The Package

The package had softly summoned Manuel Lopez to the kitchen table. Come here, fear me not, come here, it had said--he had just arrived home from the store to find it lying on the kitchen table, bound in gold wrapping paper and sparkling silver ribbon.

The package was calm now. Manuel, regardless of the current reservedness of the package, waited patiently at the unkempt table, in front of the package, hoping for new sounds to surface from it now, inspecting the strange, meticulously bundled package with star studded eyes. None, however, came.

The football game will have to wait, he thought to himself, gazing foolishly at the package glittering before him--the normal routine of the day meant little to Manuel now.

Manuel's curiosity begged for enlightenment, urging Manuel to read the label beneath the silver ribbon--Manuel envisioned his curiosity a lurid beast, possessing three eyes, a desperate smile, and mouth jammed with razor sharp teeth, trapped and squirming within the back of his mind. Could this package be for him, a present from his roommate? And so, with a small nudge by that lurid creature clawing at the back of his mind, Manuel read the inscription on it: It was addressed to Hank's friend, Cindy.

This confused him. This show of good nature didn't make much sense, for Hank and Cindy had broken ties with each other over a month ago. In addition, Hank had sounded extremely perturbed with Cindy after the break up. Manuel remembered well. Remembered how Hank had furiously gathered up all her pictures hanging on the walls in his room and pitched them in the trash, as well as any other signs of Cindy.

Nevertheless, Manuel knew broken ties could easily be mended--Hank and Cindy were a perfect example of mended relationships; this being their fourth separation.

Manuel looked up at the clock and noticed it was nearly noon; the football game would soon be over.

A sudden sharp pain jolted him from his current thoughts. The creature was still there, the one with sharp teeth and screaming eyes, taunting him. It will have to wait, the creature told him.

Finding some inner strength, Manuel managed to refocus his thoughts and rise from the table. Another sudden, sharp pain violently stabbed the back of his head. He cringed. His knees gave way, and he fell to the floor, clutching his head.

Slowly, the discomfort wore away, and Manuel stood up. I'm going to take a shower, that's what I need, a hot shower, he thought as he dragged himself away from the package.

The idea of a hot shower had been an excellent one: The abnormal obsession Manuel had felt for the package had disappeared, and the creature that had been gnawing at the innards of his head had vanished as well.

He dried himself, put on his clothes, and decided it was time to turn the television on before he'd miss the entire game. He entered the kitchen, mindfully avoiding any eye contact with the package on the table, and opened the refrigerator. Scanning the insides, he found the six pack hiding behind a half empty jug of whole milk. He grabbed a can and pulled it off the plastic holder. As he closed the refrigerator, a voice, in his head, called his name.

He reeled around to glance at the package. It was gleaming and spilling lights. Open it, Manuel, the voice insisted.

"Shut up!" Manuel hollered at it. "I'm coming, hold on," he told the voice. He mumbled another curse, glaring furiously at the package. "I'm coming."

Fixated in front of the package again, Manuel, quickly, began to formulate a plan that would allow him to open it without Hank ever knowing that it had ever been touch.

Minutes had flown by, and still he pondered.

Then it came to him: He'd just re-wrap and re-ribbon the package. Simple.

He reached frantically for the package, pleasure engulfing him as he wrapped his tingling fingers around it. Then, with added care, he removed the silver ribbon, and peeled the gold wrapping paper away.

He discovered beneath the wrapping and sparkling ribbon a box of chocolates. Madam Moondance's House of Sweets and Treats was inscribed on the box; there was a strange illustration on it, of a scarcely dressed woman, her eyes glaring, holding back effortlessly two enormous half-dragon/half-man beasts. The beasts were huffing and puffing fire and smoke as the woman pulled back on their thick golden chains. Barbed collars were shackled around their massive scaly necks.

Weird, he thought.

Open the Box, Manuel heard the creature demand.

"All right," Manuel grumbled back.

He decided then that he'd have to buy Hank another box to replace the one he'd soon so brazenly open and eat from. And so, with that thought, he lifted the top of the box and removed the brown fancy ruffled cardboard covering the candy. He eyes grew wide at the sight before him. He took a fervid whiff of the intoxicating aroma rising up to meet his nose; a euphoric smile emerged upon his face.

Hank must have spent every bit of his weekly pay to buy this stuff. He'll kill me if he finds out I ate even one. A momentary lapse of pleasure came over him. Only for a moment though.

