The Monster and The Boy in Red | By Alison Lee Yeuh Chii
Illustration by Annette and Jodi.
Hide.
No matter what, don’t come out.
But most importantly, don’t make a sound.
The boy in red squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding painfully fast against his chest as his father’s warnings echoed in his head. The old cupboard he hid in was dark and cramped, each breath filling his nose with dust and the stale scent of mildew. He dared not move a muscle, even as the wooden floorboards creaked under the heavy, definitely non-human footsteps, drawing ever closer to his hiding place.
The creature had come earlier this year.
No one truly knew what it was. Some thought it was a demon from the mountains, others believed it to be a god’s mount banished from the realm of the celestials. All they knew was that it would appear, every spring without fail, when the new moon signaled the arrival of a new year, to wreak havoc throughout their village. The Nian Shou, as it was called, had a taste for men and cattle alike. It could hear the slightest breath from a mile away and it’s hunger was insatiable. Only the foolishly brave dared challenge the creature—warriors from distant lands and generals in the emperor’s army— all of whom usually ended up as little more than a pile of bones come morning.
The boy had never seen the monster before, having fled with his father and the rest of the villagers every year before the creature came. This year, however, they weren’t so lucky. His father had told him to hide before grabbing his bow and rushing out the door, running to help the other men in their village. That had been almost a full hour ago, and his father was now nowhere in sight.
There was another creak, louder and closer than ever before, bringing with it a suffocating stench of wet fur and coppery blood. The boy cracked open an eye, heart in his throat as he peered through the slit between the cupboard’s doors. And there, in the flickering light of the living room’s single candle, he saw the monster.
The creature was enormous, larger than even the biggest buffaloes that plowed their fields, with a lion’s head, a dog-like body and a ridge of emerald scales that ran from under its matted, blood-soaked mane down to it’s whip-thin tail. It’s hooked fangs looked more like tusks, jutting from its maws like a set of ivory knives and a single curved horn sprouted from the center of its forehead.
The boy watched, frozen in fear as the creature moved through the room, nosing about the bamboo furniture and nudging at his wooden toys left scattered across the floor.
Photo by Sandhiya.
Eventually, it reached the place where he was hiding and abruptly stopped directly in front of the cupboard.
Illustration by Andrea Perng Xin Yie.
The monster tilted its head, lips curling upwards in a vicious snarl as a low growl slipped past its fangs, vibrating through the boy’s very bones.
He dared not even breathe.
Instinct told him to shout, to scream for help, but fear and his father’s warnings kept his mouth glued shut. He was certain he would have been eaten there and then had the monster not been distracted by the sharp sound of a pot shattering outside. The creature lifted its head, and vanished in a flash of golden fur and green scales, slipping silently out the door as swift as a sparrow despite its size.
The boy exhaled slowly, relief flooding his veins, only for that relief to be snatched away when a shrill scream pierced the air.
The boy froze.
He knew that voice.
How could he not, when it belonged to his best friend who lived right across the street?
Before he knew what he was doing, the boy was already stumbling out of his hiding spot and rushing towards the door. The sight across the narrow street made his blood run cold. His best friend was stumbling out of his house, the Nian Shou roaring as it tore after him, claws tearing through the wood and stone walls as though they were made from mud.
His friend tripped, the monster lunged and time seemed to slow down.
The boy saw other people rushing down the street, screaming and practically stumbling over each other in their hurry to get away from the monster. He knew that he should be running in the opposite direction too and yet his feet moved forward on their own accord till he found himself standing directly in the creature’s path, arms thrown wide and red sleeves whipping in the wind. He didn’t know what he was thinking, throwing himself between the monster and his best friend, but to his utter surprise, the monster skidded to an almost comically abrupt halt. Its glowing crimson eyes met his gaze, but instead of tearing them both to shreds, the Nian Shou took a step back, snarling and bristling.
The boy would have stood there, rooted to the spot if it weren’t for his father’s shouts.
“Run, boy! Run!”
And so the boy ran, grabbing his friend by the hand and bolting in the direction of his father’s voice, their bare feet landing on the cobblestone streets in time with their racing hearts. He could hear the monster behind them, but he dared not look back. His father was rushing towards them, a few other village men at his heels, armed with weapons and blazing torches.
The boy had never seen such terror in the man’s eyes.
“Hurry!” His father yelled, and in his hurry to do so, the boy ran straight into a bamboo rack jutting out of the remains of a wrecked house, sending the whole thing crashing onto the street. He landed on his knees, shielding his ears instinctively as the pots and woks from the rack landed with a deafening crash on the ground.
He heard a snarl from the monster that sounded more like a yelp of surprise and spared the creature a glance. To his utter bewilderment, he saw the enormous creature stumbling back, shaking its head as if disoriented before turning its fiery gaze on him with a low growl.
The boy stared.
“Noise,” he realized, eyes widening as his friend dragged him to his feet, “It doesn’t like the noise!”
The other boy stared at him as if he had gone mad, “What?”
“Son!”
