“Grendal! Grendal! Come home! Where are you?”
The storm raged on as I cried this, slipping out of the sea. I was soaked from head to toe with salty water that dripped into my crimson eyes. My hands trembled with worry as I climbed onto the shore. Rain stung my face, as if a swarm of bees was attacking me. I squinted my eyes, trying to see where I was going. To see if my baby boy was out there, waiting for the right moment to come home…

Where is he? I thought, where had he gone? I didn’t know. I could not even imagine where he would go.
“Grendal!” I called. “Grendal, where are you?” My chalk face was dripping horribly of water. I shook my head, trying to get it off. My attempts were useless so I stood in the rain, eyes darting to catch a glimpse of him. But my desperate cries were unheard of, for the wind howled even louder. “Please Grendal! Come home!” I tried again, screaming it at the top of my lungs.
No answer…

I stepped out of the safety of the sea where I had been dancing back and forth, unsure where to go, and rushed into the trees. I climbed up one and jumped on another tree, leaping back and forth around the woods. I reached for another branch to climb even higher, pausing every minute or so to call out for my son once more. “Grendal!”
For the first time, I thought I heard his little whimper. I stopped where I was, to listen, but nothing made a sound. All I could hear was the wind’s deafening roar and thunder claps from not too far away.

“Mother…”
I jumped at the voice, nearly slipping off an oak’s branch. The branches were becoming slick and slippery but I didn’t care. It was definitely my boy’s voice! He was here somewhere! But where? Where? I jumped off the tree and landed gracefully, splashing a little because I landed in a puddle. I raced into a clearing, judging by the direction the voice came from, to find the familiar outline of my baby sinking into a freshwater pond. I rushed to his side, diving into the pond’s unwelcoming, pure waters, and seized Grendal in a motherly embrace. I shrieked.
His arm…It…It was gone. It took me awhile to register it into my brain, to tell myself that my son’s arm was completely gone. I couldn’t speak. Every sound I could muster was gone.
How? How did this happen? Who would be so heartless to do this to him? A young man who just desired a few nights of sweet, well-needed rest? Who? Again, I did not know.
The smell of blood overwhelmed me. Precious, bubbling blood oozed out of the gaping hole where his arm should have been. It slipped silently off him and into the depths, causing the water to bubble also. I sniffled as the water flashed a violent neon green then quickly changed into a deep shade of scarlet.
“G-G-G-G-Grend-d-dal…” I stammered. “Wh-Who d-d-d-did this t-to y-you?”
Grendal’s dim eyes traced my face weakly. His lips moved slowly as he spoke a barely audible whisper. “Beowulf…Of the Geets.” His face was taut of pain, speckled with dots of my tears and his own blood. He rasped. “Mother, I am so sorry…”

“Shhhh, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” I assured him. My attempts to keep my voice normal were wasted. It was unusually high, and I knew he knew I was upset. “I’ll get you home. It will be all right.”


“No, don’t.” Grendal rasped feebly. “Mother, I…I...” He gave a rattling breath and fell limp. I stared at him, my heart stopping. I shook him, crying out.
“Grendal…Come on, hon’, wake up. Don’t play tricks on me. Please.” He didn’t budge, his eyes still staring lifelessly at me. The truth crashed down on me but I could not believe it. It couldn’t be true…Not him. “You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re all right. You got to be alright!” I was on verge of hysterics. “Grendal! WAKE UP! PLEASE!”
Grendal stayed where he was; a broken, limp body of a demon. The agony had never been so intense before. My son was gone. Never ever, would he smile or laugh. Never would he come home to visit me where we would talk for hours about his dreams for the eternal life he would have, should have. He would never get the chance to experience the great joys of a lifetime. My son was gone. Doomed to death.
Then it came to me.
I knew what I had to do. I was going to find this “Beowulf of the Geets” and make him hurt. The maniac that maimed my son was going to pay. The same pain that my baby went through, that murderer was going to feel it. He will. He will.
Beowulf, I will find you.
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The savages of humanity, I knew, would be out celebrating their false victory. They would be soaked with rum, drunk with excitement during the party. Most likely, after a dozen drinks, the men would pass out and fall into a deep sleep that even the loudest roar couldn’t disturb them.
I knew what I had to do. I had to kill someone important to the pathetic scoundrel that called himself “King” of this land that was rightfully mine. The King would become hysterical, calling for Beowulf for his rescue. This would lure him out of the safety of his friends. He had to be alone.

