(Governor Tom's Note: "The Chocolate Monster" is a short story I wrote for fun about a dozen years ago, when I was still an undergrad at Temple U. I've gone through several computers since then, and the old WordPerfect file still lives. During my first three years at Temple I worked part-time at night in the candy department of a local department store. This joint had every kind of chocolate known to humankind, and no mistake. Working in a veritable choc fest inspired me to compose the below tale. I hope you enjoy it.)
________________After combing his hair, he put on his glasses and trotted downstairs, backpack over one shoulder. Frank Sipp was a nineteen-year-old college sophomore, undecided in major. To the casual observer he looked frail, only five feet six inches, and quite thin. In the kitchen his mother Paine, still in her sleep clothes—T-shirt and boxers—was standing at the island typing furiously on her laptop, a partially eaten chocolate doughnut and a cup of coffee next to it. She was tall for a woman, a couple inches over six feet, her sandy blonde hair resting on her shoulders, and at one time slim enough to pass for a model. But after having Frank, her hips and buttocks had suffered the inevitable swell. It never made her bitter, though. Having a family had always been much more important. Now divorced, something which could make her very bitter at times, Paine was an upper level computer programmer who had arranged it with her senior vice president to work out of her home. After years of pushing a mouse at a workstation in the firm, always surrounded by the buzz of activity and sometimes panic, especially toward the end of deadlines, she never forgot to thank God for this new privilege. Her long arms extended forth to the laptop, her fingers dancing on the keyboard.
The morning sun had yet to find the kitchen. Her already-pale face was made yet whiter by the monitor’s glow. "'Morning, Mom," Frank said as he poured himself a glass of orange juice. She grunted in response. "Got any other doughnuts besides chocolate?"
She hammered in a few more lines before making a quick backward gesture toward the table without turning away. "Yeah there’s a couple jellies in the box if you want them." Frank went over and helped himself to one. "I’ve just got to....damn it!"
"What is it?" he said with a mouthful of doughnut, looking over his mother’s shoulder.
"The more type-os I make, the longer it’ll take to get this done."
"You mean you actually made a type-o? Isn’t that the first one in five years?" he joked. She said nothing, her fingers clicking along monotonously. "You realize I don’t understand a word of what you’re typing?"
"Yeah, well, this just happens to be what keeps us going, Frankie," she said. She never lost a beat on her typing while she spoke, something which made Frank slow his chewing as he admired. "If I didn’t know any of this stuff, I wouldn’t be able to afford this house and my car and your car and pay the bills. Now if I can just finish this program by tomorrow, I’ll be ahead of deadline. That means a bonus, kid."
He finished off the doughnut and headed for the front door. "Yeah, well, I still don’t know what it means."
"Don’t get me started, punk," she said, looking at him for the first time, her eyes glazed by staring at the screen. "I’ll make you eat one of those chocolate doughnuts."
"Not if you don’t want me to throw up all over the house," he countered. Her calling him "punk" was actually in good fun. They had started this playful word-fighting when Frank was in elementary school and had gotten revved up by the mind-numbing action flicks he’d catch on television.
"I made your father eat a chocolate doughnut once," she said. "He hates chocolate as much as you do. That’s where you get it from. I think he’s held that incident against me ever since. Hell, for all I know, that’s the real reason he wanted a divorce."
Frank had his big blue coat on. "I’ll see you later, Mom," he said, opening the door. "Be sure to get that program done so you can get the bonus. I really do need a new car."
"You pissant."
He commuted to campus every day, from southern New Jersey into Philadelphia, and every day he’d get to class earlier than those dwelling in the dorms. His first class, English literature from Reconstruction to the twentieth century, wasn’t set to start until nine. It was only twenty after eight. He always welcomed the free time, though. It would allow him to go over his notes or prepare for any tests or quizzes imminently due from other classes. And at the very least he’d be able to chat with any of his friends who happened to get there early. The campus was still quiet except for the monotonous brushing sound from the janitor sweeping the grounds outside the library as he passed. The fifteen-story arts and sciences building loomed ahead, its shadow welcoming him with a chill. He speed-walked to escape the February cold, his face and especially ears feeling like they were being poked at by knives whenever the wind acted up.
