(raspy, labored breathing)
Mommy never had time for you; she called
you "her little monster." Daddy had all too much time, though you hated
the games he played, and he made you swear never to tell Mommy. If you
did, he said, he'd cut you up into little chunks and dump your bloody
bones in the river.
You had no friends - Daddy discouraged visitors. and the other kids were
uncomfortable around you anyway So you sat and festered alone in the
damp cellar. Not that you were lonely. You saw and heard things in the
dark that no human had a right to see and hear. The scuttlings in the
walls, the scrapings under the floor, the rattling against the window -
you knew what made them all.
Over all the other noises, you heard the distant wail of the river. The
river, which Daddy had deprived of its prey. The river, singing for
pieces of flesh and bloody bones. You had been a good boy. Mommy and
Daddy had been bad. Time for them to go to the river.
There were tools in the cellar - sharp saws, heavy hammers, pliers,
rope, an axe. You waited until you heard the screaming upstairs. Mommy
and Daddy had been drinking. Now they were fighting. They were being
bad. You took your tools and climbed the stairs and went to play with
Mommy and Daddy.
Afterward, you made a deal with the river. The river got Daddy, but you
got to keep Mommy. Now she had all the time in the world - she could
play with you forever.
The stench would eventually have alerted the authorities, but something
else found you first. It bit you, and changed your outside to look like
your inside. Now you really were Mommy's little monster But you still
had a debt to the river. Now you play your little games with other
people, and the river gurgles its contentment.
You have learned little save how to hide, stalk
kill - but you have become very good at these feats. Your education was
nearly nonexistent, but you are very cunning.
You have been terrified all your life, and
now you plan to inflict the same fate on others. You don't think like
other people or vampires do, and rarely speak. When you do talk, it is
often to the shrunken head of your mother, which you carry around at all
Chainsaw, hockey mask, icepick, straight razor,
axe, carpet cutter, knives of all shapes and sizes, Mommy's shrunken head
This info is ©1994 White Wolf. It is currently used
without their blessing or permission. I'm real sorry 'bout that...but I
mean 'em no harm. And if they say to remove it, I'd be happy to. I'm not
doing this for money, or glory, or anything except to further the reach
of their already incredible game system, and probably making 'em even
MORE money...but still...