"What were you thinking?" respected village elder Petar Grul said. "You've been out all night, doing God knows what, while we cower in our homes unable to sleep. Frankly, we're at the end of our rope here."
"Just—just don't say anything," Grul added after the raging creature hurled a massive chunk of masonry down from the parapet at the assembled crowd. "You go think about what you did."
The stern, no-nonsense confrontation was only the latest in a series of vexing monster-related incidents. Over the past year, similar rampages have killed 22 people and an entire flock of sheep, destroyed a flour mill, and left the townspeople wondering if the beast ever even considers their feelings at all.
A number of residents who have lost their patience with the unholy creation said they have tried being mad, but decided it is not worth the effort if the monster is just going to keep crushing the skull of every innocent blacksmith's daughter who makes the mistake of offering him a flower. According to Grul, the townspeople have "had just about enough of this business," and resolved to address the issue openly with a full and frank discussion, "no matter how painful it may be." A two-hour chase through foggy moors ensued, at which point the monster took refuge in the closest thing he had to a home, the castle of his creation.
Abandoning previous tactics of setting more specific boundaries, taking away privileges, and lighting him afire, the mob cornered the beast to unleash their chagrin.
"You may be an abomination in the eyes of God, but that doesn't give you the right to terrorize us," villager Sorin Mironescu yelled. "And don't you try to change the subject by saying you never asked to be created. We all have problems. You are a miracle of science, darn it, and it's time you started acting like one."
Should the mob fail to get through to the monster, sources said its members plan to go home, bolt their doors and windows shut, throw up their arms, and have a long talk about what to do next.
"I just think he's capable of doing so much better," said Stefan Mikrvicz, who has personally had "more than a few" run-ins with the monster. "We're not here to assign blame, but on the other hand, we do feel this situation really needs to be improved."
The monster is reportedly a hideous patchwork of human and animal parts stitched together into a rough approximation of a person, and is possessed of the strength of 10 men. It was created with limbs and organs stolen from graves and was imbued with the spark of life through a powerful magnet by crazed scientist and prominent community figure Doctor Cojocaru, who described himself as "totally exasperated" by the whole ordeal.
"Look at him," said Cojocaru, gesturing to the snarling man-thing pacing the castle's ramparts. "I made him to triumph over death itself and play God, not to sit here and watch him make bad choice after bad choice. Was it me? He's really let us all down, and I just don't know where we went wrong."
Efforts to coax the monster outside for a good talking-to, including pitchfork-waving, rock-throwing, and guilt-tripping, have thus far yielded no positive results.
"He's obviously a smart guy—he mastered the power of human speech without being taught, and that says a lot," villager Theodr Brezeanu said. "But we can't help him unless he helps himself. Right now all he seems to want to do is hang out and drown small children for no good reason."
This is not the first time Ceamurlia has had its expectations dashed by a horrific creature. In 2004, a werewolf tore apart three villagers in a dismaying bloodbath, and in 2007, a local vampire created an army of undead and filled everyone with shame.
Despite the loss of livestock, family members, and trust, many villagers continue to believe the sullen beast will someday straighten up and be more like Count Radulescu's monster, who always makes such nice finger sandwiches for their parties.
(The Onion)
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