<gobble>
by MM Schreier
I shouldn’t have cared that Charles was getting married. I left him. People always say they were the one that did the leaving, but in this case, it was true. Still, it hurt. The situation was complicated.
When he changed his Facebook status to “engaged,” I should have been happy for him. Instead, I finished an entire bottle of wine.
I definitely shouldn’t have drunk-dialed him like some crazy ex-girlfriend, all weepy and regretful. Turns out, I wasn’t sloshed enough to dull the mortification when she picked up.
In a haze of Cabernet-fueled shame, I shouldn’t have opened a second bottle. I shouldn’t have finished that one too. Maybe then I would have remembered to lock the back door before collapsing into bed and passing out.
Then the demon wouldn’t have gotten out.
It started when I was in second grade with an angry little goblin gnawing away in my belly. <nibble>
Mom gave me a home perm. Not the flowing waves I’d wanted, but a tight halo of dirty-blonde curls. I tugged a hat down over my ears and hoped no one would notice as I slunk into an empty seat on the school bus. One of the Big Kids laughed and snatched the hat away, shouting “Little Orphan Annie!”
When the driver wasn’t looking, I let the goblin eat the Big Kid. <crunch> No one bothered me on the bus after that.
In junior high, I overheard the popular girls giggling about me in the locker room.
“What a dork! Did you see her when the soccer ball hit her in the face?” and “Oh my God! Her glasses went flying. I thought she was going to cry!”
I let the goblin eat them too. <nosh> I could finally shower in peace.
A few years later, Mom said it wasn’t anyone’s fault she and Dad were separating. Sometimes people grew apart. She didn’t look me in the eye when she said it. After our little talk, she went into her bedroom. I could hear her talking on the phone to someone, cooing and simpering like a teenager.
I tried to like her new boyfriend, but there was something creepy about the way he looked at me. Like a feral cat eyeing a baby bird, wondering if hatchlings had enough meat on their bones to make good eating. One day he caught me alone in the laundry room in my PJs and reached out to run a hand through my hair. I shuddered as he tugged me closer.
The goblin rubbed its stomach after eating him. <burp> Sated for the moment. Mom never understood why Bob had ghosted her.
It wasn’t until I met Charles that I realized the goblin had grown into a ravenous demon. No matter how many terrible people I fed it, it always hungered for more.
The parish priest, accused of doing the unthinkable to my nephew. <gobble>
The methhead that held up my friend’s corner store at gunpoint. <gulp>
The jerk who kicked my neighbor’s dog. <munch>
The bitch in accounting who stole my parking spot at the office. <chomp>
The idiot hairdresser who mangled my bangs, cutting them way too short. <snarf>
Charles, of course, was lovely: handsome and clever, full of wit and charm. I had no idea why, but he chose me. Our first date was perfect—Spanish tapas before a night at the theater. We had a drink after, then a magical kiss at my door. His lips tasted of whiskey and starlight.
On our second date, I let the demon eat the bartender. <scarf> She was prettier than me and had to go. Down the gullet for the sin of flirting with my guy.
What was a bartender <chew> or a waitress <swallow> here and there? I was happy. So was Charles. When he asked me to move in, I immediately said yes. I’d already had a Pinterest page for wedding ideas. What girl didn’t?
The first few months were bliss. Then Charles left the cap off the toothpaste. It lay, gummy and minty, right there on the vanity. I shuddered, unable to see myself in the mirror anymore. The glass reflected a gaping mouth and rows of gnashing teeth. It hit me hard when I realized the demon had a hankering for a taste of Charles. <drool>
Leaving broke my heart, but I couldn’t let the demon devour the love of my life. Hunger burned in me, but I hid it away, deep inside, refusing to let the monster out in public. It was time to stop letting it eat my problems.
I bought a little country cottage with an overgrown garden and became the town recluse. Every village needs someone to gossip about. Hermit. Bitter old lady. Witch. As long as it kept them off my doorstep and away from the ravenous demon, I encouraged the rumors.
Still, the beast hungered, unhappy with a diet of chickens and the occasional raccoon that strayed too close to the house. It clawed at the door, tested the windows, but I kept a close eye on it.
Until stupid Charles’s wedding announcement and all that wine.
I woke this morning to a blinding headache and the back door wide open. The goblin—and the hunger—were gone, leaving me alone with a comfortable emptiness inside. A small voice in the back of my head said I should go after it. I really should. It wouldn’t be responsible to let it attach itself to some other little girl, to gobble her problems unchecked.
Maybe tomorrow. The void felt nice.