He had crossed the street and was passing the buildings which were before the arts and sciences school when he heard a rustling sound from between two of them, starting low and then growing in volume, as if whatever it was gained momentum as it moved. The sound stopped abruptly. "Help me," came a voice from the same place. "Help!"
Frank stopped and frowned at the black gap where the voice came from. "Who’s in there?"
"Help me, please!" The voice was a girlish whine.
"Who’s in there?" Frank repeated, approaching the alley until he could look inside of it. At first all he could see were scattered piles of junk and cardboard, but on further inspection he could make out a pair of eyes staring at him from under a cardboard sheet. His mouth dropped open, and he took a couple more steps toward the alley. "Are you okay?"
"No, get me out of here," the girl whined. "I’m hurt and I can’t move. If I don’t get out of here, I’ll freeze to death."
"Hold on, I’ll be right there," Frank said, hurrying into the alley. No sooner was he within its walls than the thick aroma of chocolate attacked his senses. His stomach churned, and he would have fled in an instant if his conscience hadn’t kept him on his current course. He kept his eyes on the girl’s, whose own eyes grew wider the closer he got, as if she were shocked he was making this effort. He was in the process of reaching out to her when the cardboard sheet flew up into the air and the owner of the eyes stood up.
Frank stopped, and so did his breath. Instead of a little girl getting to her feet to welcome his aid, something much different emerged. His heart threatened to invade his throat as he looked up at the eyes, over a yard above him. The dark brown figure before him was thin, but muscular, the head a block silhouetted by the sun. The chocolate scent was so potent he felt like he was swimming in it, his eyes blurring in the pool. Behind the thick veil of chocolate was another smell just as unpleasant, a rotting stench. Before his legs listened to his fear, a three-fingered hand encompassed his throat, squeezing tight and lifting him into the air until he was even with the block, its form distorted by Frank’s tears.
"You’re so kind to help," the thing said with its true voice, neither a male nor a female one. It sounded like it was coming from a pipe, echoing within its walls before it found the outside air. As the tears fell away, Frank could now see the features of its face. It was a gnarled mass of what could only be chocolate, twisted together in bands of no particular order or pattern. The eyes were a pair of pale spheres, the mouth a crooked hole out of which its frosty breath crept when it spoke. "For just a moment I thought I’d have to blow my cover and chase you." Frank tried to speak, but all that came out was spit. The thing’s grip cut off his oxygen, making speech impossible. Instead, his fear further urged his body to take action, and he managed to pry the thing’s grip loose enough to free himself. Upon landing, he backed up toward the alley exit, never taking his eyes off the thing, his wobbly legs threatening to buckle. "I love it when the prey tries to resist. It makes things so much more fun."
"What the hell are you?" Frank heard himself say behind the thundering of his heart.
"A fair question," it replied. "Although ultimately a useless one since five minutes from now you’ll be well on your way to my bowels. But I’ll oblige you because I can. I am a Navda Nax, one of a carnivorous breed of predators, much like the lion or the leopard. Unlike them, though, my breed peoples the wild of the cities rather than the savannas. No human has been able to chronicle our race because, simply, no human has seen us and lived to tell the tale. We’re indiscriminate in the flesh and blood we consume, pleased just as much by a hag than a whore."
"And you’re made out of....?" The odor was making Frank so nauseous that he couldn’t bring himself to say the word.
"Something that tastes sweet to you humans. I know, I find it perverse myself. Then again, humans are made out of material that tastes divine to us so you figure it out." It bent down and pulled out a long red stick which was fatter on one end, strands hanging off it. After looking at it for a few seconds, Frank realized it was a human leg almost stripped of its skin. The thing put its mouth to it and, with a wet ripping sound, tore a piece of flesh from it. Frank closed his eyes to the smacking of its mouth. "Not much flesh left on this one," it said while chewing. "Just bone and tendon, but those are too tough. This thing’s pretty much used up." It threw the leg down, where Frank noticed the remains of its owner sticking out from the cardboard. Like the leg, it was mostly skeletal except for the coat of muscles and tendons it still wore. Even the eyes were hollowed out. The corpse gazed at Frank with a bloody, black, open-mouthed stare. He turned away and placed a hand on his stomach to keep from vomiting. "I’ve succored everything from this one that could give me pleasure. That’s why I need you. And don’t bother resisting. This one tried to fight, too, like a lot of them. But as you can see, it got her nowhere."