An arrow whizzed over their heads, bouncing harmlessly off the creature’s hide. The boy glanced up and there stood his father, already nocking another arrow and aiming it at the creature’s head.
“Pa! We need to make noise!”
“What are you on about, boy?” His father demanded, shoving the boy behind him, “Run!”
“No! Look!”
The boy grabbed a set of broken bamboo sticks from the wreckage and turned to face the monster. He banged the two sticks together and the loud cracks sent the creature snarling and bristling as it took another wary step back.
“See?” He shouted over the noise, and his father seemed to finally understand, immediately barking orders for the other men to follow his lead.
It was strange, seeing the terrifying creature being reduced to a startled cat at the deafening sounds of clashing pans and cracking bamboo. In a matter of minutes, they had the monster fleeing for the edge of the woods. The boy could have sworn it glared straight at him, sending a chill down his spine, before disappearing back into the mountains with a flash of its draconic tail.
The boy never saw the monster again.
Part of him would wonder if it were all just a strange nightmare when he told his grandchildren the tale of the Nian Shou decades later. The creature was little more than a myth now, a story adults told to scare their children, but every year when glowing red lanterns hung through the streets and when the sound of firecrackers and cymbals filled the night’s air, the old man would remember the monster and that little boy in red.
He dared not even breathe.
Instinct told him to shout, to scream for help, but fear and his father’s warnings kept his mouth glued shut. He was certain he would have been eaten there and then had the monster not been distracted by the sharp sound of a pot shattering outside. The creature lifted its head, and vanished in a flash of golden fur and green scales, slipping silently out the door as swift as a sparrow despite its size.
The boy exhaled slowly, relief flooding his veins, only for that relief to be snatched away when a shrill scream pierced the air.
The boy froze.
He knew that voice.
How could he not, when it belonged to his best friend who lived right across the street?
Before he knew what he was doing, the boy was already stumbling out of his hiding spot and rushing towards the door. The sight across the narrow street made his blood run cold. His best friend was stumbling out of his house, the Nian Shou roaring as it tore after him, claws tearing through the wood and stone walls as though they were made from mud.
His friend tripped, the monster lunged and time seemed to slow down.
The boy saw other people rushing down the street, screaming and practically stumbling over each other in their hurry to get away from the monster. He knew that he should be running in the opposite direction too and yet his feet moved forward on their own accord till he found himself standing directly in the creature’s path, arms thrown wide and red sleeves whipping in the wind. He didn’t know what he was thinking, throwing himself between the monster and his best friend, but to his utter surprise, the monster skidded to an almost comically abrupt halt. Its glowing crimson eyes met his gaze, but instead of tearing them both to shreds, the Nian Shou took a step back, snarling and bristling.
The boy would have stood there, rooted to the spot if it weren’t for his father’s shouts.
“Run, boy! Run!”
And so the boy ran, grabbing his friend by the hand and bolting in the direction of his father’s voice, their bare feet landing on the cobblestone streets in time with their racing hearts. He could hear the monster behind them, but he dared not look back. His father was rushing towards them, a few other village men at his heels, armed with weapons and blazing torches.
The boy had never seen such terror in the man’s eyes.
“Hurry!” His father yelled, and in his hurry to do so, the boy ran straight into a bamboo rack jutting out of the remains of a wrecked house, sending the whole thing crashing onto the street. He landed on his knees, shielding his ears instinctively as the pots and woks from the rack landed with a deafening crash on the ground.
He heard a snarl from the monster that sounded more like a yelp of surprise and spared the creature a glance. To his utter bewilderment, he saw the enormous creature stumbling back, shaking its head as if disoriented before turning its fiery gaze on him with a low growl.
The boy stared.
“Noise,” he realized, eyes widening as his friend dragged him to his feet, “It doesn’t like the noise!”
The other boy stared at him as if he had gone mad, “What?”
“Son!”
An arrow whizzed over their heads, bouncing harmlessly off the creature’s hide. The boy glanced up and there stood his father, already nocking another arrow and aiming it at the creature’s head.
“Pa! We need to make noise!”
“What are you on about, boy?” His father demanded, shoving the boy behind him, “Run!”
“No! Look!”
The boy grabbed a set of broken bamboo sticks from the wreckage and turned to face the monster. He banged the two sticks together and the loud cracks sent the creature snarling and bristling as it took another wary step back.
“See?” He shouted over the noise, and his father seemed to finally understand, immediately barking orders for the other men to follow his lead.
It was strange, seeing the terrifying creature being reduced to a startled cat at the deafening sounds of clashing pans and cracking bamboo. In a matter of minutes, they had the monster fleeing for the edge of the woods. The boy could have sworn it glared straight at him, sending a chill down his spine, before disappearing back into the mountains with a flash of its draconic tail.
The boy never saw the monster again.
Part of him would wonder if it were all just a strange nightmare when he told his grandchildren the tale of the Nian Shou decades later. The creature was little more than a myth now, a story adults told to scare their children, but every year when glowing red lanterns hung through the streets and when the sound of firecrackers and cymbals filled the night’s air, the old man would remember the monster and that little boy in red.
Photo by Andrea Perng Xin Yie.
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