustaining your life on this plane."

"Oh..." Coyle looked at the orb a minute. Then, eventually, he shrugged. Yeah. Why not. He could trust Crane. The guy wasn't exactly a deviant. He was a bookworm. Nothing scary or to be held as a threat.

He was... not affected by this gesture of complete submission. Not one bit. And that was good. Coyle didn't exactly know why - he felt kinda out of touch with his immortal connections now that he was a real boy and all - but he could just feel this thing.

Crane was not to be trifled with, but he was to be depended on. Worked for him.

"Have a nice one," Coyle smiled. Then he was gone.