Parson’s Paradise

“Never, ever stick your hands through the fence.” The tour guide’s demeanor grew suddenly serious, and Trinity suspected she did not want to hear whatever came next. She was right.

The guide casually adjusted his hat with a three-fingered right hand and said, “Ask me how I know.” It wasn’t the injury itself that turned Trinity’s gut, but the fact that it was displayed for dramatic effect.

Skin crawling under the touch of dark humor, she drifted from the edges of her school group before the other children could goad the man into telling his gruesome story. Snippets about blood, ambulances, and so on made it to Trinity’s ears as she began to wander down the broad aisle between tall chain-link fencing. She didn’t particularly mind the scent wafting toward her on the breeze, but a dusty animal pen will always smell like a dusty animal pen. No matter how clean it might be, it could never be described as pleasant. 

And these enclosures, Trinity thought, could not exactly be described as clean. It was hard enough for her to feel good about going to a regular zoo. Even the most friendly, well-designed animal habitat is still a cage. Eliminating freedom, and putting life on display for throngs of visitors who are largely indifferent to the creatures’ circumstances. A stage feels very different when staring out at the audience.

Still where else could Trinity see such incredible animals up close, if not the zoo?

This dirt plot surrounded by chain-link fence however, was definitely not a zoo, though it seemed to fit neatly into another category. Big billboards dotted the highways in every corner of the country, advertising: Exotic Animal Tours, The Gatorland Experience, or Sub-Saharan Safari Right Here in the South! The voice of Trinity’s grandfather echoed clearly in her head, “Come one, come all, to The Redneck Menagerie!”

When arriving at these places, visitors usually found a series of particularly pitiful enclosures, holding an array of exotic animal species in stages of health ranging from moderate to poor. The animals at Parson’s Paradise certainly fit that description.

Mangy, thin, and unkempt, predators and large colorful birds occupied cramped and dusty cages lining the walkway. Each with a few small attempts toward enrichment and entertainment laying untouched in a corner. 

At only eleven years old, Trinity was certainly no animal expert, but she could tell there was something not quite right about nearly every species she came across. Placards naming each enclosure did not seem to justify the strangeness of the animals inside.

She recalled a story about a “zebra” her grandfather saw at a street fair as a boy. It was clearly just a mule covered in black and white paint, but people lined up to take pictures with it anyway. Perhaps that’s what was happening here. It did not exactly look like paint, but dye? Tattoos, maybe?

Certainly no monkey she had ever seen had intricately figured facial fur that resembled a decorative mask. Or tufts of colored hair ringing its skull that, if Trinity didn’t know any better, looked as though they concealed small horns. She was sure, however, that the owl-like bird-of-prey covered in shockingly purple and orange feathers was not, in fact, a parrot; as the sign on its cage claimed. 

Trinity was deeply disturbed to think of the lengths the owners of Parson’s Paradise seemed willing to go in order to… What? To claim they had a species no one else did? To entertain their visitors with the fear and revulsion of a carnival sideshow? Somehow these explanations didn’t seem to make sense. She walked on, trying not to think about the details.

That is, until she reached the tiger.

Or at least, the signage said it was a tiger. Its coat was less orange, and more of a faded red with washed out gray stripes. The paws were much too narrow, and there was a long, dog-like snout where the ordinary stout muzzle should’ve been. None of this initially caught Trinity’s attention, however. 

She noticed it staring at her.

Definitely staring. With a look that stopped her in her tracks. Its look was not menacing. Or hungry. Or curious. Just a deeply observant, penetrating gaze that made Trinity feel as if her soul was being examined like the pages of a book written in a foreign language. 

The instant Trinity stepped toward its enclosure, the tiger followed suit. Matching her pace for pace until they were only a few feet apart. Nothing stood between them but the chain-link fence, which now felt flimsy and inadequate. Remembering the tour guide, Trinity tucked her hands into her pockets, and edged her way just a little closer.

“H..Hello,” she said to the tiger, its stare never leaving her eyes. “You… you know… you don’t look like any tiger I ever saw.”

The creature lowered its head slightly, giving her a condescending look.

“I guess you’re right,” Trinity said. “I haven’t seen many tigers.” 

She could not stop herself from talking to the animal, but she struggled with what to say. “I bet you get lonely in there.” The tiger answered with a knowing glance. “It doesn’t look like a very nice place to live.”

“Yes,” it said. “The dust is unbearable this time of year.”