What the hell, Manuel thought. He picked out a brown, oval shaped candy and popped it in his mouth. His face deformed with pleasure as he chewed. He picked out another, and another, drawing from the box indiscriminately, his fingers blacken by the chocolate melting on them. He drifted toward the television, gulping, and licking his fingers, and turned it on.

Manuel settled down upon the couch, licking chocolate from his middle finger. Gazing numbly at the game before him, he popped open the can of cold beer he had in his left hand and gulped some down.

Roaring a hoopla (for the home team had scored), Manuel vaulted from the couch, embarking upon a foolish dance around the room, chanting 'Oh yeah, oh yeah', beer spilling from the can as he did.

However, suddenly, his moronic dance was cut short by a sharp pain to his stomach. A look of genuine terror emerged on Manuel's face, his eyes rolling, as he took a firm hold of his stomach. He tried to moan his discomfort, but only silence left his tongue; his knees were wobbling, begging in desperation to buckle. He let fall the can of beer from his hand, watching it grimly roll away and spill foaming beer. The sudden turmoil in his stomach was making its way up his chest, by degrees, a horrible burning sensation rising up his throat, like lapping flames from a spewing fire. He started to cough, cacophonously.

A sudden, loud belch erupted from Manuel, ensued by a swirling mess of red and black regurgitation, which slopped quickly over him, spilling upon his shirt. Strangely his shirt started to fizzle and smoke, ultimately catching on fire. Upon seeing this, Manuel let out an earsplitting yell. His hands went up immediately to slap out the flames, his fingers and palms singing in the endeavor.

What's Happening to me? He pondered, still slapping frantically away at the flares on his chest.

Wearied, Manuel toppled to the floor.

Manuel started to rise again, sensing the fiery sickness quickly returning, in a rush, up his chest. The regurgitation consequently returned, igniting Manuel's chest again. His knees folded beneath him and down he went, vomiting, coughing, his eyes ready to explode. He felt his stomach then jerk savagely, as if by something inside him, followed next by a appalling sensation of well-honed claws digging and pulling at the bones and muscles in his chest. He felt these claws begin to haul themselves upward, finding purchase upon his lungs, ribs, throat, like a cat clawing its way up the trunk of a tree. His breathing was becoming laborious with each new painful purchase up his chest. Suffocation soon followed and he began to choke brutally, smoke rising from his eyes like ascending spirits shrouded in gray. He felt the claws begin to fork their way up his throat, ripping sounds filled his head. Instead of screaming, as it was impossible to scream when something three times the size of your throat is devising to claw its way up it, Manuel watched in panic as an inundation of blood sprayed from his mouth, which now was beginning to split at the sides, revealing, bit by bit, the owner of the deadly claws. He watched as this thing painstakingly pried its way out of his rupturing mouth.

What Manuel saw, prying its way out of his mouth, could not be. What the.... He thought. This thing, drenched in blood, with bloody claws snapping, resembled a stomach. Most likely his.

Then, with one strong push of its grasping claws, the stomach thrust itself outward from the bloody orifice. Still conscious, Manuel watched as this absurdity shot through the air. Watched as it sprouted wings, and with those blood drenched wings begin to flutter like a greasy butterfly in front of his eyes: blood hurled in a mad frenzy.

Manuel, finally, fell backwards, blood oozing all around, flowing from his broken face. He watched as the greasy butterfly made towards the window of the living room, bursting its way through the glass. He wanted badly to weep, however, the winged stomach had made sure any form of speech utterly impossible. Instead, he let his head fall limp to one side in a pool of his own warm blood and closed his eyes to the world. Finally, his heart stopped.

After a while, a gaggle of flies, attracted by the dulcet aroma of blood, were busily buzzing, lapping up blood, and making more flies, all about Manuel's broken body.

Over the din of buzzing flies, the phone started to ring. It rang, and rang (Manuel was in no condition to answer the phone of course), and rang. It rang three more times; after the third ring the answering machine sprang to life.

Hank's voice emerged from the machine, explaining to whoever was calling that the residents of the apartment could not make it to the phone. The voice was then promptly followed by a short beep: which was then followed by Hank's voice: "Hey, Manuel! I know you're there man, pick up the phone." The machine went silent for a moment, in anticipation of Manuel lifting the phone off its base (but Manuel was in no condition, of course). "I guess not," Hank continued, sounding satisfied that Manuel wasn't home. "OK. Listen man, throw the present away. I won't be needing it anymore, don't ask why, just do it. Cindy and I got back together today, again. And I wouldn't want her to eat any of those candies; she really hate me then. See ya."

T H E E N D

Copyright © 1997 by Arturo Hernandez