Just as his nausea was ebbing, Frank saw the black form rush him in the corner of his eye. He was in the motion of turning away from it with the intention of fleeing the alley, but one of its tri-fingered hands had him by the throat again, its grip much tighter than before. The pain was blinding, his brain felt like it was going to pop. He couldn’t even feel himself lifted in the air again, certain that at any moment the bones in his neck would be crushed to powder. He managed to open his eyes to slits, the tears mutating the vision of the block-head before him. It opened its mouth to welcome its next meal, the hot chocolate breath tainted by the decay pouring onto Frank’s cold, trembling, tear-striped face. Just beyond the heavy breathing he could hear shouts mixed with laughing. It wasn’t coming from the monster. "Damn," it breathed. "Much against my will I’ll have to release you for my own sake. But don’t fear. Your day will come soon. And those who you tell about me will die, too, ensuring our place in mystery. It would be vain of you to ignore me."
The monster let him go. Since Frank didn’t know he had been in mid-air, his legs folded flimsily beneath him and he landed on his buttocks. He wasted no time in wiping the tears away and regaining his stance, but when he was up the monster was gone. The alley was vacant, just him and the wind. The laughing and shouting was louder this time, coming from somewhere close to the alley. Frank walked out, rubbing his sore neck while spotting the source of the noises. Two crippled students were racing each other in their wheelchairs to the doors of the arts and sciences school, one of them gaining a significant lead as Frank watched. A noise came from the alley, and he spun around with a start expecting to find the chocolate monster coming at him again. But all he saw was one of the cardboard boxes, partly ripped, collapsing on itself. He heard other voices around him, startling him and his overly aroused nerves. He looked at his watch and saw it was approaching nine. His fellow students and their teachers were making their daily pilgrimages to the classrooms, wearing their suitcases and backpacks and the tired faces they tried to cure with caffeine. The monster had been afraid of being discovered by more people, and left Frank with the promise that if he told of it, he and whoever knew would be killed. Frank had no problem believing it. If there was a whole race of those things, the word of him could be spread amongst themselves.
With his neck sore to the point of stiffness and his stomach still threatening to revolt, Frank decided to forgo his classes. He ambled back to his car slowly and without much dedication to the path. On his way home he stopped at a mall a couple miles short of his house. The huge parking lot was still mostly vacant, the stores in the mall having just opened. He shut off the engine and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and rubbing them to massage the throbbing. He tried to move his neck, but it was still difficult without the needle-sharp pain. He was hoping this had all been a nightmare: the monster, the chocolate that made its skin, its breath, the flayed girl, and the pain wreaking havoc on his body. When he opened his eyes he’d be in his bed, the red digital reading six-fifty-nine, a minute before the alarm was set to go off. The familiar clicking of his mother’s fingers dancing on the keyboard would themselves dance their way up the stairs and into his ears.
He opened his eyes. Bird droppings splattered on his windshield. It was so ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh. He unlocked his seat and leaned backward until he was invisible to anyone outside. He closed his eyes again and massaged the lids until—whether it was on account of lack of sleep or the energy it took to keep his wits when confronting that beast or the shock or a combination of the three—he passed out.
Not even in the oblivion of unconsciousness was he safe. The nightmare of the monster was so potent he could smell it, the chocolate stench stirring up his stomach like the volatile acid pit it was. He was in the alley again and the beast was coming at him, snarling its promises that he would die. "No human sees a Navda Nax and lives to tell about it," it boasted in his dream just as it had done in real life. When Frank turned to flee the alley, there was no way out, only more wall. "You can’t escape!" cried the echoes from the monster’s pipe. "I will nourish myself on your flesh!"
"No! Let me out!"
"There’s no way out! You will die! Anyone you tell about me and my race will die! I will nourish myself on you, and you’ll be gone!"
"No!" Frank shouted at the top of his lungs, shooting up in his car seat as if a spring had been released from behind. Inside the compact car his shout was especially loud. His ears rang for over a minute afterward. At the same time he could hear more screeching. At first he thought it was still him and that his vocal chords had thinned into this feminine wail because of his previous shouting. Then he looked out the window and saw the little girl who was doing it, no more than three years old, weeping on her mother’s leg because her mother had refused to buy her something in the mall.
