Dave and the Monster

 For optimum health and well-being, scientists agreed, after much discussion and a little trial and error, that the Monster should be fed nine pounds of meat every two hours.

 Many years ago, studies revealed the Monster to be a strict carnivore with a high metabolic rate and small stomach. Many terrestrial animals share similar traits. Take vultures, for example. They, too, are carnivores with fast metabolisms and tiny stomachs. However, birds of prey consume meat in various guises of decay, from roadkill to a maggot-infested carcass. This Monster eats only live meat. (It also resembles a giant slug, not a vulture, but we will get to that shortly.)

For 15 years, an army base janitor, Dave, has fed the Monster. It is a gruesome job; the Monster is a fussy eater, yet Dave never takes a sick day. Dave works the graveyard shift. It suits his need to be alone, not that he is. And despite its grisly nature, Dave loves his job. When he takes his annual vacation each year, he does so reluctantly.

He holidays in Hawaii, sunbaths on Kaanapali Beach, and reads crime novels. When it is too hot, he cools down with a swim in the ocean - not that he is a good swimmer. When the day ends, he strolls to the northern end of the beach to watch the lean, tattooed Polynesian boys take part in a cliff diving ceremony. He returns to his hotel, lifts weights in the gym for one-and-a-half hours (Dave looked great for his age) then dines on a Keto-focused meal of Poke tacos and a bun-less cheeseburger at the Hulu Grill. After dinner he walks along the beach, to gaze at the stars and dream of a faraway world.

 This vacation is not his idea; it was prescribed to him by the Base's doctors, whom he meets with on the first Monday of each month. A doctor thought a yearly trip to the beach would offset the depression long hours spent underground at night caused. For his first vacation, Dave flew to Miami but found Florida too humid, and the city too odd. The beaches and restaurants, he felt, were frequented by too many men, who, in Dave's mind, were loud in both behaviour towards one another and clothing choice.

He found Hawaii quiet.

    Dave's workday begins with the sounding of his alarm at 10 pm. Dave always sleeps peacefully and needs a loud jolt to arose him. Dave is not married, nor does he have a girlfriend, (or a pet for that matter) so the alarm wakes only Dave. Dave never notices how empty his bed feels. He had known, from the day he agreed to feed the Monster, that a girlfriend, even a wife, was out of the question and that he would spend the rest of his years alone. Dave summarised that if he did have a spouse, they would ask how his day was, and he would have to tell a lie. Lying in a relationship, his mother had told him, was wrong.

Privately, Dave was concerned that he was not attracted to members of the opposite sex. Under no circumstances did he want to upset his mother, whose want of a grandchild kept her alive, so Dave felt these thoughts best remain private. After graduating from high school, Dave was offered a place at a nearby Community College. His only friend Stanley was accepted too. But Dave's mother felt it more prudent her only son stay home to look after his ailing mom. Dave did just that and began work as a janitor at the nearby army base. His mother's hope to be a grandmother expired without fanfare, just days before he traded in his mop for the role of the monster feeder.

Dave's routine is just that, routine. At 10 pm, on waking, he drinks two glasses of water, eats two cold, hard-boiled free-range eggs with a small sprinkle of salt and takes a red pill prescribed to him by the Base doctors. Dave never asks why; he is happiest doing what he is told. It was explained, however, that the drug helped with anxiety caused by his job. Dave took the medication, though feeding the Monster was not stressful. Fifteen minutes later the neurotransmitters in his brain balance and Dave is ready for work.

 The Monster is the property of the Government of the United States of America, not that any departmental inventory listed it. Even when asked to present such information by Congressional hearings or by news reporters brandishing freedom of information notices, the Monster did not exist.

Incoming Presidents, too, were kept in the dark as a precaution against those less-educated Leaders of the Free World broadcasting news of the Monster during a late-night Twitter rage or worse, telling the American public on Fox news.

 Only a select group of people had the security clearance to know; scientists who ranged in disciplines from astronomy to zoology; doctors, both medical and veterinarian employed by the Department of Defence; and high-ranking generals (who gave the impression they ran the whole show.) Plus Dave, the civilian contractor, employed to feed the Monster.