Trinity shuffled backward in shock, nearly tripping over her shoes.

“Oh, relax!” said the creature, mildly exasperated. “And stop looking so surprised, or someone will notice.”

Trinity glanced back up the walkway. The rest of her field trip was within view now, but still some 50 yards distant. She regained her composure, and approached the fence.

“Tigers don’t talk,” she said.

“Well I talk,” said the tiger, its derision softening a little. “And you’re quite right. It does get lonely in here. I thought I might finally have found someone to talk to.” The tiger broke eye contact, head hanging slightly toward the ground. “It’s… been a long time.”

Trinity’s heart suddenly ached for the poor animal, and she crept even closer to the fence. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just got startled. I… I didn’t mean to offend you.” She looked around the barren enclosure and asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” sighed the tiger. “It feels like most of my life, but I have trouble telling the days apart now. A long time? Surely. It must be. But sometimes I think I can remember a life before…”

“What was it like?” asked Trinity.

“Glorious.”

An uncomfortable silence grew between the two of them, the tiger seeming lost in the reverie of vague remembrance. Trinity was about to speak, when a small gust of wind blew a swirl of barnyard-scented grit into her mouth. She doubled over for a moment, coughing and spluttering with one hand on the fence for support. As she recovered, Trinity noticed where her hand was, and immediately removed it. She was almost certain she caught the tiger looking at it too, but said nothing as she slipped both hands back into her pockets.

“The dust really is awful,” Trinity rasped before clearing her throat.

“Yes,” the tiger agreed. “There hasn’t been rain for ages. All the little plants have died, and powdery clouds circle everywhere I go. It does dreadful things to my coat.”

Now that the creature had said so, Trinity could see mangled, dry clumps of dust matted hair in pockets all over its body. Her eyes lingered on a particularly large patch on top of the tiger’s haunches.

“That one’s the worst by far,” it said. “I just can’t get back there, no matter what I do, and my scratching post has been broken for… well, for I don’t know how long.” The tiger gestured with its head toward a snapped wooden pole in the far corner. It watched Trinity carefully as she looked at the broken scratching post before saying, “I don’t suppose…” The creature hesitated. “Well, no, nevermind. I shouldn’t…”

“What? What is it?” said Trinity.

“Well… It’s just… Do you think you could help me?” Trinity waited. “It’s just that spot on my fur,” the animal said quickly. “I really can’t reach it, no matter how hard I try. But you… You with your tiny little fingers. You could get in there and break it all up. It just needs a quick scratch. It would give me so much relief.”

Trinity crept back slightly, hands sliding deeper into her pockets. “I… um… I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she said.

“And why not?” the tiger asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“Well,” Trinity started, “the tour guide told us not to. It was pretty much the only rule he gave us, actually. And it seemed…” She recalled the guide’s missing fingers. “It seemed important.”

“Ah,” scoffed the tiger. “I see.” There was a definite note of condescension in its voice, and it began to pace a little. “Did he tell you just how he lost those fingers?”

Trinity shook her head.

“He was antagonizing an innocent panther trying to protect its young. He acted like a fool and paid the price, as far as I’m concerned.” The tiger stopped its pacing and looked back at her. “Are you such a fool?”

Trinity said nothing.

“I didn’t think so,” said the tiger. “I have never attacked anyone in my time here. My memory may be blurry, but I would certainly remember that.” 

Seeing Trinity begin to soften, the creature took a step closer. “And besides,” it said, “what would be the point in trying to eat you?” 

Another step closer.

“There’s hardly any meat on those tiny bones of yours, which makes them ideal for scratching. Despite the grim conditions of my confinement, I am well fed here. All the meat I could desire and more is thrown over that fence every day.”

Its eyes were locked with hers, and Trinity found herself beginning to trust the animal against her better judgment.

“Only hungry predators are driven to that sort of uncivilized behavior.”

It was within inches of the fence now.

“And, answer me this: Why should I so violently turn on one who offers me such a favor?” The tiger’s penetrating stare seemed to block out the rest of the world. “It may seem a small thing to you, but to me this kindness would mean… everything.”

Almost involuntarily, Trinity felt her hands slip gently from her pockets. The creature slinked sideways, bringing its hindquarters toward the fence. Her mind and soul coursing with equal parts terror and sympathy, Trinity slipped her right hand through the chainlink. 

And nothing happened.