He was still panting from his dream, wiping the coat of sweat off his forehead. His car digital read one-thirty. He’d been asleep for almost four hours. In the meantime his little black car had absorbed every ray the sun had to offer, suffocating him under his winter coat. He opened his door and put his feet on the pavement, the frigid air a wonderful welcome. He rubbed his head in his hands, the vision of the Navda Nax vividly clear in his mind. There was a whole race of them, he knew. Did they populate all the cities of the world or just this country? Even if it was the latter, Frank couldn’t see a good side to it. And of course no one would believe him if he spoke of chocolate-crafted creatures who fed on humankind. He’d be sent to a rubber room in a hurry.
An elderly couple walked by his car on the way to the mall, frowning at him. He looked around and saw the lot really had swelled in car population. He drove home before attracting any more attention.
When he got there, his mother was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor in front of her laptop, rocking back and forth, her arms crossed, the soft hum of the laptop the only sound in the house. If Frank didn’t know her, he would have thought she was autistic, but he knew this was one of those rare moments of block. It was best not to bother her.
"Hi, Frank," she mumbled without looking at him as he put away his coat. "How’d it go?"
"Fine," he said, going into the kitchen and pulling out a can of soda. He tried as best he could to squeeze the image of the monster out of his mind. Talking to his mother would help. "Stuck again?"
"Isn’t it obvious?" She stopped rocking and looked at him. "Have any tests today?"
"Nope," he said after taking a gulp. "None at all."
"Classes going okay?"
"Yes." This conversation wasn’t working. The monster wasn’t going away.
"Grades are stable?"
"Yeah, Mom." The chocolate stench stained his memory sugar-brown, and his neck hurt, making the memory constant and vivid. Not only was talking to his mother not helping, it was irritating.
"You’re still not in danger of any C’s?"
"No."
"You’re sure? Don’t be a pissant."
"God damn it, Mom, I’m sure," he said, his voice raised as the irritation began leaking hot and bubbly through his impatience. "My grades are fine. Why can’t you leave me alone?"
"Frankie, I’m just checking up on you," she said. "You know I care about your school. I want to make sure everything’s okay."
"Everything’s fine," he said coldly, walking past her and heading up the stairs.
"Frank, wait," she said. He stopped reluctantly on the bottom step as she got up and went over to him. "What’s the matter?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit. What’s the matter?"
"Nothing’s the matter."
"Something happened today, Frank. What was it?"
"Nothing, Mom. I’m fine."
"Big liar."
"Can I go up now?" he almost yelled. He could feel his face growing red.
"Hey," she said, putting a cold hand on his arm. "Don’t be mad at me. I’m not mad at you. So we both have had bad days so far. Big deal. We’ll get over it, right?" He remained tight-lipped, simply nodding. "Come here." She wrapped him up in her arms. "I just want to know how you’re doing, that’s all. I know I’ve been a little inattentive lately, I’ll admit it. I’m just trying to get this thing done. Tell you what. I’ll make your favorite tonight. Fried chicken. Sound good?"
"Yeah." On any other day that would have sounded heavenly, but food was the last thing on his mind right now. The voice of the monster promising to nourish on Frank’s flesh echoed inside his head. "Sounds great."
"You don’t have to work at the store tonight, do you?" Frank had a part-time job at an electronics store in a plaza down the road.
"No, I’m off tonight and tomorrow."
"Well invite some friends over, play one of your computer games or something."
"I don’t feel like it," he said. "I’m tired, Mom." That was a lie, of course. After having passed out for four hours in his car and experiencing the worst nightmare he’d ever had, sleep was the last thing he wanted right now.
"Okay, honey," she said, kissing him on the forehead. "Get some sleep." She let him go, and he climbed up the steps. "And then get your homework done. Deadbeat."
"You’re the deadbeat," Frank said, playing along, deciding this was the best thing for his fear. "Get your shit done so I can get that new car."
"Watch it, junior."