    The Monster was the sole survivor of a flying saucer that crashed in New Mexico in 1947. Three other crew members splattered on impact; pieces of whom now float in ageing jars of formaldehyde stored in top-secret laboratories across the United States gathering dust.

The live Monster was of enormous interest to the US Government, the scientists, the doctors and the five-star generals, all of whom could not believe their good fortune to be alive at such a moment in human history. They had, in their possession, a living, breathing alien from another world. How amazing! And despite the Monster's loathsome feeding ritual, several generations of scientists, doctors and five-star generals were eager to visit and examine the Monster.

Yet, they learnt nothing that could advance humanity. The Monster offered no cures for cancer or alien bacteria to use as bioweapons. It displayed no intelligence. The only sound it made was when it passed gas. The Monster was a complete and utter disappointment to everyone.

Except for Dave.

After much discussion, the Monster was classified as a Terrestrial Gastropod Mollusc, more commonly known as a slug. Like other Pulmonata Land Gastropods, the Monster had two pairs of retractable feelers protruding from its head, along with a mantel, tail, foot fringe and a foot that secreted a layer of mucus as it moved to prevent tissue damage. The only difference between this slug and our earth-bound garden variety slugs is that the Monster is carnivorous. (This is no longer the case with the 2008 discovery of the Ghost Slug in a garden in Wales. The Ghost Slug eats earthworms. No doubt many who knew of the Monster's existence may have dreamt sweeter dreams if this gastropod ate worms.) Also note that as far as anyone knows, no earth slugs weigh 400 pounds.

Although the Monster came from outer space, at the end of the day, scientists agreed, it was just a slug not worthy of their attention. The order was given - when the last of the live food was eaten, the Monster could go hungry and perish.

    That day is today.

Dave ignores his dread. The red pill helps. He arrives at the Base at 10.45 pm, clears the first security checkpoint, parks his Toyota Corolla in the slot labelled "Civilian", and makes himself a black coffee in the empty mess hall. He takes a sip, walks back outside, towards a small dwelling many assume is a garden shed located behind the mess hall and next to a dumpster. Inside, however, is an elevator that takes Dave 30 stories underground to a purpose-built cave that houses the Monster.

The air below ground is much warmer, and Dave is relieved to remove all his clothes, including his boxer shorts, and proceeds through the second, automated security checkpoint, naked. His eyes are scanned, and once a lightbulb above his head changes from red to green, he dresses in a pair of supplied grey overalls, just like he wore when he was a janitor.

Dave follows a corridor towards another door, where he presses his thumb against a fingerprint scanner where the door handle should be. He enters. To the left is a passage leading to the Live Food room. To the right is the Monster.

Attached to a Perspex wall that divides the room in two is the Monster. It has moved little since yesterday or the day before that or the day before that. Dave sits in a chair and pretends to read a book left for him. (He is not allowed to bring personal belongings to the Monster room.) Whoever surveys the video footage from the cameras attached to the ceiling above would observe a monster waiting to be fed and a janitor, reading a book, waiting to do the feeding.

No one, Dave assumes, suspects a thing.

Hi Stanley

Hi Dave

I missed you

I missed you too

Dave named the Monster after his high school friend. It was on Dave's second shift, all those years ago, when the Monster first spoke to him - telepathically, the Monster has no vocal cords. The voice came to Dave like someone had placed a thought in his mind behind his eyes. It took him a moment to realise he wasn't going crazy with strange ideas; it was the Monster. On meeting Dave for the first time, the Monster saw that he was different to the scientists, the doctors, and the five-star generals, and liked him instantly.

Your last day.

It’s doesn’t have to be

We’re not going to argue about this again, are we?

I guess not.

I’m upset too, you know.

I'm heartbroken.

Me too

Dave looks up at the two light bulbs above his head. One is green, and one is red. The green light is on. Dave checks his watch.

Please, today is our last chance to do something about it.

You know I can’t.

I don't understand

Yes, you do.

The light turns red. He rechecks his watch. Dave now has 15 minutes to feed Stanley. If there are other people in the room, once the red light is on, they need to leave and wait in the corridor or return to the surface. Only Dave is allowed in the room when the Monster feeds. (It has been a long time since someone was in here with Dave, but the protocol is protocol, and he must follow the system.)