I stopped walking, with the rain still pelting my face. I glared hatefully at the castle that loomed out of the darkness. Herot was in my grasp. I would have no mercy once I have Beowulf. Once I got rid of him, I would take over Herot and make the citizens live in hiding once again, quiet as if they never existed. It would be what Grendal wanted.

Slipping into the shadows, I continued to trudge towards the castle. I made it to the door in quick time and pushed open the door with my toe. I silently stepped inside and was relieved to see that the guards were not out. I snuck in even farther to walk into the hallway to find a bunch of sleeping men. I smirked at the snores that filled the air. Men are so stupid, I thought with a mental laugh. I sidestepped over the bodies and flailing limbs. I looked up and froze in my tracks. There, on the wall, was Grendal’s precious arm.

Fiery rage engulfed me. “Those savages!” I stormed quietly, hurriedly walking closer to snatch my son’s arm. “Treating a corpse as a trophy? Who do they think they are?” I groaned loudly, causing the sound to reverberate throughout the halls. None of the men awoke so I returned to my task. Tucking Grendal’s arm under mine, I searched for a victim.

I glanced down at the man closest to my left. I had seen him on many occasions accompanying the King on horseback, lurking on the shores that were right above my lair. He laughed and taunted us, as in demons, calling us angels. To a demon, angels were the worst insult you could get. A gruesome, but wonderful thought crossed my mind. A sharp fanged smile graced my ruby lips. I could get rid of him too. Two birds killed by one stone. Simple.
I leaned over him and quickly slit his throat, slightly cringing at the sight of crimson pouring out of his skin. I hate to wake up and see that! I thought, Well, this is for my little boy! With one last glance, I walked quickly around the sleeping men and raced out into the night, preparing myself for the murder of the maniac that slaughtered my son.
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Back at home, I tenderly placed Grendal’s arm on top of the fireplace so I could gaze it. As soon as I was finished with Beowulf, I was planning to rejoin his arm with his body and bury him in the cave. I hope it was fine with him to wait.

I took a long moment to gaze at his arm, remembering that I had held that arm so many times. Ever since he was a baby! I added in thought. I could not take it much longer. What was I suppose to do? Cry? The thought of crying did sound like a good idea. Well, not a good idea, but I felt like it would be good to let all of the sickening emotions out. Would it? I needed closure.

My lips quivered and I let out a mournful cry. Shaking my head, I paced back and forth around the room and cried to my heart’s content. He is gone! Gone! Those words screamed at me, shattering every microscopic bit of hope to dust. I was all alone now.
I froze.
Something was stirring out of the water from behind me. I could hear the familiar ripple of the water. I had memorized the sound of Grendal’s ripple, which was loud and ended with a pluoop. However, this was much smaller and had a small pop. My heart pounding, I whirled around to face…

Beowulf.
He was rather a large man with pulsing biceps that oozed seawater. He wore armor and a sword hung at his waist. I glared at his dark hair and blue eyes, furiously hissing at him. “So, you are the maniac that killed my only son?” He stared at me, bewildered that I could speak, but I didn’t bother to hear his answer. He was so close.
I stomped my foot and felt myself shoot upwards. Now my head was scrapping against the roof of the cave. Beowulf looked like a guinea pig now, small, helpless, and incredibly annoying. I seized him into a crushing hold and watched him wriggle and struggle in my massive hand.
For the first time ever in my long life, I felt regret deep in my gut. Utter fear showed in Beowulf’s eyes. No matter how much effort he put into his struggling, he couldn’t get free. He yelled and screamed, trying to get away. I could not stand to watch. Here was the murderer and I didn’t want to kill him. Why? What was wrong with me?

I began to loosen my grip and before I knew it, the little man was slashing swords at me. It bent oddly in half at contact. It did not pierce the skin but it did hurt. I let out a piercing cry of pain and squeezed Beowulf tighter. All thought of mercy was gone.

Beowulf screamed and screamed, cursing. I did not care what he said. I just wanted him to go so I could never be bothered again. As I lowered to sit on my knees-At this point, my head was at level with a sword that used to belong to my late husband’s- and attempted to set him down peacefully. Beowulf cursed again and grabbed the sword. I was shocked. He really did want to kill me.
I closed my eyes as he swung the sword straight at me. I felt a sharp pain in my neck and…