Since Frank hadn’t gone to any classes, he didn’t have any homework to do. He decided to look on his English syllabus and try reading some assignments ahead of time. He didn’t feel like self-learning any future statistics lessons (although his mom would have no doubt ardently protested such an attitude), he didn’t like his Spanish class (nor its elderly and arrogant teacher), and golf required little, if any, work outside of class. But when that hefty literature book was open before him, the tall pages packed with its tiny poetic print which Frank would have to read at least three times before grasping any meaning from it, he discovered the concentration required for such a task was not with him today. Every time he set to a stanza, he’d hear the voice of that bony beast raging in his head. It would be vain of you to ignore me, it had said, and Frank knew it was true. Even if he went back to campus tomorrow and avoided that alley, it would be in vain. No matter how long he avoided confronting the monster, it would only delay the inevitable. No one saw a Navda Nax and lived, it had said, and Frank knew the monster meant it. He wanted so bad to tell his mother about what happened, to make her feel his fear and help console it and squeeze it out of him with her long, strong arms, but that would only put her life in danger, too. The monster had guaranteed it. His heart felt like a weight sinking in his chest as he arrived at the cold realization that tomorrow he would have to confront the monster, and only one of them was going to live.
His heart fell further when he couldn’t think of how he could fight such a thing. There wasn’t a gun in the house, and a knife seemed futile against that. He started to sweat a little, fidgeting in his seat as the situation became more and more hopeless. He forgot his literature book was even there.
That evening Paine fulfilled her promise and made a plateful of drumsticks, chicken wings, and breasts, all fried. Normally Frank would have devoured the drumsticks first, but tonight he could barely get through half of one. His mom dropped the wing in her hands, then wiped each finger firmly and deliberately. She was clearly put off. "What’s going on here, Frank?"
"Nothing."
"Don’t start this again. You come home and you’re grumpy. Now you won’t eat. I know something’s wrong."
"I guess..." His mind raced for a lie. "I’m just tired, Mom. I obviously didn’t get much sleep last night. It’s okay. My homework’s all done. I’ll go to bed early tonight."
"You sure that’s the problem?"
"Yeah."
His mom stared at him, a smile just on the tip of her mouth but not quite there, an expression Frank knew. She knew something was amiss, but she also knew to respect his privacy if he insisted. "Okay. I’ll save the chicken. You can have some tomorrow if you want."
"Thanks."
"In the meantime," she said, collecting their plates, "I must battle on with this program or the V.P. is going to eat me up alive."
Frank was about to get up but stopped. He stared at his mother. "What did you say?"
"I said if I don’t get this done, not only will I not get a bonus, but my butt’ll be in a sling."
"No," Frank said. "You said your boss would eat you alive."
Paine tittered. "That was just a figure of speech, Frankie." She laughed again. "Are you sure you’re all right?"
"No," he said. "I’m exhausted and need to get some sleep before I fall down." He left the kitchen in a hurry.
Up in his room he closed the door, turned off the lights, and splayed himself out on his queen-size, his stomach sick with revelation and desperation. There was revelation because he just learned from his mother the only way he would be able to defeat the monster: with his mouth. The monster even admitted that it was made out of material sweet to the human tongue, just as humans were tasty to them. His battle plan had been right there all along. The desperation came from the fact that the monster had a much better chance of devouring Frank than Frank did it, not to mention that it was made of a food that was among Frank’s least favorite. He winced at the thought of eating so much of it. The two conflicting feelings played a tug-of-war in his mind and body. His nausea regrew as the conflict created an acidic vortex in his stomach. But the vortex turned out to be an ally. Instead of sucking down Frank’s hopes, it swallowed his fear. No matter how much he hated chocolate, he knew he had to do it. It was that simple. It was either face up to one of his ultimate pet peeves, or let that pet peeve eat him alive. There wasn’t much more to think about.
Just as he became comfortable in the darkness, the sound of his mom’s fingers tap-dancing on the keyboard resounded from below and lulled him to sleep.
He was up and out of bed before the sun, showering and dressing with the hustle of a Marine. As he collected his backpack and shot down the stairs, he could hear his mother tapping away inside her room.
It was all he could do not to speed on his way to school, and when he finally got there, his car digital read twenty before eight. Usually by this time he’d still be getting dressed, his mind and body moving with the pace of a pair of snails. But the anticipation pumped in him a fuel he’d never felt before, pushing his nerves to their limits. He could feel them quivering on the edges of their sensory strings, driving his legs forward until he reached the alley where the sun never shone.