I’ll be back shortly.

Thank you. Sometimes those two hours feel like four.

Dave tries to be brave, but he is not ready to say goodbye to Stanley, knowing he will never see him again. The Monster shared everything with Dave, filling that space behind Dave’s eyes with a show-reel of images from his world and other worlds he had visited. Dave saw beautiful and repulsive monsters; technology even the best sci-fi writers had yet to imagine; dinosaurs; plants the size of skyscrapers and a Universe so complex and diverse that he could barely comprehend a second of it. Some days his head would spin so fast he needed Stanley to stop. Dave witnessed wonders no one else on Earth will ever see,and shown a truth about our planet he vowed to take to his grave - no one, he thought, needed to know that.

Best of all the Monster showed Dave how easy it is to travel through space. Travelling between galaxies is so simple that when Dave learnt this, he fell off his chair, laughing in disbelief that we had never worked it out. Dave told Stanley that he would build a spaceship and visits Stanley's home. Stanley gave him his address.

Dave enters the Live Food room. A long time ago he needed to brace himself for what came next. But Dave reasoned, once he knew the truth about Earth, that this scenario was no different to when, as a child, he bred mealworms to feed his pet terrapin.

There is no one else in the room. Dave looks at the neat rows of cots, 100 to be precise. Usually all are filled with food. Now, with the feeding program about to end, only three feeds remain. The rest lay empty.

 The room is quiet. Dave remembers times when it was so noisy, he could barely stand the ruckus. If one juvenile Homosapien cried, they all cried, he recalls. Today, Dave hears only a chuckle.

Dave has never asked where the juvenile Homosapiens come from or why they are always white and male. Don't ask, don’t tell was drummed into him on his first day. Dave follows orders.

He picks up a juvenile Homosapien, more commonly referred to as a baby human, cradles it for a moment, and exists the room. The juvenile giggles slightly, wiggling its little fingers and looks up at Dave with smiling blue eyes. Dave resists the urge to let it grip his finger. 

Dave never asks Stanley about his diet, and likewise, Stanley never asks Dave about his lunch, which is also the same each day - ham and cheese on a plate, an ice-cold glass of milk.

Dave returns to the room and picks up the conversation where they left off.

Please

No

Why not?

We keep going through this.

 Built into the Perspex wall is a feeding slot that reminds Dave of an after-hours bank deposit draw. He unwraps the juvenile from its disposable blanket like it were a chocolate bar.

All you have to do is show them what you have shown me, and they will keep you alive forever, Stanley.

Those Homosapiens don't deserve to know.

But you shared it with me.

You are different.

How can I be different from the rest of them?

The juvenile Homosapien is as naked as a mealworm and wriggling just as much. He pops it in the draw. The coolness of the plastic against its skins startles it a little, and it lets out a cry.

You know you are different.

With a single push of the draw, the baby falls into Stanley's open mouth where razor-sharp teeth, shaped like blades, slice it in half, then in quarters and eighths and so on. Stanley is a voracious eater and quickly chews the juvenile Homosapien into a bloody pulp. Dave sees one of those tiny fingers fall to the floor, like a crumb. Blood splatters across the Perspex. An automated hose will wash this off before the light turns green again, flushing any crumbs down a drain.

Dave looks at Stanley and then up at the video camera that monitors the room. Dave knows that the cameras are switched off during feeding - this is a government secret that must remain secret, so he does what he does every feeding. Dave presses himself against the transparent wall plex wanting to touch Stanley. Knowing he can't makes him ache.

I love you, Stanley.

Fortunately, when you communicate telepathically, you can talk with your mouth full.

I love you, Dave.

At the end of his shift, Dave retraces his steps back to the surface. Dawn breaks. There's no farewell party, no gold watch, not even a pat on the back for the loyal janitor. He leaves as invisible as he arrived. He drives to the nearby Diner like he does every morning. He orders his usual breakfast of bacon and eggs, no toast, and a black coffee. He eats, drinks, and pulls out his phone. He opens the Google search app and types in the word Miami. Perhaps, he thinks, he'll give Florida another go.

Then he he’ll build his spaceship.

The End.