The fur on the tiger’s backside was indeed terribly matted. She worked the block of fur looser and looser, scratching back and forth and sending up a modest cloud of hazy brown dust. The animal reacted with obvious pleasure, stretching and convulsing like a common house cat. It even purred slightly.

With the bulk of the knots worked free, Trinity began to gently comb the hair with her fingers, and the tiger regained its composure as she slowly petted it.

It looked back at her with something approaching a grin on its faded red face. “You’ve done me a great favor this day,” it said.

Trinity smiled back.

Then, suddenly, and with a speed she could not comprehend, the creature lurched around and sank its teeth into her tiny hand.

Teeth pierced Trinity’s skin from forearm to fingertip, wrending muscle and severing tendons in an instant. She felt bones and cartilage crack and break, but found herself unable to scream. All the others in her group were still too far distant, they would never be able to see what was happening to her. 

Why didn’t she stay with the group? Why did she always have to wander off on her own?

Why was she still staring the beast in its eyes?

Why wasn’t she fighting back?

A jolt of searing pain shot up her arm as Trinity attempted to jerk free. She still could not scream, though she kept trying. The tiger’s grip only tightened, teeth sinking deeper.

It did not rip. It did not tear. It did not shred.

Instead, eyes locked on hers, the creature drew succulently upon Trinity’s flesh. Taking in the copious amounts of blood that must surely be flowing from her hand. Barely a drop soaked into the dust at their feet. 

It was as though the very life force was being pulled from her. This was not the shock or dissociation one might expect from a traumatic injury, but a great siphon draining the very essence of Trinity’s being. When she finally tore her eyes from the creature’s gaze, she could see it happening.

Faded red began to turn deep crimson at the animal’s extremities. Starting in the paws, the tip of the tail, and gradually seeping its way inward, washed out gray stripes turning to shimmering silver in a sea of rich red fur.

Trinity followed the flood of color as it reached the haunches. Mid-section. Shoulders. Pointed nose. And finally, the eyes.

The creature’s attention had never wavered.  A blood red mist already clung to the rims of its irises, creeping steadily toward the center. The air around them seemed to darken, color and light pulsing across the newly blood-red body, sending ripples across its coat. Eyes wide, color nearly saturated, Trinity could almost swear she saw the animal smile.

Crimson touched black. Pupils stood out against an ocean of blood. And the strange beast let go of Trinity.

Staggering drunkenly away from the fence line, blood-soaked muzzle barely distinguishable from blood-red fur, the thing was definitely smiling now. A pool of maroon mud grew on both sides of the chainlink as Trinity watched her attacker stumble toward the center of its enclosure, head shaking back and forth as if it was waking from a stupor.

Laughter filled the air like thunder rolling across the landscape. The very ground beneath Trinity shook with the joy and celebration of the creature. Head reared back, the roar that escaped its throat seemed to call closer the wispy clouds above them. Shadows gathered overhead. The orb of pulsating light picked up speed around the creature, a spotlight illuminating its trembling, shaking, bulging body. Wind and energy swirled around it as it reared back on its hind legs.

One by one, new features shuddered into being. A scaly, arrowhead-tipped tail from its hindquarters. The talons of a predatory bird where its front paws used to be. Long pointed muzzle swapped for a slender, curved beak filled with razor sharp teeth. Feathers from the ribs to  the beak. And a pair of enormous wings sprouting from just behind the shoulders. Each strobed in and out of existence before completely replacing the old.

With a glance in Trinity’s direction, the thing took to the air, wings blasting dust particles in all directions as it hovered just above the ground.

Its voice shook the very air around them, rattling the chainlink and pounding the walls of Trinity’s skull. “Thank you, my child,” the beast said. “Your sacrifice will not be wasted.” 

Creatures both human and ill-defined began screaming in mixtures of horror and delight all across Parson’s Paradise as the tiger rose above its enclosure in ever widening circles. Trinity swayed on her feet as she followed the tiger’s circuit overhead. She’d lost so much blood.

With a wincing cry she pulled the mangled remains of her hand back through the fence, and shuffled backward. Crashing footfalls mingled in with sounds of chaos and thunderous laughter as the tour guide sprinted toward her, catching Trinity in a running slide just as she collapsed. 

The guide cradled her in his own disfigured arm, eyes locked on the sky. A hoarse whisper reached Trinity just before she lost consciousness.

“I told you, never stick your hands through the fence!”