It was empty. There was no sign of the monster. He took a couple of steps into it. Even the smell was gone, just the raw rankness of the rubbish spilling out of the dumpster and the rodents which thrived within it. He went in further toward the back where the torn cardboard was. The girl’s body was gone. Had it all been a dream? Had all of yesterday been a dream he dreamt last night and now today was really yesterday? He looked all around, studying the ground should the monster be hiding itself under any trash, ready to spring up as it had before. He grew irritated, his fueled motivation going unsatisfied.
Then a scent permeated the air. It was so strong that it melted the chill around him and burned his nostrils. It was the stench of ground, roasted cacao seeds, the sugar, and the marriage of the two: chocolate. His stomach grew restless at the smell, and he turned around with the intentions of escaping it. That’s when the monster landed on the ground before him, blocking the alley exit. He cursed himself for not having looked above. It didn’t matter now, though. The monster was here, just as he wanted it. There was no time for second thoughts, he knew, swallowing hard. It stood before him with its eyes wide and lidless, looking as if it were in a constant state of shock. The crooked hole of a mouth formed what he guessed was a smile, and its fingers curled and pointed in the air like snakes about to inject venom. He tried not to breathe through his nose to avoid getting sick from the smell, and to ease the anticipation of the palatal displeasure he would have to endure when trying to eat a nine-foot chocolate bar.
"It was wise to come back, child," it said. He could hear the satisfaction in its voice. "You’ve saved me a lot of time by coming back. You’ve also saved the lives of those who live with you. Very brave. Extremely stupid, but brave. I was positive I was going to have to hunt you down."
He racked his brain for something to say, but he was concentrating too much on blocking out the smell. The monster tilted its head to one side in wonder.
"Have you lost your tongue in the last twenty-four hours?"
"Just come get me," he said, not quite believing he’d said that.
"What?" Its disbelief was quite evident.
"Don’t you have ears? I said come get me. You want me? I’m here." His heart felt like it was going to explode through his chest.
It took a few steps closer. "Oh my poor boy. You haven’t lost your tongue, you’ve lost your mind."
"I’m not the kind of prey you’re used to," he said, opening his arms in surrender. It was all he could do to keep from hyperventilating, something which would uncover his dread. "I’m not the type that resists. Take me! I’m here!"
It shrugged. "If you are content, then so am I." With lightning speed it reached out and grabbed his neck, the soreness of which had already started to heal overnight but which was reignited by the monster’s grip. It pulled him to within inches of its face, its features distracting his concentration from not breathing through his nose. He cringed and almost lost his bile as the smell overwhelmed him like a thick waterfall. The monster’s tongue, deep brown and cocoa, glided along its upper lip in anticipation of its imminent meal.
That’s when Frank struck. With a quickness and ferocity so sudden and strong that not even the monster could repel it, he closed his jaws tight on the tongue. The squeal that came from deep within its pipes startled him, almost jolting him out of the monster’s grip. His face tightened and cringed in disgust as he chewed. It was tough at first, the chocolate not nearly as forgiving as he’d hoped, but that only fueled him further. Soon enough he was biting off chunks, swallowing some, spitting out the rest, bit by disgusting bit. In its panic the monster forgot the use of its hands, letting Frank go and jerking its head from side to side in an effort to shake him off. But he’d already grabbed hold of the neck and managed to work his way around to the back where he felt less vulnerable.
He stopped to get air only for a second, taking in a lungful before planting his teeth as deep as he could into the top of the beast’s back. It was even tougher than the tongue, and for a split second the terrifying thought plagued Frank’s mind that his plan wouldn’t work. Despite its appearance of edibleness, the chocolate was more rock than candy. His fuel pumped even more, though, heating up until his face was beet-red and, with all the strength he had, he sank his mouth into the sweet, foul flesh. As he ate his way down, chewing and swallowing as much as he could but spitting out even more, he could hear the high-pitched wails, like a brass horn tuned by a lunatic. It reached back with its hands, and one of its serpentine fingers slashed open a gash in his winter jacket, a blow which would have surely done significant damage to his arm if it had been bare. Seeing the white innards of his jacket arm stick out only pushed him further to the task. Having created a gash of his own down the center of the back, he reached into the crooked crevice and broke off more pieces, inciting more blows from the oral horn. No kind of blood poured out, no warm liquid it needed for life, just cold, dry innards. It tried to slash at his arms again, but Frank caught one of its wrists in his hand. Quickly, before the monster had the time to pull away, he bit off one of its fingers, releasing it from his mouth and biting off another. He only let the monster reclaim the use of its arm after biting off the third and final finger.
