Feed the Beast

Joe Garcia sat at the kitchen table of his modest apartment, reading the day's front page headline.  Little Girl Vanishes.  His bald head sparkled from the overhead lamp's illumination.  He wore a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up past his elbows.  Joe scratched his forearm while he poured through the article. 

His wife, Cynthia, sat on a black leather sofa staring at the blank television screen, her mind inundated with thoughts of feasting on a grand meal.  Her toned, muscular body and tanned complexion did not match her ravenous appetite. 

Joe stopped reading the paper and concentrated on the small insect bite bugging him. He scratched at it until it turned red. He peeled off a layer of skin and a tiny amount of pus oozed out.  The itch annoyed him to the point that he decided to scrape off the sore with a blade. 

As he took the knife to it, black bits of hair exposed themselves from the inside out.  Curious, he pinched the skin and peeled it back further.  Instead of red blood, a green fluid seeped out onto the pink linen cloth and a musty wet ink odor seeped into his nostrils. 

Joe sighed as the itch took on a life of its own.  A high-pitched sound buzzed in his ears.  He found it annoying but maintained his concentration on his bizarre task.  He continued to peel, poke, and prod his wound. 

With every pinch of his insides, he pulled back more skin revealing a red layer which he smoothed away with a dishrag.  Instead of pain, curiosity ruled the moment.  More hair surrounded the gash as if it grew in defense to what he did.  Fresh green fluid sludged out and spread across the linen.

The high-pitched humming reached an unbearable level.  Joe shook his head like a golden retriever shaking off excess water from his coat.  With every increase in decibel, his desperation grew.  He expunged some of the meat and plunged the knife into his arm, expecting to hit bone.  A clang of metal striking metal drew a whine of confusion.  He pulled out the knife, mystified that the tip had broken off and remained stuck in his arm.

Despondence loomed across his face as the rest of the green gel-like substance wobbled on the table.  He grabbed a rag and polished deep until the base of his arm revealed a strong golden metal alloy. 

His wife, awakened from her hunger-induced trance, caught him.  Her eyes opened wide.  Without demonstrating panic, she said, "I'll call the Fixer." 

Joe lifted his bronze arm and asked, "What's happening to me?"

She ignored him and reached the fixer by phone.  "Come quick.  Joe peeled himself, again."

Joe whispered, "Again?"

She hung up the phone and said, "I swear, Joe, why do you insist on getting out of your suit?"

"What am I?" He slammed his steel arm and heard the table crack.  "Oh no.  I'm not human."

"Yuck! Why would you want to be one of those inferior creatures?"

She twisted her ears off and placed them on the table.  Then she pulled her hair back and revealed a bronzed head with two huge mosquitoes for eyes.  Her nose slithered in a constant circular motion like a centipede.  She opened the wide gap in her mouth and a slew of tarantula legs flickered about. 

The thing, known to humans as Cynthia, spoke in high-pitched clicks just like the humming Joe heard before.  This time it didn't bother him because he understood her. 

He said, "I'm sorry, dear.  Sometimes when I'm starving, I forget who I am.  Please forgive me."

The doorbell interrupted them.  Little Jessica Peterson snuck out of her apartment as usual and wanted to play with Joe.  The poor girl's drug-addicted mother must have passed out again, leaving the child to fend for herself.  They both smiled, grateful that humans were not good at finding missing children.  Cynthia took the items off the table by swooping the cloth and bagging it.  Then she hid with the contents in a closet. 

Joe rolled down his sleeves, covering his golden arm, and let the adorable little six-year-old inside, happy to receive her.  A month had passed since the last time he and his wife had fed. 

He beamed upon seeing the beauty before him.  Her golden locks twirled like a scrumptious snail's shell.  Jessica's deep inquiring eyes glowed with the realization that Joe and Cynthia always had a tasty treat for her.

"Hello, Jessica.  Would you like to play a new game before we eat some candy?"

The tiny innocent jumped for joy.

"It's called feed the beast."

"Sounds like fun.  How do we play?"

Joe led her to where a salivating Cynthia waited. 

"The game is in the closet, honey.  Go ahead.  Open the door."

Little humans were so delicious and so tasty.