1986

The years following the tragedy were not much easier for Oliver. Since he had no close family nearby, he was placed in a school for troubled children in a parish only 20 miles from his house in Maine. Oliver was miserable. Not because of school, the other children or his lack of a family. He was miserable because everytime someone asked him what happened to his parents, he had to tell them it was a bear.

If he showed any signs that the monster still haunted his mind, he would be tossed back into therapy immediately. Oliver learned this quickly, after the teachers and priests had taken notice of his frequent illustrating of the creature. The school placed him in personal therapy sessions with the goal to eliminate the monster from his psyche. 

Oliver’s constant drawing did not stem from some genuine artistic interest or talent. He was using his scribbles to slowly materialize a more vivid image of the beast that still slept in his head. He had already made great progress in translating his memory onto paper.

Oliver’s extreme determination led him to convince everyone that he had come to terms with the death of his parents. They thought he was perfectly sane, which he was. In fact, the monster is what kept him sane. It was the reason he woke up everyday; to meet it again, and bring an equally merciless amount of pain upon it. The nine year old boy was alone on a mission driven by pure hatred.

He would create most of his artwork in the school library, where most people would assume he is studying and never bother to look over his shoulder. He would occasionally browse the shelves when looking for references, such as illustrations of hairy predators like wolves and big cats. He was able to translate what he learned of animal anatomy, and apply it to the reverse engineered monster on his page.

One day in the library, Oliver came across a dusty old textbook titled Monstrous Art of the Medieval Age. The cover depicted illustrations of dragons and other beasts of folklore. He flipped through the pages and studied each faded work. The illustrations were alphabetically organized by the name of the monster they depicted. The Dragon. The Elf. The Fairy. The Gargoyle. The Hydra. When he reached the letter I, Oliver nearly dropped the book.

The Imp. A frail humanoid creature with pointed ears and huge yellow eyes. Oliver’s monster was staring back at him on the page. His heart felt like it was about to fly through his rib cage. An Imp! The image was in perfect consistency with the creature he had met regularly in his nightmares, and once in his reality.