It still shook its body from side to side in a vain effort of defense, but Frank could feel the motion getting weaker. Over half of the back was flayed when the Navda Nax collapsed to its knees–its once ear-shrieking howls now reduced to whimpers–before falling forward on its front. Now on top of it, in a dizzying rapture and his stomach filled with what felt like poisoning weights, he maniacally tore the rest of the skin away, throwing the chunks behind him should it suddenly have the thought and strength to attempt reclaiming them. The inner workings were displayed neatly before him, the dark chocolate tendons, the milk chocolate muscles. Deep within that system, he knew, was some type of heart. Even if there was no blood to pump, all forms of life had a core, something on which the system depended in order to survive. With both hands quaking with the thrill of the moment, he tore up the innards, dug deep inside, the ice cold chocolate resisting his invasion with its stony solidity, until he felt something round. With both hands he pulled it out, the bowling ball-sized organ which still shook in his grip like a fish out of water, trying to escape its captor so it could dive back into the warmth of its home. He wasn’t content with just throwing it away should this thing somehow cheat the death he’d just given it to reclaim its core. He closed his eyes, stopped breathing through his nose and, as quick as he could, ate the heart. Once finished, his mind reeling in revulsion at everything he’d consumed, he walked up to the head and stomped on it. Even with the heart gone and with the little Frank knew about the Navda Nax–which was almost nothing–he didn’t want to take any chances. At first nothing happened. It felt like he was stomping on a rock, but after further attempts it cracked. Soon the cracks led to openings, and finally the head was squashed under his heel.
Sweating profusely, his mind spinning so fast he had to close his eyes, his stomach so sore it felt like a bag of boulders, Frank leaned against a wall and slid down onto his buttocks. When he opened his eyes, the bricks in the building before him were moving around, shifting positions and in doing so creating odd shapes out of the concrete lines between them. He turned his head away, but it was too late. In one long clumpy waterfall of brown acid, he regurgitated all of the chocolate. No sooner did it splash down on the ground than it began flowing like a little flood toward the sewer drain in the center of the alley. The spinning in his head slowed after expelling the foulness, the concrete lines slowly returning to their right positions.
He got to his feet, his stomach muscles sore, his head throbbing, but his spirits strengthened by victory. He proceeded to stomp the monster’s corpse into bits and pieces and throw them all into the dumpster, watching them disappear into the mountain of garbage piled high above the rusty rim.
Walking out of the alley, he could feel the sticky chocolate staining his face and teeth. If someone saw him now, they’d surely think he was out of his mind. He just laughed. His watch read ten after eight, still a full fifty minutes before class, plenty of time to find a bathroom and wash his face, then go back to his car to get his backpack. Classes hadn’t even started yet, but he knew it was going to be a fine day.
When he got home that afternoon, his mother wasn’t home, and he feared the worst. She hadn’t finished her project in time for the bonus. He went upstairs and sat at his desk, intending to turn on one of his computer games but not able to concentrate. He’d only been there a few minutes before he heard the high-pitched whine of the engine outside, and then it died. He went down to meet her, her face solemn as she walked in. Under the winter coat she was dressed in a turtleneck and slacks, the clothes which meant she actually had to go to the firm today. "Hi, Mom." It was all he could think of saying. She didn’t say a word, her eyes looking directly into his as if he’d done something wrong. "How was your day? Mine was great." She remained silent for a few moments longer. Then, very slowly, subtle at first but then growing, a smile divided her face.
"You are looking at one helluva bonused woman, darlin’."
"You did it!" He ran into her arms.
"Frankie, if I look at a computer screen one more time, I’m gonna die," she said, holding his head against her chest.
"Yeah, right. You always say that. At the end of every project you say that and the next thing you know you’re right back at it."
"I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, you pissant," she said, backing out of the hug and playfully jabbing him in the shoulder. "My eyes have about had it with my laptop." She pulled him back into her arms and rested her head on top of his. "But it was worth it because I won. I won, Frankie."
"Yeah, Mom," he said, closing his eyes against the cotton comfort of her turtleneck. "I won, too."
